Barbour Ralph Henry
Four Afoot: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Highway

CHAPTER XVIII
TELLS OF AN ADVENTURE IN A HUT

Tom scrambled to his feet, Barry retreated, still barking and growling furiously, with the hair on his neck and along his back standing straight up, and the newcomer stumbled through the doorway, wiping his face, and peering nervously about in the half-light.

“Who’s here?” he muttered. “Mind your dog, can’t yer? Think I want to be bit?”

There was no answer. The boys were looking at each other with wide eyes. Then, quietly, Bob stole to the door and pulled it to. Dan seized Barry in his arms.

“A wet night,” observed Dan politely.

“Wet!” muttered the new arrival angrily. He was rubbing the water from his eyes, and striving to get a look at the other occupants of the hut. “I’m nigh drowned, I am! Wet, says you!”

“Come up to the fire,” continued Nelson, drawing back into the shadows as though to make room. Then Dan handed the dog to Tom and edged around the other side of the stove. Bob had left the door, and now, as the newcomer shuffled toward the stove, casting wary, suspicious glances into the shadows where the boys hovered, he crept around back of him. As noiselessly as he moved, however, the other heard, and started to turn. But he was too late. Bob made a diving tackle that pinioned the man’s arms to his sides, and together they crashed to the floor, Bob uppermost. In a twinkle Nelson and Dan were beside him, and the man underneath might well have cried “Down!” Barry, gurgling and yelping, struggled and fought in Tom’s arms, and the noise was deafening for a moment, the captive contributing not a little to the sum of it. Then,

“Hand me a couple of towels, Tom,” called Bob, and Tom, dropping Barry, fished the desired articles from his crowded pockets. They weren’t very generous towels, but they served their present purpose. The man was flopped, fighting hard, over on to his face, and his hands were tied securely behind him. Then Dan arose gingerly from his struggling legs, and the second towel was applied neatly at his ankles.

“Now another towel, Tommy, or – hold on! A pair of socks’ll do just as well,” said Bob.

Tom fished a pair from another pocket, and Bob jammed them into the man’s mouth, silencing at last the flood of unpleasant language. Meanwhile Nelson was kept busy fighting Barry off, for the terrier’s fighting blood was roused, and he was aching to take part in the proceedings. Then they rolled the captive over on to his back and stood up, panting.

“There, my friend,” said Bob, brushing his clothes. “That’ll hold you for a while, I guess. You’ve encountered us about once too often. It’s a pretty good idea to have a look at your host before you accept hospitality.”

The man, the same ugly-faced individual who had been “treed” by Barry in the hotel at Barrington, and subsequently brought to earth by Nelson on the stairs, moved not an eyelash, but if looks could have killed, it would have been all up with Bob.

“Now, what’ll we do with him?” asked Nelson, reaching for his tie, which had worked around under his left ear during the fracas.

“Search him first of all,” answered Bob.

The captive’s eyelids flickered. Dan whistled.

“By Jove!” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that!”

“Do you suppose he’s got anything left?” asked Nelson.

“I don’t know, but I propose to find out,” answered Bob. “Lend a hand, you fellows, and look carefully.”

“Bu-bu-bu-bet you he’s spent the money,” stammered Tom, whose duty at the moment was to refrain Barry from doing murder.

“Maybe,” said Bob. He moved over to the thief. “Now, my friend, you stole about sixty-nine dollars from us, and two watches.”

The head shook vehemently.

“Oh, yes, you did,” answered Bob. “Although if you hadn’t been fool enough to leave a message behind you we wouldn’t have known it was you, and you wouldn’t be in your present fix. It ought to be a lesson to you not to rush into print – or writing, either. You’re not the first man who’s got into trouble through writing a letter. Now then!”

They ripped open his ragged coat, and went through the pockets, but the only things to reward their search were a sandwich wrapped in a piece of newspaper, a piece of lead pipe, about four inches long, with a short length of rope run through it for a handle, some tobacco and a corncob pipe, a ragged red bandanna handkerchief, and a handsome new clasp knife.

