.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 41896
   :PG.Title: Dave Fearless and the Cave of Mystery
   :PG.Released: 2013-01-21
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Roy Rockwood
   :DC.Title: Dave Fearless and the Cave of Mystery
              or, Adrift on the Pacific
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1918
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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DAVE FEARLESS AND THE CAVE OF MYSTERY
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   .. _`Cover`:

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      Cover

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   .. _`"LOOK AT THE HIGH CLIFF, CAPTAIN," URGED BOB.--Page 169.`:

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      :alt: "LOOK AT THE HIGH CLIFF, CAPTAIN," URGED BOB.--Page 169.

      "LOOK AT THE HIGH CLIFF, CAPTAIN," URGED BOB.--Page `169`_.

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      DAVE FEARLESS
      AND THE CAVE OF MYSTERY

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      OR
      *ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC*

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      BY
      ROY ROCKWOOD

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      Author of "Dave Fearless After a Sunken Treasure," etc.

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      *ILLUSTRATED*

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      NEW YORK
      GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY 

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      BOOKS FOR BOYS
      BY
      ROY ROCKWOOD

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      DAVE FEARLESS AFTER A SUNKEN TREASURE
      DAVE FEARLESS ON A FLOATING ISLAND
      DAVE FEARLESS AND THE CAVE OF MYSTERY

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      Copyright 1918 BY
      GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY

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      PRINTED IN U. S. A.

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   CONTENTS

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   CHAPTER

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   I.  `Splendid Fortune`_
   II.  `Foul Play`_
   III.  `Mr. Schmitt-Schmitt`_
   IV.  `A Pair of Schemers`_
   V.  `Doctor Barrell's "Accident"`_
   VI.  `The Pilot's Plot`_
   VII.  `The Mysterious Jar`_
   VIII.  `Outwitting an Enemy`_
   IX.  `A Bold Project`_
   X.  `The Wooded Island`_
   XI.  `A Race for Life`_
   XII.  `Overboard`_
   XIII.  `Adrift on the Pacific`_
   XIV.  `Strange Companions`_
   XV.  `A Perilous Cruise`_
   XVI.  `Landed`_
   XVII.  `A Remarkable Scene`_
   XVIII.  `The Outcast's Secret`_
   XIX.  `A Day of Adventures`_
   XX.  `On Board the "Swallow"`_
   XXI.  `The Island Harbor`_
   XXII.  `The House of Tears`_
   XXIII.  `Ready for Action`_
   XXIV.  `In the Royal Palace`_
   XXV.  `The Captives`_
   XXVI.  `A Thrilling Adventure`_
   XXVII.  `The Poisoned Darts`_
   XXVIII.  `A Wild Ride`_
   XXIX.  `Found!`_
   XXX.  `Disaster`_
   XXXI.  `A Lucky Find`_
   XXXII.  `Conclusion`_

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.. _`SPLENDID FORTUNE`:

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   DAVE FEARLESS AND THE
   CAVE OF MYSTERY

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   CHAPTER I

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   SPLENDID FORTUNE

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"It's gone!  It's gone!"

"What is gone, Dave?"

"The treasure, Bob."

"But it was on board--in the boxes."

"No--those boxes are filled with old iron
and lead.  We have been tricked, robbed!
After all our trouble, hardship, and peril, I
fear that the golden reward we counted on so
grandly has slipped from our grasp."

It was on the deck of the *Swallow*, moored
in the harbor of a far-away Pacific Ocean
tropical island, that Dave Fearless spoke.  He
had just rushed up from the cabin in a great
state of excitement.

Below loud, anxious, and angry voices
sounded.  As one after another of the officers
and sailors appeared on the deck, all of them
looked pale and perturbed.

What might be called a terrific, an
overwhelming discovery had just been made by
Captain Paul Broadbeam and by Dave's
father, Amos Fearless, the veteran ocean diver.

For two weeks, after a hard battle with the
sea and its monsters, after fighting savages
and piratical enemies, the beautiful steamer,
the *Swallow*, had plowed through sun-tipped
waves, favored by gentle breezes, homeward-bound.

Every heart on board had been light and
happy.  Labeled and sealed on the sandy floor
of the ballast room, lay four boxes believed to
contain over half a million dollars in gold coin.

Legally this vast treasure belonged to Amos
and Dave Fearless, father and son.  To those
who had aided and protected them, however,
from Doctor Barrell, on board the *Swallow* to
make deep-sea soundings and secure
specimens of rare marine monsters for the United
States Government, down to Bob Vilett,
Dave's chosen chum and the ambitious young
assistant engineer of the vessel, every soul on
board knew that when they reached San
Francisco, the generous ocean diver and his son
would make a most liberal division of the
splendid fortune they had fished up in mid-ocean.

