by Roy Rockwood
CHAPTER XI
A RACE FOR LIFE
"Yes, it is the pilot," said Dave to himself, as the launch drovedirectly into the little natural landing-place where the blue lanternswung.
Dave peered from his bushy covert and closely watched the maneuvers ofits occupant.
The pilot ran the nose of the craft well into the sand, shut off thepower, and leaped ashore.
Dave saw him take up a basket and watched him depart for the hut. Assoon as some trees shut him out from view Dave leaped on board of thelaunch.
A momentary inspection of the operating lever and steering gear toldDave that he could easily navigate the boat.
"I must lose no time," he thought. "My only chance of getting away withSchmitt-Schmitt is in taking the launch."
Dave forthwith dragged his unconscious captive to the launch. It was noeasy task to get that bulky individual aboard. Dave accomplished it,however, and then paused to catch his breath and wipe the perspirationfrom his face.
"Hi! hi! hi!"
A ringing yell, or rather three of them, uttered in rapid and startlingsuccession, made Dave turn with a shock.
Looking down the beach, he saw the pilot running towards him at fullspeed. The latter had evidently visited the hut, had found it vacated,and coming out to look for his missing friend, had discovered the launchin the hands of a stranger.
Dave made no reply. He sprang to the little lever, reversing it, andthe launch slid promptly back into the water. Swinging the steeringgear south, Dave turned on full power.
"Stop. I'll shoot--stop! stop!" panted the pilot, gaining on Dave withprodigious bounds of speed.
Dave kept his hand on the lever, his eyes fixed ahead. Suddenly----
Bang--ping! a shot whistled past his ear. Dave crouched and darted aquick glance backward. The pilot, coming to a standstill, was firing athim from a revolver.
Dave saw a point of refuge ahead. This was a broken irregular woodedstretch, well-nigh impassable on foot. As a second shot sounded out,Dave curved around this point of land.
He was now out of view of the pilot, who would find great difficulty incrossing the stretch lying between them, as it was marshy in spots.Dave lined the shore farther on, feeling pretty proud of the success ofhis single-handed enterprise.
"Why," he mused, "we have the game in our own hands completely now. Iwonder what father and Captain Broadbeam will say to all this. Ofcourse they won't fancy such a guest as Schmitt-Schmitt, but they mustsee how holding him a harmless captive helps our plans."
Dave made a sweep with the launch to edge the rounding end of theisland. Here it narrowed to about two hundred feet. It would now be astraight bolt past the same islets to where the _Swallow_ was.
"Won't do--the gunboat, sure as shingles!" spoke Dave suddenly.
Almost directly in his course, and bearing down upon him, was theironclad. In that clear moonlight everything was plain as in daylight.Dave could see the people on board the gunboat, and they could seehim--without doubt.
In fact, someone in uniform leaned over the bow of the ironclad in hisdirection. Dave caught an indistinct hail. He paid no attention to it.
He acted with the precipitancy of a school fugitive running away from atruant officer. He saw just one chance to evade an unpleasantoverhauling by the ironclad, and took it.
This was to instantly steer to the north and shoot down the narrow neckof water lying between the wooded island and the nearest sand island.
Dave knew that this channel must be quite shallow. He doubted if thecumbersome iron-clad could navigate it. Even if it tried to, it wouldbe some minutes before its crew could swing around into position to makethe chase.
The launch took the channel like an arrow. Dave's spirits rose high,notwithstanding some loud and quite peremptory hails from the directionof the gunboat.
"Better than before," soliloquized Dave. "I can swing around thesandbars directly to the anchorage of the _Swallow_."
Glancing back, Dave saw that the gunboat did not intend to follow thecourse he had taken. That craft had stopped and put about.
"They must suspect that something's not exactly right," calculated Dave."The mischief--that was close. Ouch! I'm hit."
Dave went keeling over from the bow seat. Very suddenly, from somebushes on the wooded island, there were two sharp flashes and reports.One bullet whizzed past his head, the second plowed a furrow across hisforearm. It was not deep, but the wound bled, and the surprise andshock sent Dave over backwards.
The worst of it was that he jerked the lever, and this, turning thelaunch, sent its nose directly into shore, and there the boat stuck,vibrating with the impact of the still working machinery. The pilotinstantly ran from cover towards the boat, flourishing the weapon in hishand. He had crossed the island, it seemed, to head off the launch, andit looked as though Dave was doomed to disaster in his presententerprise.