“Shows where some of the money went,” commented Dan.

Then they searched his trousers. From a hip pocket came a half-filled, yellow glass bottle. Bob sniffed it, and threw it across the hut.

“Whisky, I guess,” he muttered. “Smells bad enough.”

At that moment Nelson gave a shout, and held up his gold watch.

“Bully!” cried Dan.

“Fine!” said Bob. “You don’t happen to find mine, do you?”

“Not yet,” answered Nelson, slipping his own watch into his pocket. “Wonder what he did with it.”

“Well, it isn’t here,” said Dan. “Let’s ask the scoundrel.”

Bob drew the gag out of the man’s mouth.

“Where’s the other watch?” he demanded.

“Where you won’t get it,” was the sullen answer.

“What did you do with it?”

There was a flood of blasphemy for reply.

“Oh, shut him up again,” said Dan in disgust. “If you’ll let me take those towels off so he can stand up, I’ll knock the tar out of him!”

Bob replaced the gag after a struggle, and the search went on. But there was no sign of any money save six coppers which Nelson fished out of a trousers pocket.

“Well, I’m glad you got your watch,” said Bob, as they stopped work for want of any further recesses to search.

“Wish I had my twenty-six dollars,” said Tom longingly.

“I suppose he blew it in somewhere,” said Dan.

“He’s only had five days to do it,” said Nelson thoughtfully. “It’s more likely he’s hidden it somewhere.”

“We might make a bargain with him,” said Bob.

“What sort of a bargain?”

“Tell him we’ll let him go if he’ll tell us where the money is.”

“I wouldn’t believe him,” answered Dan.

“And I don’t know that we’ve got any right to let him go,” said Nelson. “He’s a thief and ought to be in jail.”

“Well, we’ve got the right,” answered Bob. “We gave the police a fair chance to catch him, and I don’t believe they ever tried. And now we’ve caught him ourselves, without their help, and we’ve got a right to do what we want with him.”

“Sure,” agreed Tom.

“Shall I give him the chance?” Bob asked. The others hesitated a moment. Then Dan nodded, and,

“All right,” said Nelson.

“Well, what do you say?” asked Bob, turning to the thief. “If you’ll tell us truthfully where you’ve hidden the money, we’ll let you go – after we’ve found it.”

There was no sign from the captive.

“What do you say?” asked Bob impatiently.

The captive wriggled his head.

“He can’t talk with the gag in his mouth,” said Dan. “Here!”

He stooped down and removed it.

“Well?” said Bob again.

“I spent ther money,” growled the man. “I’m sorry. ’Twon’t do you fellers no good to put me in jail. Lemme go an’ I’ll clear out o’ here and stay.”

“You’re wrong,” answered Bob grimly. “It’ll do us a heap of good to put you in jail. And that’s what we’re going to do. Stuff the socks back, Dan.”

“Hold on a minute!” said the captive. “How do I know you’ll lemme go?”

“You’ll have to trust us, I guess,” answered Bob.

“Swear yer’ll do it?”

“No,” answered Bob sharply. “But we tell you so; and that’ll have to be enough.”

The thief stared up at them in silence for a minute. Then,

“All right,” he muttered at last. “It’s in my left boot – all that’s left of it.”

Nelson was tugging at the wet lacings before he had finished speaking.

“Give me that knife a minute, Dan,” he said. Dan handed him the captive’s clasp knife, and Nelson cut the soaking strings, and drew off the boot. In the heel, a damp bundle, lay some bills. Nelson, followed by the others, moved to the light of the stove and counted them.

“Thirty-five dollars,” he announced finally.

“About half,” said Bob. “Well, that’s not so bad. It’ll pay for our night’s lodging.”

Nelson stuffed the money in his pocket.

“Let’s try the other,” he said.

“Other what?” asked Dan.

“Boot, you idiot!”

“There’s nothin’ in the other one,” said the man eagerly. “Give yer my word!”

