Boys of the Wireless; Or, A Stirring Rescue from the Deep

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER XIII--THE BLACK CAPS

  Harry Ashley, all unconscious of the fact that he was under inspectionfrom others than his aquatic comrades, gave a yell and dove away fromthe rock.

  "Here's something to think about!" said Tom in startled wonderment. "Benwas right--Harry is a boy with a mystery, just as he said."

  Tom's first impulse was to advance among the noisy crowd of swimmers, orlinger under cover and intercept Harry when he started for home, andchallenge him for some explanation.

  Then it occurred to him that he had no right to pry into Harry'ssecrets. At first the case looked strange and grave. At second thought,however, it occurred to Tom that the discovery of the fact that a manwhom they called "Donner" was supposedly seeking a certain ErnestWarren, and that Harry Ashley fitted into the affair because he hadtattooed marks on his back, was not such an important circumstance afterall.

  Presumably this wireless operator was the man whose five hundred dollarsHarry had accidentally burned up. This set Tom thinking on a new tack.

  "'Donner' is certainly very anxious to find Harry, if he really is thisErnest Warren," mused Tom. "He seems willing to pay money to find him.What for--to punish him? Hardly. Then something of importance may havehappened to change the face of affairs, and if this would be of anybenefit to Harry he ought to know about it. I know what I'll do--I'llget down and tell Ben what I have discovered, and we'll decide togetherwhat is best to do in the case."

  Tom started to leave the spot. He glanced all about for some trace ofthe sinister appearing lurker he had seen watching the swimmers, butfound none.

  "Maybe I am just imagining that fellow was particularly interested inHarry," ruminated Tom. "He is probably some strolling tramp, and wascasually watching those antics in the water."

  Tom glanced at his watch. It was two miles over to the Dixon place. Itwas fast getting on to dusk. Tom calculated that he would reach the farmby dusk, have half an hour to spare with Ben, and reach the Morganmansion by eight o'clock. He had changed his plans since leaving home,his original purpose being to arrive before nightfall at the Morgan homewhile there was enough daylight left to play a game of tennis withGrace.

  It was a short cut to the Dixon place by taking a road through thewoods, and Tom kept on planning how he would utilize the moments untilhe reached Fernwood, and anticipating the usual pleasant time he alwayshad with pretty Grace Morgan. He was just thinking how happily andusefully life was rounding out for him, when there came an abruptinterruption to his pleasing reverie.

  Just as he was passing a thick copse where the road turned and hightrees on either side shut the highway into dimness and obscurity, therewas a rustle in the underbrush.

  "Halt!"

  A form stepped into view suddenly. It was that of a boy. In his hand hepoised a long pole sharpened at the end. This he directed straight atTom.

  "Halt!"

  A second figure came quite as magically into view. Then a third, afourth, a fifth and sixth, and the astounded Tom stared vaguely at aperfect circle formed about him by the sextette.

  "Why," he began, turning in a ring and discovering that each one of thegroup wore a sable-lined hood over his head with slits cut in for eyes,nose and mouth, "I understand now--the Black Caps."

  "That's right," responded a voice from behind one of the masks,disguised into great gruffness. "March!"

  "March where?" demanded Tom, a half amused smile on his face.

  "Don't fool," spoke a second voice quickly. "Get him under cover."

  "Yes, someone may come along," spoke another of the masked crowd.

  "Now!"

  The leader of the gang gave the order. His coterie was well trained. Toa man they dropped their spears to the ground, and made a general rushfor Tom.

  "Hold on, Bill Barber!" said Tom, as he was seized by five pairs ofsturdy hands.

  "Bill Barber isn't here," declared the former gruff voice.

  "What do you want of me, whoever you are?" demanded Tom.

  "You come along and see."

  "I will not," retorted Tom.

  He struck out with his fists and laid two of his assailants low. Theywere promptly on their feet. Then the united strength of the group wasexerted to seize and throw our hero down. He found his arms and feetsecurely bound by strong ropes.

  "Someone is coming," spoke one of the crowd sharply.

  "Rush him," ordered the leader.

  Tom set up a loud shout.

  "The gag," came the quick command.

  Tom's outcry was hushed in an instant by the application of an elasticband fastened to a padded stick, which was tightly pressed between hislips. He was lifted bodily and carried away from the road just as awagon rattled past the spot where he had been confronted by the gang.

  The members spoke not a word as, bodily lifting their captive, they borehim helpless on their shoulders through the woods. They proceeded aquarter of a mile, finally halting at a low structure which Tomrecognized.

  It was the abandoned hut of a man who had passed a hermit-like existencein the densest part of a thicket. Tom was carried inside and placed onthe broken floor of the hut, which was covered with dead leaves.

  "What's the orders, chief?" asked one of the crowd.

  A whispered reply that Tom could not over-hear led to five of the partyfiling out of the hut like trained soldiers. The sixth, the leader,remained behind for half a minute.

  "We're coming back soon," he said. "We'll bring a skull and cross boneswhen we do. If you'll swear on 'em never to cross our dead line again,maybe we'll leave you go this time. If you don't----"

  The speaker aspirated a long low hiss and ground his teeth tragically.Then he, too, disappeared.

  Tom had ample time for reflection as he lay alone in the darkness. Hecould not figure out what the Black Caps were up to. The wholeproceeding was freakish, and carried along in the most heroic style ofjuvenile roysterers aping pirates and outlaws; yet Tom believed therewas some definite motive underlying it all. What it was he could not atthe moment decide.

  A half hour passed by. The Black Caps had apparently retired to adistance. Then the crackling of dry twigs outside the hut announced theapproach of someone.

  "Hello, there, Tom Barnes!" spoke the owner of a head thrust past theopen doorway.

  Tom at once identified the tones. They belonged to Mart Walters.