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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 to learn what was going on. He was told of the startling turn that affairs had 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 the antiseptics I require for treating the wound, and, so far, he is still asleep, which is an encouraging sign. Keep on, my boy, and get that rascal if you can.”

He went below once more to watch his patient, and the others concentrated their minds on the chase. Ding-dong came on deck for a breathing 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 their little ger-ger-game,” he groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the talk,” said Mr. Anderson approvingly; “they must be driving her cruelly to keep up that pace, and machinery is only machinery and something 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 mere speck, the speedy craft made the Nomad, fast as she was for her sturdy, 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 to hope from in that quarter.”

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

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

“We’ll keep right on,” repeated Nat, and he grimly steered the same course 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 of the horizon came the form of the fleeing black craft. Clearly, it had been 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 a clean pair of heels,” said Nat, his voice aquiver with suppressed excitement, “but she’s an awful long way off yet, and may get under way again 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, but slowly.

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

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

“What’s up, do you think?” asked Joe.

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

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

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

“Call on them to give up their passenger. If they don’t, we’ll have to board 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 probably armed, and we know that one, at least, doesn’t hesitate to shoot on provocation.”

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

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

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

In the meantime the Nomad had crept up to the black craft, and those on the bridge could now see that the hood above the engine was raised and that an old, rugged-looking man in rough clothes with three younger men 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 a wrench to Nat and another to the sailor. Mr. Anderson said that, in case of a tussle, he preferred to rely on his fists.

The old man looked up in apparent surprise as the Nomad came alongside the 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 except the 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 was considerably higher than the low, swift craft she had overhauled.

There was old Israel, there were his three companions, but of Minory nothing was to be seen. He had vanished as completely as if he had evaporated into air!

CHAPTER XIII.
TRAPPED!

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

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

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

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

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

“Wall, you shore must hev sharp eyes in yer head, young feller,” said one of the old man’s sons, a fellow named Seth Harley, who bore as bad a reputation 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 notice any passenger embarking on this packet?”

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

“’Spect you be the loonies thet hev stuck up thet thar birdcage contraption 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 old Israel, while his relatives chuckled in a peculiarly irritating manner; “an’ anuther thing, lemme tell yer,” the old man went on, “you’d better be gittin’ ready to quit that thar island, anyhow.”

“Why is that?” asked Nat, striving to keep his temper, while Joe hopped about, first on one foot and then on another in his irritation.

“’Cos we hev a prior claim to it, thet’s why,” retorted the old man, a sudden fiery gleam coming into his cold eyes. “We don’t want none of you spies an’ interferers comin’ from the mainland and mixin’ up in our affairs.”

“We’ve no intention of mixing up in your affairs,” flung back Nat, with an emphasis on the last word. “You’ve just as legitimate a right to use the island as we have and we’ll concede you that, but, as for quitting it at your orders – well, that’s another story.”

“See here, Harley,” interpolated Mr. Anderson, “we suspect you of having on board your boat one Miles Minory. He is wanted for several grave offences. You’ll save yourself a lot of trouble by giving him up. We know he paid you well to help him escape, but the jig is up and we mean to have him.”

The old man stared at him with what appeared to be absolute bewilderment.

“Lan’s sake!” he exclaimed, “you’re as loony as the kids are. Do you see any signs of anyone on this yer craft but me, my two sons and my nevvy here? We’re on a peaceable run to Santa Barbara ter git terbaccy, and so forth, and then you overhauls us and springs this line of talk on us. It’s an insult, that’s what it is! I ain’t harborin’ no criminals. If there was one on board here, d’ye think I wouldn’t give him up? My name’s as good as the next man’s, and I ain’t mixin’ up in that sort of business.”

“He certainly appears to be telling the truth, and yet it isn’t possible we could have been deceived,” said Nat to his companions, in sore bewilderment.

“Do you think he could have slipped overboard into another boat while we lost sight of them?” queried Joe.

Nat shook his head.