“Don’t want it, thanks,” answered Nelson as he cut the laces. The captive began to swear again, and Dan promptly stuffed Tom’s socks into place again. Nelson drew off the second wet boot and extracted another wad of bills.

“Twenty-two,” he said. “That makes fifty-seven in all. That’s not so bad, fellows. I guess we can afford to call quits with our friend there. He’s welcome to what he got away with, I guess.”

“He hasn’t got any more boots, has he?” asked Tom.

“Untie him now,” said Nelson, “and let him put his boots on again, and get out of here as soon as he knows how. He deserves to go to jail, but we promised to let him off.”

“When we let him go,” suggested Tom, “let’s let Barry go too! What do you say?”

“I say no,” answered Dan. “Barry might bite him.”

“It would serve him right,” said Tom.

“Maybe; but I don’t want Barry poisoned,” replied Dan with a grin.

They untied the man’s hands, and stood back while he unloosed his ankles and drew the sodden boots on. He said no word during the operation, but the sullen, hopeless look on his pinched face made even Tom uncomfortable. Tom had seized the broken pick when they had untied the thief as though resolved to sell his life dearly.

“Put that thing down,” said Bob disgustedly.

“He may get tr-tr-troublesome!”

“Hope he does,” was the savage reply. “I only wish he’d give me an excuse to lick him! We’ve no business letting him loose on the – er – ”

“Community,” assisted Dan.

But as the man tied the cut laces together and crawled to his feet they could not help feeling a sort of sneaking sympathy for him. He was a forlorn specimen of humanity, with a pale, drawn face and little, dull, blue eyes that just now were fixed almost affrightedly on the door against which the storm still dashed in torrents. He rubbed his chilled hands together, looked longingly at the stove and then at Dan. Dan nodded silently, and he shuffled to the warmth and held his hands out.

“Where are you going?” asked Dan.

“I dunno,” answered the thief. “What’s it to you? You got all’s comin’ to yer, ain’t yer?”

“We have what belongs to us,” answered Dan quietly. “Why don’t you go home and behave yourself?”

“Home!” said the other bitterly. “Fellers like me don’t have no homes, you fool!”

Dan was silent. The thief blinked at the red stove, coughing in the smoke. Then,

“You fellers ain’t treated me bad,” he said huskily. “I ain’t got nothin’ against yer. I s’pose yer think I’m pretty low down, but I got my principles, same as you have, only they ain’t the same, I s’pose. I ain’t never done mean to no friend, I ain’t. Nobody can’t say I don’t act square. That sounds funny to you fellers, maybe; we’re different; you’re gen’lemen; I never had no chance to be a gen’leman; I never had no chance to be anythin’ but what I am. I’m sorry I took yer dough, boys, ’cause you treated me fair, an’ it ain’t very often I gets treated fair; folks don’t think it’s worth while to act square with a feller like me. I’m just a hobo, an’ it’s fair game to kick a hobo when yer gets ther chance. We steals ’cause we has to; there ain’t nothin’ else we can do. Folks says why don’t you go to work? Who’d have us? The world ain’t treatin’ us fair, I tells yer that, boys! It keeps a blamed good watch on us when we’re growed up, but when we’re kids, an’ starvin’ and learnin’ to steal ’cause there ain’t no other way we can live, the world don’t bother about us. I know what I’m talkin’ about, I do. Look after ther kids if yer don’t want hobos, that’s the game. Well, I didn’t mean fer ter give yer no lecture, boys. I ain’t got no kick against yous; you’ve treated me all right, I guess.”

He buttoned his threadbare coat around his throat, thrust his hands in his pockets, and moved toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” said Nelson. He took the roll of bills from his pocket and selected one. “Take this,” he said. “It’ll keep you going for a while.”

The thief took it, looked at it, and thrust it into his pocket quickly as though fearing Nelson might change his mind.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Before you go,” said Bob, “I wish you’d tell me one thing, just to satisfy my curiosity. What became of the other watch, the silver one?”

“I give it away,” answered the other sullenly.

“Gave it away? Who to?”