As said, the serenity of these fond hopes
was now rudely blasted.  Dave, rushing up
on deck quite pale and agitated, had made the
announcement that brought Bob to his feet
with a shock.

They were two sturdy boys.  The flavor of
the briny deep was manifest in their bronzed
faces, their attire, their clear bright eyes, and
sinewy muscles.  They had known hardship
and peril such as make men resolute and
brave.  Although Dave was deeply distressed,
determination rather than despair was
indicated in the way in which he took the bad, bad
news now being conveyed with lightning
speed, mostly with depressing effect, all
through the ship.

Bob Vilett steadied himself against a
capstan and stared in silence at his chum.
Dave's hand grasped the bow rail with an iron
grip, as if thereby seeking to relieve his tense
feelings.  His eyes were directed away from
Bob, away from the ship, fixedly, almost
sternly, scanning the ocean stretch that spread
almost inimitably towards the west.  It
seemed as if mentally he was going back over
the long course they had just pursued, never
dreaming that they were carrying a ballast of
worthless old junk instead of the royal fortune
on which they had fondly counted.

"Well, all I've got to say," observed Bob at
length, with a great sigh, "is that it's pretty tough."

"I fancy," responded Dave, in a set, thoughtful
way, "it's a case of three times and out.
We fished it up--one.  We've lost it--two.
We must find it again--three.  That's all."

"You're dreaming!" vociferated Bob.  "Say,
Dave Fearless, you're a genius and a worker,
but if you mean that there is the least hope in
the world in going back over a course of over
a thousand miles hunting up men with a two
weeks' start of us--desperate men, too--scouring
a trackless ocean for fellows who have to
hide, and know how to do it, why, it's--bosh!"

"Bob Vilett," said Dave, with set lip and
unflinching eye, "we are only boys, but we have
tried to act like men, and Captain Broadbeam
respects us for it.  We have his confidence.
He is old, not much of a thinker, but brave as
a lion and ready for any honest, logical
suggestion.  Here's a dilemma, a big one.  You
and I--young, quick, ardent--we must think
for him.  We have been robbed.  We must
catch the thieves.  We must recover that
treasure.  Where's the best and surest, and
the quickest way to do it?  Put on your
thinking-cap, Bob, and try and do some of the
hardest brain work of your life."

"Hold on--where are you going?" demanded
Bob, as his chum went away over into
a remote corner of the bow and sat down on
an isolated water barrel.

But Dave only waved his hand peremptorily,
almost irritably, at Bob.  His chum
knew that it would be useless to renew the
conversation just now.  He had seen Dave
in just such a mood on other occasions--it
was when affairs were going wrong and
needed straightening out.

"All right," murmured Bob resignedly,
moving over to where some glum-faced sailors
were discussing the disappointment of the
hour in a group.  "It won't hurt any of us to
have Dave Fearless do some of that tall
thinking of his.  Oh, dear!  All that money gone.
And after all we went through to get it!"

Meanwhile Dave Fearless sat posed like a
statue.  His gaze was fixed beyond the little
inlet where the *Swallow* was moored, straight
across the unbroken ocean stretch.  His
thoughts just then, however, were not fixed on
the west, but rather on the east.  A vivid
panorama of his stirring adventures of the
past few months seemed spread out to his
mental eye.  They went back to the start of
what the present moment seemed to be the
finish.

Dave's home was at Quanatack, along the
coast of Long Island Sound.  There for many
years his father had been an expert master
diver, and Dave himself, reared beside the sea
and loving it, had done service as a lighthouse assistant.

In the first volume of the present series,
entitled "The Rival Ocean Divers," it was
told how they one day learned that they were
direct heirs of the Washington family, who
twenty years previous had acquired a fortune
of nearly a million dollars in China.  This,
all in gold coin, had been shipped in the
*Happy Hour* for San Francisco.  A storm
overtook the vessel, which sunk in two miles
of water in mid-ocean with the treasure aboard.

Amos Fearless secured a chart showing the
exact location of the wreck.  Unfortunately
two distant relatives, a miserly trickster
named Lem Hankers and his worthless son,
Bart, learned of the sunken treasure, too.
They proceeded to San Francisco and were
joined by a rascally partner named Pete
Rackley.  The trio chartered from a wrecking
company the *Raven*, Captain Nesik in
command, and engaged a professional diver
named Cal Vixen.

