The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER XV.

  "STEAMER, AHOY!"

  "Well, Tom, all I can say is--we must keep on hoping for the best."

  It was Mr. Chillingworth who spoke, the morning after the casting awayof the sloop.

  He and Tom Dacre were standing against the lee rail of the schooneramidships, watching with gloomy faces the white spume as it sped by.Above them the canvas was bellied out, heeling the schooner smartly andputting her on her sailing lines. On the other hand, could be dimly seenthe blue shores of the Strait of San Juan de Fuca. Bully Banjo'sschooner was making for the open Pacific, but what was her destinationthey had not the slightest idea.

  The events of the night before seemed like a nightmare viewed in thecrisp, sparkling, early daylight, with the white deck of a fast schoonerunder their feet. Somewhat to their surprise, Simon Lake had offeredthem no violence, and had even accommodated them with a berth in thecabin, turning out one of his own men for the purpose. If Mr.Chillingworth was as good a judge of human emotions as he deemed himselfto be, it appeared to him that the Chinese runner was glad rather thanotherwise at the way things had fallen out, and, so far at least, notdisposed to offer them any active harm. At breakfast, which was justover, Simon Lake, who, with Zeb Hunt, had shared the meal with thecastaways, had seemed particularly inclined to be amiable. One thing,though, was noticeable: he did not refer in any way to the occurrencesof the night before, nor to the events which had preceded them. For allthat appeared to the contrary, any listener to the conversation mighthave imagined that Tom Dacre and the rancher were honored guests of thesea ranger.

  But, of course, all this show of friendliness had not for an instantdeceived either of the castaways. Tom's experience in Simon Lake's camphad taught him just what the man was, and what he would dare to do. Asfor Mr. Chillingworth, he had long ago made up his mind that theirpresent host was the most dangerous man on the Pacific Slope. Doubtlesshe was even now discussing a course of action with Zeb Hunt, down in thecabin, where both had been closeted since breakfast. Taking advantage ofthis, Tom and Mr. Chillingworth had slipped on deck to try to get anopportunity to talk the situation over.

  But, not so very greatly to their surprise, this proved to be a hardthing to do. As soon as they stopped at any one spot and began to talk,some member of the crew--many of whom Tom recognized as having occupiedthe camp in the canyon--happened along on some errand or other,apparently accidental. Of course, there was little doubt that they hadbeen told to overhear all they could and report it to their leader.

  "Have you any idea where we are bound?" inquired Tom, not caring muchwhether a man who had just come up ostensibly to coil a rope heard himor not.

  "Not the slightest," rejoined Mr. Chillingworth, "unless it can be tothat island of Simon Lake's--or rather of the syndicate engaged in thisrascally business."

  Tom's face fell.

  "Once they get us there," he said disconsolately, "we won't stand muchchance of getting away again till they wish it."

  "That is so," agreed Mr. Chillingworth, in an equally gloomy tone; "yetwhat are we to do?"

  He sank his voice.

  "I have thought over a dozen plans of escape, but none of them will bearanalysis. It looks as if we are absolutely in this rascal's power."

  "Why not hail a passing vessel--provided one comes near enough?"suggested Tom. "Surely our signals would attract attention."

  "If we could make them--yes," rejoined Mr. Chillingworth, "but you don'tsuppose, do you, that they would give us such an opportunity? Why theminute one of us sprang on that rail to wave for help we would beknocked down and perhaps badly injured."

  "Just the same I'm going to make a try for it," thought Tom to himself,"if any opportunity offers."

  Simon Lake himself, and his scrubby-haired first mate, had now emergedfrom the cabin companionway, and were pacing the inclined stern deck.Every now and again, Lake crossed to the side of the man at the wheeland peered into the compass. From time to time he cast an eye aloft atthe canvas. The schooner was carrying every bit of plainsail, despitethe smart wind that was humming through her rigging. Evidently, Lake didnot believe in allowing his ship to loaf along. He carried an amount ofcanvas which would have given an old-fashioned skipper heart disease.The schooner showed the strain, too. Every now and again, she would givea heel that sent her lee rail under and the yeasty foam boiling andswirling along the scuppers.

  At last, shortly before noon, the opportunity for which Tom had beenwaiting presented itself. Dead ahead, across the tumbling blue water,could be seen the heeling, rolling form of a steamer. She was comingtoward them and if she held her present course, would be bound to passthem a short distance to lee. When she did so, Tom made up his mind thathe was going to try to attract her attention.