“I hardly see how that is possible,” he said. “In the first place, we must have sighted a second craft, if there was one, and, in the second place, there’s nowhere they could land between Whale Creek and Santa Barbara.”

“See here, young feller,” hailed old Harley, addressing himself to Nat, “come aboard if you like and take a look around. If you find anyone here but me an’ the boys, I’ll make you a present of the boat. I can’t speak no fairer than that.”

“What do you think?” asked Nat, turning to his companions.

“I don’t see what harm there can be in accepting that proposal,” said Mr. Anderson. “The boat is broken down and if this was a trap they still couldn’t work you any harm while we are on hand.”

“Then I’m going to go ahead and take him up,” declared Nat. “There’s a bare chance that they may have him in some secret hiding place.”

“Be careful, Nat,” urged Joe.

“Yes, they’re a bad lot,” supplemented the sailor.

“They certainly look it,” agreed Nat; “but, as Mr. Anderson says, they can’t get away from here in their crippled boat, so I don’t see what harm they can do me.”

“All right, go ahead then. We’ll watch carefully and see that no harm comes to you,” said Joe, and Nat swung himself over the side and dropped lightly into the black motor boat.

“Go ahead! Look around all you want to,” said old Harley, squinting at the boy with his odd, twinkling little eyes.

Nat looked around the interior of the hull. It had lockers on each side, far too narrow, however, to hide the body of a man. There were cross seats, too, but these were mere thwarts laid from side to side of the craft and couldn’t have concealed a ten-year-old child.

He examined the floor, but no cracks appeared in it which might indicate a trap-door leading to some place of hiding within the hull. Only the big space under the raised hull forward that housed the engines remained unexamined. Nat hardly thought it worth while, but just the same he decided to make his search thorough. Nevertheless, against his better judgment and against his certain knowledge that Minory had boarded the motor craft, he was beginning to believe that, in some extraordinary way, a mistake must have been made, or else by some inexplicable means Minory had managed to evade them.

He examined the engine-space with due care, but could see nothing within the dark machinery cabin to warrant him in assuming that Minory was concealed within.

“Wall, what did I tell yer?” cried old Harley triumphantly, as Nat looked perplexed and chagrined. “You’re a nice one, you are, to come accusing a respectable old man who makes an honest livin’ of hidin’ criminals and avadin’ the law, ain’t you?”

“I’ll have to accept your statement as true,” said Nat slowly, “but I’m still convinced that there is some trickery about this affair.”

“Hark at him!” cried old Harley, throwing his hands high in the air in apparently righteous indignation. “But say, son,” he went on, placing a grimy, gnarled hand on Nat’s shoulder, “I don’t bear no malice, not me. To prove it, I’m going to ask you a favor. You’re summat of a ingine sharp, I’ve heard tell; will you take a look at our motor an’ see what ails it? I can’t fix it, no more can the boys here.”

“Oh, I’ll look it over, if that’s all you want,” said Nat, who, truth to tell, had rather a hankering to inspect the piece of machinery that could force a boat through the water at the pace that old Harley’s was driven. “I won’t guarantee to be able to remedy the trouble, though.”

“That’s all right, lad; jes look at it, an’ if you can’t fix it I’ll hev to ask you fellows for a tow into Santa Barbara, I reckon, fer we’re plumb busted down now.”

Nothing could have appeared more open and above board than this. Nat, without hesitation, stooped to crawl in under the whaleback hood that protected the motor from spray.

As he stooped he heard a sudden shout from above.

“Look out, Nat!”

But it was too late. The boy was felled by a terrific blow from behind. All the world went red about him and then faded into blackness amidst which a humming noise like that of a speeding motor rang vibrantly.

CHAPTER XIV.
NAT A PRISONER

“Is he coming round, Seth?”

These words in old Israel’s voice were Nat’s next conscious impression. They were coupled with the dousing in his face of a bucket of sea water.

“He’s coming out of it all right, Pop,” was the rejoinder. “Hooky, though, that was a whaler of a crack you gave him.”