“To a feller I met at Millford, a hobo like me. He was down on his luck, and I knowed he could get a couple of plunks fer it; so I give it to him. I’m sorry, I guess, if you wants it bad.”

“Never mind,” answered Bob. “I just wondered where it was.”

Bob moved to the door and pushed it open. A gust of rain dashed in and drenched the floor, sending the smoke whirling about the room. Outside a veritable wall of water showed in the glimmering light. The thief shivered, cast a backward glance at the stove, and plunged out into the darkness and the storm. Bob stood motionless for an instant. Then,

“Oh, thunder!” he growled, and sprang after the man. In a second he was back, pushing the thief before him. He looked at the others apologetically. “I can’t help it, fellows,” he said. “We can’t send even a dog out into a storm like that.” He turned to the man. “If we let you sleep here, will you behave yourself?” he demanded.

The thief turned on him almost savagely.

“Ain’t I told yer I acts white to my friends?” he cried with an oath. “Gimme a corner an’ I won’t trouble no one.”

Bob glanced at the others questioningly. They nodded one after another. Nelson stooped and busied himself putting fresh wood into the stove. The thief scraped some rubbish together in a corner of the room, and laid himself down upon it. The boys gathered around the fire and talked together in low voices for a while. Then they laid themselves down on the bare floor, and with their ponchos over them went to sleep, Barry nestling up to Dan with a final good-night growl at the silent form in the corner.

CHAPTER XIX
TELLS OF A VOYAGE AND A SHIPWRECK

They awoke shortly before seven, aching and chilled and stiff, to find the sun pouring in through the windows of the hut.

“He’s gone,” said Bob.

“Who?” asked Nelson sleepily.

“Our hobo friend.”

Sure enough, the corner was empty. Nelson felt quickly for the money, found it intact, and glanced about.

“Well, he hasn’t taken anything.”

“He kept his word, poor chap,” said Dan.

“He did take one thing, though,” said Bob dryly, kicking over the rubbish at the end of the room.

“What?” they demanded anxiously.

“The bottle.”

They left the hut as soon as the packs were tied up, and retraced their steps to the railroad track. On every hand were signs of the storm’s ravages. The sides of the old gravel pit were rutted deeply, and layers of sand and pebbles overlay the turf. Even the track had suffered in places, and a quarter of a mile toward Beach Neck they came across a section gang patching up a washout. By half-past seven they were seated at a table in the dining room of the little hotel eating like wood choppers. Through the windows beside them Great Peconic Bay glistened in the morning sunlight.

“There’s one good thing about missing your supper,” said Tom, his mouth full of oatmeal, “and that is that it gives you a dandy appetite for breakfast.”

They did sixteen miles that day over fairly good roads and through an interesting country. It was a fresh, brisk day with just enough warmth in the sunshine. They skirted picturesque inlets, and crossed bridges over tiny coves in which fishing boats and other craft lay hauled up amid the beach grass. In the late afternoon they reached Sag Harbor, found a hotel, visited the post office, got their mail, and ate a hearty supper. Bedtime arrived early that evening, for none of them had rested very much the night before, and they were pretty sleepy. Bob managed to write a letter, but the others begged off until morning.

A good ten hours of sleep left them feeling “fine and dandy,” to quote Dan, and after breakfast and letter writing had been attended to they set out to see the town. They found plenty to interest them, and if this were an instructive narrative I should tell you some of the things they saw. But as it isn’t, I’m going to leave them alone until dinner time.

After that meal had been disposed of with hearty good will, they packed their knapsacks again, and set about crossing to the north shore. Tom was for stopping at Shelter Island, but it was already the sixteenth of the month, and it behooved them to turn their faces homeward if they were to report at their schools on time. They learned that the regular ferry would take them to Greenport or Orient, but those places were too far east. So they studied the situation with the aid of a map in the office of the hotel.

“What we want to do,” said Bob, “is to get to Southold or Peconic. That will save us six or eight miles over Greenport.”

