by A. Stone
CHAPTER XVII
Those few minutes seemed hours. I was vitally anxious to see thatclose-cropped little head above the water. I stood on the deck of the_Sprite_, with rifle in hand, ready to fire.
I was conscious that the down line slightly moved, but did not darelook too closely. The tide was bringing the Huns a little closer, andall depended upon vigilance.
I was right in expecting a rifle barrel to show over the edge of theirboat. It came cautiously to view. I drew down on the spot, and theinstant a hatless head was raised enough to aim at me I got it. Therifle fell back, discharging in midair. I knew that one Boche was donefor. The rest might be deterred for a time, but they were bad men indesperate straits. Instantly I brought another cartridge forward. Iknew I was an easy mark standing there in the open. However, there wasno other attempt. They evidently had enough. I glanced at the downline. It was still moving; and I knew there was life in the sea below.
Then I saw a small hand grasp the boat's side and heard a long gaspfor air. With one hand I helped her drag a heavy-bearded man aboard,to all appearance dead, then with rifle in both hands I resumedcrucial watch of the Boche boat. I noticed her as she detached a heavycord from his belt, fastening it deftly to a cleet. Spongers fastentheir baskets to themselves that way. I knew the little girl, thoughpainfully struggling for air, was working rapidly. The Boches werecowed enough for the time being. I glanced at her. She had a bigcushion under her father's stomach, and was putting her whole weighton his back and chest at regular periods.
She soon seemed satisfied and placed the oxygen mask upon his face,after taking several long drafts herself, and she then continued tobear her weight upon his chest between breathing intervals. She hadtold me that both she and her father had been resuscitated in that waymany times, and as soon as she had regained somewhat normal breathingshe began murmuring words of endearment, a sort of an incantation,hypnotic in its effect.
"Daddy--Daddy, dear, can't you hear me? You are coming to now. Youwill be back with me in a moment. Can't you hear me?" She would leanover and speak into his inert ear, softly at first, then pleadingly.
In a moment there was an exclamation of joy that made my heart jump.It was from the child. She was almost hysterical, now that her fathershowed signs of regaining consciousness.
"I knew you would come back, Daddy. I am here. Don't you know me? Thisis little Jim. I came to get you. Daddy, you know me now, don't you?"she pleaded joyfully, her face lighting as victory neared, hermovements quick as a sparrow. The determined fierceness of a fewminutes before I could hardly comprehend.
The name, "Little Jim," gave me another distinct thrill. Somehow shehad never told me her name and I had never asked. I was contented toknow her as "little girl." But when she mentioned "Little Jim,"evidently a pet name, as a charm to bring her father back to life, thename of Canby took on a new significance. It was as though a window inmy memory flew open as I recalled that the schooner on which HowardByng used to ship paper to New York was named _Canby_, and probablywas the old wreck thrown up on the coral reef just outside theirlittle bay.
I could not tell in hours what happened in minutes then. At best I cangive but a poor impression of the fierce intensity of the situation.
Suddenly a new question arose in my mind. Where did Canby get thoseingots of lead or copper, wrapped in sharkskins? The fact that Bulowand Company wanted to destroy him flashed through my mind. That I hadcaught the Huns "with the goods" was all I could really think of then.My theory was working out. It moved me to instant action. I must getthose men--the bulky man with a bandaged hand and the twoothers--alive. Stupendous things depended on it. Danger meant nothingto me then.
The Huns still kept out of sight, with no attempt at gunnery. I hearda deep moan in the bottom of our boat, as of one coming out of ananesthetic, augmented by the delightful endearments of the littlegirl.
"Oh, Daddy, I knew you would come back. Don't you know little Jim now?I am here to take care of you. Now you know me, don't you?" I glancedto see that he was on his back and she was kissing his forehead abovethe mask in frantic joy, a most remarkable filial demonstration.
"Is your father out of danger?" I called to her.
"Oh, yes--he is breathing the oxygen regular now and knows me; hewill be all right soon. Can I help you?" she replied joyfully. "He hasbeen that way often. So have I, when sponging."
"I must examine that boat yonder before it sinks. I want some heavycord."
She looked about for a moment and spied the cord she had taken fromher father's belt and tied to the cleet. She unfastened it and beganpulling it in, but she could raise it only part way. I took the riflein my right hand and assisted her with my left. In a moment we broughtup an ingot of copper.
