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CHAPTER XXIX.
CORNERED AT LAST
“See any lights ahead?”
Half choked and blinded by the spray, Nat put the question to Nate as under reduced speed the Nomad fought her way through the storm.
“Not yet, but I’m keeping a bright lookout for them.”
“That’s right. We ought to sight her before long, if she hasn’t gone ashore.”
Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes passed and the stout little craft still plunged forward in the night, at times almost entirely obscured by spume and flying spray. With anxious eyes they peered through the blackness.
“She can’t have gone down!” suggested Nate in his blunt way.
“Oh, surely not that!” cried Nat. “There, – there, – look!”
“Good!” shouted Nate with stentorian lungs and sublime disregard of grammar, “it’s her, for sure.”
Directly ahead of them a brilliant rocket had pierced the gloom of the tempestuous night and burst in a shower of rubicund radiance high in air.
“Hold the wheel, Nate, and head direct for her. I’m going to get busy with the wireless!” cried Nat, and dived below.
Presently across the tossing waves a message went flashing to the Lightship.
“This is the Nomad. We have seen your rocket. Will be alongside in a short time.”
“Bully for you,” came back the blunt answer from old Captain Braithwaite, “we need you dern bad.”
“How did you get adrift?” flashed Nat.
“A schooner bumped into us and the force of the collision broke us loose.”
“What became of the schooner?”
“We rescued the crew but the craft is a wreck on the Pancake Shoals,” was the rejoinder.
Nat cut off the instruments and visited Joe with the news. Having imparted his information to the young engineer, after bidding him pay strict attention to signals from the bridge, he went on deck again. The sea was still running high, but the wind appeared to be less boisterous. Ahead of them the tossing lights of the Lightship could now be seen. He took the wheel from Nate, tackling it with renewed vigor. The thought that their wireless was to be the means of saving human lives inspired him with a sort of desperate courage. Nat felt at that moment that he could have dared anything and won out.
Another rocket cut the night and spattered against the black sky like an egg chucked at a blackboard.
“There she goes!” cried Nate exultingly, and Nat, taking a chance, signalled to Joe for more speed. Under her increased momentum the Nomad dived into the seas fearfully. Her occupants were doused from head to foot, but at the moment they did not care about that. All their energies were bent on reaching the side of the stricken Lightship as quickly as possible.
“Go it! Whoop la! Beats automobiling!” yelled Nate in his excitement.
“Wow! what a dive!” cried Nat. “Go it, my beauty! Down we go!”
Then across the water came a rousing cheer as Nat snapped the switch that turned on the Nomad’s searchlight. The circle of light showed the big Lightship tumbling about in the high seas as helplessly as a skiff. The light showed, too, something else that gave Nat a wild thrill.
Leaning over the rail beside Captain Braithwaite was a familiar figure. It was that of Israel Harley! Like a flash it dawned upon Nat that it was his schooner that had collided with the Lightship and cut her adrift. The storm, by a coincidence little short of miraculous, had delivered his enemy into his hands!
It was the next morning and Santa Barbara was buzzing with excitement. The storm had died out and the sea was calm and the air mild. Everyone who could get there was on the waterfront gazing seaward. The wireless had flashed ashore the story of the Nomad’s daring rescue of the Lightship, and the news had spread like wild fire.
With it, too, had come information for the authorities. Israel Harley and his two sons, as well as two men who had formed the crew of the wrecked schooner, were on board and under guard, and would be delivered to the police as soon as the Nomad and the cumbrous craft she was towing arrived.
Among all the crowd there were none so excited as a red-headed youth whom our readers will recognize as Pepper, and a lad with an impediment in his speech, who couldn’t keep still a minute. Yes, the latter was really Ding-dong Bell. It will be recalled that Ding-dong in his flight from the lone ranch house stumbled into what appeared to be an unfathomable pit. In reality it was a fish-pond, long unused, which was partially filled up with soft sand and sea-weed. This broke the force of his fall and, except for a few bruises, he was uninjured. He had, however, to wait a long time before help arrived. But, thanks to his lusty lungs, his cries for aid were heard by the police, who arrived at the ranch-house while Minory and Dolliver were still searching for him.
Both men were arrested and Dolliver made a complete confession, admitting that Minory and he had been friends in the east many years before, and that knowledge of a crime he had committed in his youth had given Minory a power over him which he could not resist. Minory seemingly knew of Dolliver’s whereabouts and utilized his ranch as a hiding place, holding Dolliver powerless by his knowledge of his past.
The model and the plans of the wireless torpedo were recovered, and Ding-dong sent a message winging eastward to Professor Jenkins informing him of their safety. We perhaps may look ahead a little here and inform our readers that before many months had passed the Jenkins Wireless Torpedo was an accomplished fact, with headquarters on Goat Island. Prominent in the company formed to promote it were Nat Trevor, Joe Hartley, and William Bell.
But that is decidedly looking into the future. Just at present we must turn seaward and behold the Nomad struggling like a pigmy ant with a huge beetle at her task of bringing the Lightship into port. The authorities had already sent for a tug to tow the guardian craft back to the shoals, so that when the two vessels dropped anchor in the harbor, the Nomad’s part was over.
Two boats from the new arrivals were on their way shoreward when a messenger thrust a note into Ding-dong’s hand. It was addressed to Joe Hartley and was from the Chief of Police of the town. Ding-dong opened it, as the messenger had informed him that it was for the first of the three chums that he encountered.
“‘Thanks to your wireless, the two men who annoyed you have been arrested,’” he read. “‘The criminal they warned is also under arrest. I am authorized to inform you that a reward of five hundred dollars awaits you for your clever work in their apprehension’.”
It may be said here that Joe devoted the reward to the education of young Jim Dolliver, who, following the arrest of his father, was left homeless. He was taken on as an assistant at Goat Island when the Wireless Torpedo Company was formed and proved a valuable help to the boys and their elders in their work.
As for Minory and the Harleys, they all received heavy sentences for their evil doings, although the elder Harley and his sons did not receive as heavy penalties as that meted out to Minory, who, it transpired, had a long criminal record reaching back to his youth.
And now, amidst the enthusiastic crowd of their fellow townsmen, let us for the present take our leave of the Motor Rangers. Their Wireless Island, at first looked upon as a mere boyish freak, had proved its value in no uncertain way, and certified the worth of their training in the science of aerial telegraphy.
Busy, happy days lay ahead of them, and Goat Island, – its name now changed to Wireless Island, – became the scene of activities which attracted the attention of the scientific world. The wireless torpedo is now an assured success, and, thanks to the boys, the United States is the only country which possesses its secret. Had Minory and the promoters back of him succeeded in filching the secret, it was their intention to sell the valuable implement of war to a foreign power which had offered a large sum for it.
The boys often talk of that first message that came to them that drowsy afternoon when it seemed that there was, to use Joe’s phrase, “nothing doing.” The remarkable series of adventures that grew out of that sharp summons to the Iroquois forms a never-failing topic of conversation with them and with their friends.
And so, wishing the boys good fortune and pleasant times, we bring the tale of their Wireless Island to a close. Ahead of them, along the trail of life, lie new adventures and experiences in a novel field. Those who choose to do so may read of these in a succeeding volume devoted to the interests of the Motor Rangers.