“Well,” suggested Dan, “we’ve got plenty of money now, so let’s get some one to sail us over. Or what’s the matter with sailing straight down the bay all the way to this place here; what’s the name of it? Jamesport?”

“It would take all night,” answered Bob. “It must be a good sixteen miles, and with this breeze – ”

“Don’t you worry about the breeze,” said Nelson. “There’s going to be more of it pretty soon. But, considering the fact that we’re supposed to be on a walking trip, Dan, sailing sixteen miles of the way sounds a bit funny.”

“What was the place you said, Bob?” Tom asked.

“I said Southold or Peconic, Peconic for choice because it’s farther west. If we’re going to get back to New York on the twentieth as we agreed, we’ve got to cover ground during the next few days, and every mile counts. You see we’ve lost three days since we started. We want to stop back at Barrington to see Jerry, and I think we’d ought to get there about Tuesday noon. Then Wednesday morning we can go on to Cold Spring, or wherever that steamboat line starts from, and take the boat to New York.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Dan. “Let’s ask Whiskers, the clerk, about a sailboat.”

The gentleman so disrespectfully alluded to by Dan had rather hazy ideas on the subject of boat hiring, but finally advised them to “take the straight road down to the Point and ask about.”

Maybe they got off the straight road; at any rate they never found “the Point.” Instead they came out on the side of a little cove where a ramshackle boathouse, a thirty-foot sloop at anchor, and a few boats hauled up on the beach were the principal objects in sight. But as they drew nearer there came a sound of hammering from the shanty, and when they reached the door they found it inhabited by a man and a boy. The man looked like a fisherman, and the boy – well, the boy looked like a ninny. But, perhaps, that was largely because from the time the Four darkened the door until they went out he held his mouth open every moment.

“How do you do?” said Bob. “We want to get across to Peconic this afternoon. There are four of us and we’ll pay a fair price. Can you take us over?”

The man looked up momentarily from the lobster pot he was mending and shook his head.

“No, I guess not,” he replied calmly.

Bob waited, but apparently nothing more was forthcoming.

“It would be worth two dollars to us,” he hazarded.

“’Twould be worth three to me,” answered the man.

“Well, call it three,” said Bob.

“Or maybe four,” continued the other as though Bob had not spoken. Bob glanced doubtfully at the others, who nodded.

“We’ll pay four, although it seems a good deal.”

“Southold, you said?” asked the fisherman.

“No, Peconic.”

“Oh, Peconic, eh?” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Now, that’s different bait. You see, the wind’s sorter bad for a trip over to Peconic.”

“We’ll risk the wind,” answered Nelson.

“Yes, but it’s gettin’ to look pret-ty squally, an’ I don’t b’lieve I’d want to risk the boat.”

There was a whispered consultation, and finally Bob said: “Now, look here, we’ve got to get across, and you might as well take us as anyone else. We’ll pay you five dollars.”

“I couldn’t go myself,” answered the man. “But my boy here can go if he wants to. Want to take these gentlemen across, Will?”

The boy, his mouth still open, nodded silently.

“All right. You better hurry, ’cause there’s goin’ to be a bit of a blow toward night. You go along with him an’ he’ll sail you across.”

“Thank you,” answered Bob. “Shall I pay you now?”

“Not till you gets the goods, sir,” was the answer. “When you gets to Peconic landing you give the money to Will; an’ tell him not to lose it; though I rather guess he will, just the same.”

They started out, but the fisherman called them back.

“How much were you going to give him?” he asked.

Bob sighed despairingly.

“Five dollars. That was the agreement.”

“Don’t you do it. Give him three; that’s all it’s worth.”

“Oh, I understood you to say – ”

“I said three or maybe four. Well, it’s three. That suit you?”

“Yes, indeed. Much obliged.”

“You’re welcome. An’ say!”

“Yes,” answered Bob, pausing again.

“That boy o’ mine’s about the forgetfulest you ever saw. If you capsize, just remind him to swim, will you? Like as not he wouldn’t think of it till it was too late.”