“Wall, it had to be a hard one. He’s a powerful strong kid and we couldn’t have afforded to have a tussle with him. He! he! he!” chuckled the old man, “how plumb flabbergasted those looneys on that Nomad was when they saw the kid knocked out and us gliding away like sixty!”

“Yes, that was a slick trick, pretending to break down. We’ve got ’em whar we want ’em now. They can’t do anything to us fer fear uv causing trouble fer the kid here.”

“That’s so,” struck in a third voice, that of old Israel’s other son, “but jes the same, it ’pears to me like we’ve bitten off more’n we kin chew this trip.”

“Sho!” exclaimed the old man scornfully. “Ain’t we a-gittin’ paid fer it?”

“Yes, and enough to git us right out of these diggins if they git too hot to hold us,” chimed in Seth reassuringly. “Ain’t no call to be narvous.”

“Of course there isn’t,” struck in another voice, which Nat recognized as Minory’s. He lay perfectly still, feigning that he was still unconscious. He wanted to hear all that he could. From what he had already caught, he realized that a trick had been played on them and that the motor craft owned by old Harley had not been injured at all; and that the pretended breakdown was only a deception to get him on board and divert the hunt from Minory to himself.

“You’re perfectly safe in this,” Minory went on, addressing old Harley and the others; “the interests I represent would go to a good deal more expense than this to get me safely on my way with what I have in my possession. As for the boy there, you’d best keep him out of the way for a while. That’ll keep his friends busy chasing around after him instead of bothering me.”

“Say, mister, you’re a slick ’un, all right,” declared old Harley in an admiring tone. “It was a good thing we had that little cubby hole up in the bow to stow you in, though, or your scheme might hev fallen through.”

“Phew! I thought I’d die cooped up in there,” declared Minory. “How did you ever come to have a secret hiding place on your boat?”

“Wall, guv’ner, that’s our business,” responded the old man; “but once in while we have stuff on board that it might be inconvenient for the Customs officers to find, an’ so we just rigged up that little stowage fer safe keeping.”

Nat guessed that the “cubby hole” referred to and in which Minory had evidently been hidden while he vainly searched the boat for him, was used in old Israel’s illicit trade for the convenient and safe hiding of the opium he smuggled.

“Well, I’ve fallen into the hands of a fine lot of rascals,” he thought to himself, “but they’ll hardly dare to do more than keep me a prisoner, and maybe I’ll find some way of getting out before long. I wonder where we’re headed for? Gracious, how my head aches!”

“Reckon I’ll douse the kid with some more water,” humanely suggested Seth; “he don’t appear to be coming around very fast.”

But Nat saved him this trouble. He opened his eyes and assumed a look as if he had just come out of a stupor. It wouldn’t do to let the Harleys know that he had overheard their conversation and was conversant with the situation.

“Where am I?” he asked in as bewildered a voice as he could assume.

“On board the Rattlesnake, my hearty,” piped up old Israel. “Reckon your head aches pretty well, don’t it?” he added with a grin.

“Sort of,” rejoined Nat, in the easy tone he had decided to assume. He knew that with the odds against him it would be of no use to struggle, and by remaining apparently indifferent to the situation he might stand a chance of bettering it, or at least of gaining some valuable information.

“You see what comes of meddling in other people’s affairs,” struck in Minory meaningly. “You young cub, you! I’d like to – ”

He started toward Nat, who was still recumbent, with the apparent intention of striking him a vicious blow in the face. But old Israel interposed.

“Stop that,” he said gruffly; “the boy’s been man-handled enough already.”

“Bah! Not half enough to suit me,” snarled Minory. “If it hadn’t been for the interference of him and the other whelps, I’d have been safely away now.”

“I should think that if you are the honest man you pretend to be, you’d be ashamed to be associated with such a rascal,” declared Nat indignantly, addressing old Israel.

“They’re being well paid for what they’re doing,” scoffed Minory, “and money will buy almost anybody.”

“You ought to know,” retorted Nat stingingly, and he saw the rascal wince under the thrust.

“Where are you taking me to?” demanded Nat, sitting up and looking about him.