  On came the vessel, black smoke pouring from her funnel and her mastscutting crazy arcs against the sky. Now and then the sun flashed on herwet plates as she rolled. She was a black craft with towering whiteupper decks, which showed her to be a passenger craft. On board her wassafety, law, and order. Tom's heart fairly ached to attract herattention. The case was no different with the rancher, but what withanxiety over the worry his wife would be feeling, and general troubleover their position, Mr. Chillingworth had had little to say for thelast hour or two. He had sat silently at the foot of the foremast, hishead in his hands and lost in the dismal trend of his thoughts.

  The steamer was now almost abeam of them. So close was she that Tomcould catch the glint of brass buttons on her bridge and the gay colorsof the ladies' dresses as they walked along the promenade decks, and nodoubt remarked to their escorts on the beauty of the little schoonerheading out to the open sea.

  As the two ships drew abeam, Tom leaped into the lee rigging, hanging onby one of the fore shrouds. His cap--an old sea affair, given him byBully Banjo--was in his hand, and he was raising his arm to wave it.

  "Ahoy! Steamer, ahoy!" he yelled.

  The wind bore his cries down toward the other vessel and a commotioncould be seen on her bridge. Presently there came a gush of white steamfrom her whistle and her way decreased noticeably. But Tom had hardlyhad time to take in these details before a heavy hand fell on hisshoulder and the next instant Zeb Hunt's rough fist had felled him tothe deck.

  "You young shark!" snarled the mate, "this is the worst day's workyou've ever done. You keep off there, Chillingworth," he went ontruculently, as the rancher came forward protesting. "This is ouraffair."

  The rancher glanced helplessly about him. The entire crew had gatheredabout the prostrate boy. It would have been worse than madness to haveresisted any of Hunt's mandates just then. Suddenly a voice hailed fromthe stern.

  "Good work thar, Mister Hunt. Jes' keep that young catamount down tharwhile I untangle this yar mess."

  It was Simon Lake. As he spoke, he took a megaphone from its rack justinside the companionway.

  "Schooner, ahoy! What's the trouble on board you?" came a hail from thesteamer.

  "Ain't nawthin' wrong here as I'm awares on," hailed back Simon, hisdowneast drawl more pronounced than ever.

  "Nothing wrong, you deep sea vagabond, then what in the name of Neptunedo you mean by stopping us this way? Don't you know we carry the mails?"

  "Sorry," shouted Simon apologetically, "but, yer see, we've got a kinduv a poor looney bye aboard. He thought, poor critter, it 'ud be er joketer hail yer."

  "Oh, he did, did he?" shouted back the commander of the steamer. "Well,you'd better keep your looney under lock and key when mail boats arepassing. Come ahead there."

  Deep down in the engine room of the steamer the bells jangled and sheraced off once more, bound Seattleward. But as it so happened thevessel, which was the "Islander" of the Seattle-Hawaii Line, had arecord for punctuality, and her slight delay following Tom's hail wasused by the captain as an excuse for some hours he had lost at sea inbad weather. It, therefore, received more space in the Seattle papersthan it would have done otherwise. In fact
, quite an item appeared aboutthe "crazy boy" on board the outward-bound schooner, who had delayed the"Islander" by his antics. In course of events the paper with this newsin it reached Sam Hartley.

  This was two days after the "Islander" had docked. But, nothing daunted,Sam set out for Seattle that same night with the bottle-nosed man as acompanion.

  He was anxious to find the captain of the "Islander," and get from him adescription of that schooner. If she was the Chinese runner's vessel,the bottle-nosed man would recognize her from the steamer skipper'sdescription. At least, Sam hoped so.

  At any rate, it looked like the only likely clew to the fate of Mr.Chillingworth and Tom, and was, therefore, worth looking into, for afteran examination of the sloop Sam had soon come to the conclusion thatthere were unusual circumstances connected with her abandonment.

  For one thing, he had found that the rope attached to her bow had beencut--and with a keen knife, too. This was the rope, it will be recalled,that was thrown to the capsized mariners from the deck of the schooner,and had been cut when the sloop was set adrift.

  But in the meantime Mr. Chillingworth and Tom were encountering a seriesof adventures stranger than any that had yet befallen the Bungalow Boy,and we must leave Sam and follow their fortunes in the hands of BullyBanjo and his men.