Bob agreed laughingly, and the fisherman turned back gravely to his work. When they got to the little pier, Will was awaiting them in the rowboat. They piled in and were rowed out to the sloop. Once on board, Will showed to better advantage. He closed his mouth and looked almost intelligent, although Nelson confided to Bob that if it came on a blow he thought the best thing to do would be to pitch Will overboard and sail themselves. Will cast off the mooring, hoisted the mainsail with Nelson’s assistance, and they drifted out of the cove. Once around the point of the land, the breeze filled the sail and they moved more briskly. Will put up the jib then, and the boys made themselves comfortable. Dan and Nelson stretched themselves out in the lee of the sail, and Bob and Tom remained in the little cockpit, the former trying to engage Will in conversation. But Will was not brilliant at that, and his replies to the other’s questions consisted invariably of “No,” “Yes,” and “I guess so.”

There was a fair, if somewhat fluky, breeze out of the south, and after they had crept through the narrows between the mainland and Shelter Island it was a matter of short tacking. The sun had gone in under the light clouds, and Nelson cast frequent glances about them.

“What are you looking for?” asked Dan lazily.

“Squalls,” was the answer. “And we’ll get them before long unless I’m mistaken.”

“Can’t cut much ice in here, can they?”

“I don’t know, but I should think they might kick up quite a fuss.”

“Oh, well, we’ve got land all around us,” said Dan.

“Yes, that’s the trouble. There isn’t room enough to turn around in without hitting something. And as for that idiot there at the tiller, I wouldn’t trust him to drive a canal boat.”

“Oh, let her blow,” said Dan. “Maybe it’ll blow us down to Jamestown.”

“If those clouds over there in the northeast mean anything,” answered Nelson, “we’re more likely to get blown back toward Beach Neck.”

“Well,” laughed the other, “we don’t have to pay unless he gets us to Peconic. Think of the saving!”

There was a long spit of sand stretching out from the mainland, and as the boom swung over and they headed into the dying breeze the boat’s nose pointed straight for the end of it. Nelson glanced back. Over near the Shelter Island shore the sea was ruffled with cat’s-paws. Here, however, the last breath of air seemed to have died out.

“Say, you’d better bring her around to starboard,” he shouted. “That looks mighty like a squall back there.”

Will looked over his shoulder uneasily and shoved the helm over. At that moment the first breath of wind from the new quarter struck them, and the sloop heeled over until Dan had to grab at the mast to keep from rolling off. The next instant the sheet paid out, and the sloop righted. Then came a burst of wind that sent Dan and Nelson down to the cockpit, and took the sloop through the water at a lively clip. They were free of the sand spit now, and again the helm went over, and the boat pointed for the channel between the spit and the north shore.

“Maybe we’d better reef some,” said Will questioningly.

“I know blamed well we had,” muttered Nelson, as he climbed out of the cockpit and set to work. “Lend a hand, Dan!” he called. They took two reefs in the mainsail, not without difficulty, and crawled back. It was getting darker now, and there were ugly pale-green streaks on the water. But with the wind almost astern and the channel dead ahead, there was no need of present worry. The squall was not a heavy one, and might soon blow over. If it didn’t they would have difficulty, Nelson was certain, in getting into Peconic. Presently they were past the end of the sand spit, and Nelson, for one, breathed easier. The boy at the helm eased her off a little, and then swung her around into the wind. At the same instant a terrific gust of wind struck them, the sloop fell off, the mainsail swung out to starboard, and Nelson made a leap at the tiller.

“Give me that thing, you idiot!” he muttered. “Let go your jib unless you want to have us all in the water!”

The boy was plainly rattled and somewhat scared, but he managed to obey.

“Now lower away on that mainsail,” continued Nelson. “I don’t know much about this old tub, and I’m not going to take any chances. We’ll try bare poles while this lasts!”

The wind was roaring around them now, and the sloop was heeling over under the force of it. Dan and Bob lent assistance, and in a trice the mainsail was down and secured. The sloop found her keel again. “Now put up that jib again,” said Nelson. “I guess we’d better keep her headed right, though I’m blest if I know where she’s going!”