Dave scrambled to get back to the lever, and reverse the launch. As hedid so his hand touched something lying upon straps at the side of theseat pit.
It was a rifle. Dave seized it, jerked it and its fastenings free, andextended it directly at the running figure ashore.
"Get back," he shouted. "Drop that pistol, Mr. Pilot, or there will betrouble."
The pilot, with a howl of rage, halted short. He flung the revolverdown. Dave guessed that it was now empty.
As Dave touched the lever and got out into the channel again, he saw thepilot running back along the beach. He was headed for the end of theisland in the direction of the ironclad, and yelling out someinformation to those aboard at the top of his bellowing voice.
"Now for a spurt," said Dave.
The channel was about a mile long. Dave came to its end in finespirits. It was a clear run now past the two outer sand islands, and ahalf-mile turn would bring him to the _Swallow_.
He proceeded more leisurely now, for it did not seem possible that theironclad could make the opposite circuit in time to head him off. Wherethe sand hills dropped, however, Dave had a view across the two nextislands.
"They are after me," he exclaimed. "The pilot has advised them of thereal state of affairs, and it's a sharp run. Full power--go!"
Dave had made out the gunboat whizzing down the channel between the twoouter sand islands. She was forcing full speed. It was a questionwhether the gunboat would not emerge first into the open sea and blockhis course.
Dave put on power that made the little launch strain and quiver fromstem to stern. He was terribly excited and anxious. His breath came inquick jerks, his heart beat fast.
"Close shave," he panted, "but I've made it."
Two hundred feet down the channel was the gunboat, as Dave crossed heroutlet. The ironclad swung out after him not one minute later.
The launch fairly skimmed the water. The ironclad loomed portentouslynear, but Dave felt that, no mishap occurring, he would win the race.
"They've got me, I guess," he gasped a second later.
A flash, a loud boom, and a terrific concussion plunged Dave into acondition of extreme confusion and uncertainty.
The ironclad had fired a shot. It had struck the stern of the launch,splintering it clear open. A great shower of water deluged Dave and hisinsensible captive.
Dave regarded the damage done with grave dismay--the stern had sunk andthe launch was now on a slant.
In fact, the rear portion of the boat was under water to the rail.
Only by keeping up power could the launch be prevented from filling andgoing down. Dave never let go his grasp on the lever. He held firmly tothe last notch in the indicator.
As he turned the end of the last sand island, the maneuver made thelaunch wabble. Just here a second gun was fired from the ironclad. Theshot went far wide of its intended mark, but a vital alarm urged Dave tochange his course.
The launch went sideways, and a sudden inrush of water sunk her to themiddle. Dave headed f
or shore. There the launch struck, a wreck.
Down the shore lay the _Swallow_. Active lights were bobbing about herdeck, so Dave knew that the crew had been aroused by the firing at sea.
His first thought was to get Schmitt-Schmitt out of the half-submergedlaunch. He dragged his captive to the beach, then he took a look at thegunboat.
"Why," exclaimed Dave, in mingled astonishment and satisfaction, "she'sgrounded."
Apparently the ironclad had struck some treacherous sandbar over whichthe light swift launch had glided in safety. Loud orders, quick bells,and whistles made a small babel aboard the craft in distress.
Dave glanced down calculatingly at his helpless captive. He must gethim to the _Swallow_. But how?
The pit crate of the launch had floated up as the craft filled withwater. Dave waded to it, pulled it ashore, and rolled Schmitt-Schmittacross it.
He was now quite hidden from the view of those aboard of the gunboat,but he feared they might send a yawl on an investigating expedition.
Dave swam, pushing the crate before him. Often he glanced back. Therewas no pursuit. More hopefully and nearer and nearer he approached the_Swallow_. With a kind of a faint cheer Dave hailed her as he camewithin hearing distance.
"Ahoy, there!" rang back Captain Broadbeam's foghorn voice, as he gazeddown at crate, burden, and swimmer.
"It's me--Dave Fearless," began the latter.
"Bet it is! Had to have a rumpus, eh? What was the shooting? Loweraway there, men. Two of you, eh? What! that rascally pawnbroker,Gerstein!" fairly yelled the captain, as by stages Dave and his captivecame nearer, were helped by the crew, and now gained the deck of the_Swallow_.
"Yes, Captain Broadbeam," nodded the nearly exhausted Dave. "Thegunboat--after us--suggest you get away--at once--excuse--weak anddizzy----"
And just then Dave Fearless sank flat to the deck of the _Swallow_,overcome completely after the hardest work he had ever done in his life.