They had reached a point of the coast that he knew lay below Santa Barbara, which they must have passed while he was still unconscious.

“Plenty of time for that when we get there,” grinned old Israel; “but you can bet your boots it’ll be a place where you can’t make any trouble till we get ready to let you.”

“For the last time, Harley, I’ll give you a chance to set me ashore and let me bring that rascal to book,” cried Nat.

Harley’s answer was not unexpected by the boy, who had already formed a pretty fair estimate of the old reprobate’s character.

“How much’ll you give?” he demanded.

“Not a penny of blackmail, you can rest assured of that,” declared Nat warmly. “If you don’t want to do your duty as honest men, then I’m not going to pay you to do so.”

Harley did not reply but went forward and said something to Seth, who had the wheel. The course of the black motor boat was changed and she began to head in toward the shore. Nat took advantage of this opportunity to gaze astern. He hardly expected to see any sign of the Nomad, yet somehow, he was disappointed when he didn’t.

What was going to be the outcome of it all, he wondered as he rapidly ran over in his mind the events that had taken place since the afternoon before, when they had set out to answer that wireless call from the Iroquois. How little had any of them dreamed into what a strange tangle the wireless was to plunge them when Ding-dong Bell had enthusiastically enlisted them in “the cause”! For a moment or so Nat almost wished that they had never engaged in the enterprise, but before long his naturally buoyant spirits asserted themselves. He recalled the many seemingly hopeless situations in which he and his chums had been before during their adventurous careers. With such thoughts came a conviction that buoyed and strengthened his flagging spirits. Come what might, he would face it manfully and try to win out against seemingly desperate odds.

Although his head still ached with a racking pain, Nat concentrated his faculties on observing the movements of those on the speedy black motor boat. It was plain enough now that they were heading in landward, and Nat noticed with astonishment that their objective point appeared to be the foot of a blank wall of cliffs, where no sign of a landing place was visible. But, after running straight toward the land till they were not more than a quarter of a mile from the forbidding bastion of rocky escarpments, the motor craft was headed southward again, skirting along the coast.

Old Israel stood by Seth in the bow directing him, apparently, in his steering. It appeared to Nat as if the old man was looking for some familiar landmark. At last it hove in sight. Nat saw old Israel point to a lone pine tree on the summit of the cliff. It towered like a signal vane from the midst of a wind-racked tangle of scrub oak and madrone. Beneath it, the cliff dropped sheer and precipitous for a hundred and fifty feet or more.

Once this bearing had been taken, the motor boat was headed in straight for the cliff at a smart speed.

“Looks like he means to run bang into the cliff,” commented Nat to himself, as, with no abatement of speed the black craft rushed onward toward the wall of solid rock.

But, just as it appeared as if Nat’s surmise might be verified, something occurred which the boy, familiar as he was with the coast, would never have suspected to be possible. Before them loomed an opening in the cliff, rising in a horseshoe shape above the sea level. It was partially screened from seaward by some clumps of trailing bushes, but was plainly enough to be seen on close inspection.

“It’s a cave!” exclaimed Nat under his breath. “I’ve heard of such places along the coast here in the limestone cliffs, but this is the first one I’ve seen.”

In spite of his precarious and uncertain position, Nat felt a keen interest as old Harley’s craft headed straight for the cave mouth. In another moment it had penetrated the dark entrance and was within the natural tunnel. There was a click and sputter of blue flame from forward and a scimitar of brilliant light slashed the curtain of gloom within. It came from the motor boat’s powerful searchlight.

“Well, at any rate, this is a novel experience,” thought Nat to himself, as, moving swiftly, the craft on which he was held prisoner still kept her headway. It was plain enough that old Harley knew the cave well, and perhaps in this lay the secret of some of his seemingly miraculous escapes from officers despatched to look for him. At such times he vanished mysteriously and did not reappear till public sentiment had died down and his case had been “fixed” by his political friends.

Suddenly Harley gave an order:

“Slow her down, Seth.”

The end of this strange journey was evidently close at hand.