“Here comes the rain!” cried Tom, and the next moment they got it. Ponchos were hurriedly donned, and Barry, shivering and frightened, crept under the seat. The shores were suddenly blotted from sight in the whirling gray mists. The sloop scudded along through the leaping waves at breathless pace. Nelson called to Will.

“Here, you take this tiller,” he said. “You know a heap more about this bay than I do.”

But the boy only shook his head.

“What?” demanded Nelson angrily.

“I don’t know where we are,” muttered the other.

“Well, do you think I do? You take hold here or we’ll pitch you overboard.”

Will crept back and took the tiller, his face white with fright.

“Hold her where she is,” said Nelson. “Where was that land the last time you saw it, Dan?”

“About over there,” answered Dan, pointing.

“That’s what I think. Starboard a little, Will! That’ll do; hold her so! We’ll keep her into the wind as much as we can. I wonder whether that old jib is doing us any good. Wish I knew more about sailboats. If this was a launch, I could manage her. Keep your eyes open, you fellows. We may strike Brooklyn or Jersey City any old moment.”

The worst of the rain passed, but the wind held on fiercely. Now and then, or so they thought, they caught glimpses of the land to the southeast of them, apparently about two miles distant.

“One thing’s certain,” said Nelson presently. “We won’t see Peconic to-night. We must be two or three miles past that place already. Isn’t there an island down ahead somewhere?” he asked of Will.

“Yes, sir, Robin’s Island.”

“How far from here, do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you think? I didn’t suppose you knew.”

“Maybe four or five miles.”

“That’s good,” said Nelson. “Maybe the storm will die out before we get to it. I’d hate to be arrested for knocking the paint off an island.”

“Very careless of Robin to leave his old island around like this,” said Dan, in a pathetic attempt to be merry.

“What’s that noise?” asked Tom.

They listened, and,

“Them’s waves!” cried Will. “We’re runnin’ aground!”

“Hard aport!” cried Nelson. Will obeyed, and Nelson seized the jib sheet. Slowly, prancing and rolling, the sloop’s head came around. The sound of surf was plainly to be heard.

“It’s that blamed old island!” growled Dan. Nelson nodded, his eyes on the boat. She began to draw away on her new tack, but it was slow work. At times the surf sounded almost beside them, at times it became faint and distant, as the wind lulled or increased. Two or three minutes passed during which the Four, standing and peering through the rain with straining eyes, waited the outcome. Then, suddenly, the boat’s head swirled around, Tom and Dan were thrown into a heap against the side of the cockpit, and the water streamed in over the washboard. Barry yelped with terror, and Will joined him.

“She’s goin’ over!” he cried. “She’s sinkin’!”

“Cut it out!” thundered Nelson. “Get back there! Take that tiller! What did you leave it for?”

“I – I forgot!” whined Will.

“Forgot! Great Scott! I’d like to – to – Hard over now! Port, you idiot, port!”

But the water was shoaling every instant and, try as he might, Nelson could not get the boat’s head about. The sound of the pounding surf increased, and the water about them leaped and dashed. The sloop was blown, tossing and rolling, on through a maelstrom of angry white waters.

“Get that jib down, Dan!” called Nelson, and, clutching and swaying, struggled to the bow. Down came the fluttering, whipping canvas, and, with a heave, Nelson sent the anchor over. The sloop drifted side on for a space, and then pointed her nose to the tempest.

“Is it holding?” called Bob.

“No,” answered Nelson. “I didn’t think it would. Get ready to take to the water if you have to, fellows. We can make the beach all right. I can see it, now and then, dead ahead there. Maybe, though, we can manage to stick on here.”

For a minute longer the sloop drifted on, tossed about on the leaping waves, then there was a jar, her bow swung around, and she listed to starboard. The waves flattened themselves against her upturned side, and drenched the occupants.

“She’s aground at the stern,” said Nelson quietly. “I guess we’ll have to get out of this. And we might as well do it now as later. We can’t get much wetter. Here, you, get up out of that and swim!”