"Daddy must have used this to carry the line to the bottom," said she,but I thought of the heavy rolls of sharkskin leather in thewarehouse. She removed the cord and began winding it about her littlehand into a hank.
"Now, little Jim, I am going to use your boat to reach that wreck.Time is important. Has your father a rifle aboard?"
"Yes," she replied exultingly. "And here it is."
"Now, I know you are a dead shot. While I start the motor and get ourboat over to the wreck, keep it covered."
An anxious glance at her father reassured her. He was breathing theoxygen regularly.
"I can do that. Shall I just scare them?"
"Unless they come out with hands up, instantly shoot to kill," Ireplied positively.
She brought the rifle across the gunwale, resting on one knee in thecockpit, her body tense and alert. Her steadiness was inspiring. Iknew then that the man I most wanted, the man with the bandaged hand,would know I was protected, for he had already tested her markmanship.
A moan came from the reviving father drinking the life-giving oxygen.
"Yes, Daddy, I will be there in a few minutes. Breathe the oxygen deepand you will be up soon," she called to him affectionately, at thesame time gazing steadily along the rifle barrel trained upon theBoche boat.
"Is there another 'terror' in the _Titian_?" I asked as I steppedinto the boat and pushed off.
"Under the stern seat," she replied, without taking her face from thegunstock.
I started the motor of the little boat, swung around and came boldlydown upon the sunken bow of the Boche boat, fastened to it, and took aposition just in front of the cabin. There was no sound of lifeinside.
I called to them to surrender and come out with hands up or I woulddynamite the wreck and send them to Hell there and then.
This order started muffled voices inside, but with no apparentinclination to obey.
I repeated the order, and added, "I will give you just one minute toline up or be blown up."
This last information produced animation.
I looked back to the _Sprite_. Little Jim's eyes were gleaming downthe rifle barrel like an avenging angel. The game was big and I wasafter it.
The man of big girth came first, having to wriggle his way out of thetiny cabin door, and stood facing me with his hands elevated as far ashis fat would allow. Then appeared another middle-aged, medium-sizedman, of a business-like appearance, who looked like a decent personcaught in bad company.
"Where's the other one?" I demanded.
"He's dead," instantly replied the man with the bandaged hand.
"I want to see him," said I, far enough away to use the rifle.
"I say he is dead--inside," the fat man replied in rather a surlytone.
"Bring him out where I can see him," I demanded, not moving. "Youbring him out," I added, looking at the thin man.
Frightened and craven, he let his arms down, went in the cabin. Hereturned soon, dragging out a body covered with blood. My shot musthave hit him fair.
The thin man then took his stand beside the fat one, and elevated hishands again without an order, and both looked across at little Jim andher deadly rifle.
"Who are you?" demanded the pudgy man with the bandaged hand. "Whatright ha
ve you here?"
"An American citizen arresting a criminal caught in the act," I said,proceeding to put the "Yankee Bridle" on his wrists behind him.
"You needn't tie us up like slaves. We are gentlemen," he urgedstoutly, but I ordered him to keep his mouth shut, which he did.
I then ordered the two men into the stern of the motor boat andapplied the same "Yankee Twist" about their ankles, fastening the twoof them together. The other man appeared dead.
I searched out and tossed into the motor boat everything of a privatenature, including some expensive hand luggage, afraid the boat wouldsink.
I left the dead man on board and started with my prisoners at fullspeed to where I thought the engineer and cook had possibly landed inthe riddled lifeboat.
I could soon see them lying on the beach. As I approached they startedaway.
Running into the shore as close as I could, I fired at them, and theystopped. It didn't take long to get and tie them up with the rest.Without arms, on one of the barren coral islands that compose theTortugas, they knew they had no chance of escape.
I then returned to the wreck, taking the lifeboat in tow. Small aircompartments in each end prevented the cutter sinking entirely, but ithad drifted away from the anchored _Sprite_, on which I could seelittle Jim moving about. Turning my attention to the "dead" man, Ifound the bullet had hit him so high on his forehead it did not enterhis head, but had ploughed its way under the skin, the shock causinginsensibility. Drenching him with sea water soon developed signs oflife, and it wasn't long before he joined the sullen crew in cordedharness, his head bandaged the best I knew how.