The Fearlesses, learning of this, hastened
their plans.  An old friend of the diver,
Captain Broadbeam, was just then starting out
with the *Swallow*, to convey a well-known
scientist from Washington to mid-ocean.  The
*Swallow* was equipped with the finest diving
bells and apparatus for capturing and
preserving rare monsters of the deep.  Broadbeam
agreed to incidentally assist Amos Fearless
in the search for the sunken treasure.

The rival divers located this at about the
same time.  Thrilling experiences followed,
terrific battles with submarine monsters,
hair-breadth perils on the ocean bed.  The
Hankers and their diver after several efforts gave
up the quest.  Dave and his father stuck at it
until one day they located the hull of the
*Happy Hour*.  Bag after bag of gold they
stored in their Costell diving bell, until all
the treasure was conveyed safely to the hold
of the *Swallow*.  Then they set sail for home.

Pete Rackley had managed to secrete
himself aboard.  He disabled the machinery of
the *Swallow*.  This was the starting-point of
a new series of adventures as related in our
second volume, "The Cruise of the Treasure Ship."

It now became plot and warfare on the part
of the disgruntled Hankers and their friends.
The result was that one dark and foggy night
the schemers succeeded in stealing aboard of
the *Swallow*.  Captain Broadbeam, Bob
Vilett, Doctor Barrell, and the Fearlesses
were put ashore on a lonely island, and the
*Raven* steamed away with the captured convoy.

A sixth person was also marooned.  This
was one Pat Stoodles, a whimsical Irishman,
who had been previously rescued by the
*Swallow* from this same island, where for several
years he had been the king of its savage inhabitants.

"The Cruise of the Treasure Ship" has told
graphically of the many adventures of the
marooned.  Stoodles reassumed his kingship
temporarily and helped his friends out of
many a sore dilemma.  A cyclone and an
earthquake drove all hands to a neighboring island.
Finally Dave and Bob discovered the *Swallow*,
somewhat dismantled, lying off the coast of
the island.  They boarded her to find
Mr. Drake, the boatswain, Mike Conners, the cook,
and Ben Adams, the engineer, handcuffed in
the cabin.  These men had refused to
navigate the *Swallow* for Captain Nesik.  They
told how the cyclone had parted the two
vessels and the *Swallow* had been driven to her
present isolated moorings.  They told also of
the four boxes into which they had seen the
Hankers place the sunken treasure.

For a second time, believing their enemies
and the *Raven* lost in the storm, the Fearless
party started homeward.  Incidentally they
had enabled a worthy young fellow named
Henry Dale to earn a large sum by towing
with them a lost derelict ship.  This they had
turned over to an ocean liner they met.  Then,
the *Swallow* needing some repairs, they had
headed for Minotaur Island, their present
port of moorage.

This island had originally belonged to the
government of Chili.  Just now, however, it
was claimed by Peru, and was also in a
certain state of rebellion.  The governor was a
miserly and tricky individual, and had
demanded a large sum from Captain Broadbeam
before he would let him moor the *Swallow*.

He sent out as pilot a wretched, drunken
fellow, who ran the *Swallow* into an obscure
creek where she struck some obstacle, tearing
a hole in her hull.

Thus disabled, Captain Broadbeam found
it necessary to shift the various articles in the
hold.  The four sealed boxes were removed,
and Amos Fearless naturally suggested that
they take a look at their golden fortune.

Ten minutes later the startling discovery
was made which has been recorded in the
opening lines of the present chapter--

The great Washington fortune was not, as
had all along been supposed, aboard of the
*Swallow*.





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.. _`FOUL PLAY`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   FOUL PLAY

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Captain Paul Broadbeam came up on
deck, his face red as a peony, his brow dark as
a thundercloud.

He was manifestly irritated.  In his great
foghorn bass voice he gave out a dozen quick
orders.  His evident intention was to break
up the little groups discussing the happening
of the hour.

"Avast there!" he roared to a special set of
four seamen they had taken on at Mercury
Island a week previous.  "No mutinous confabs
allowed here.  If you expected something
never promised, that's your lookout.  Those
that can't be satisfied with plain square wages
can take their kits ashore."

Amos Fearless had followed the captain
from the cabin.  The veteran ocean diver
looked greatly disappointed and distressed.
He made out Dave and went over to where he sat.

"Well, my son," he said, disturbing Dave's
deep reverie by placing a trembling hand
on his shoulder, "this is a bad piece of news."

"Yes, father," replied Dave gravely.

"We've been big fools," continued Amos
Fearless, with a sigh and a dejected shake of
his head.  "Might better have kept to our
sure pay back at Quanatack.  We are only
humble folk, Dave, and should have been
satisfied with our lot.  Might have known
million-dollar fortunes don't come falling on
such as we, except in story-books."

"Wrong, father!" said Dave sharply.  "I
don't look at it that way at all.  We are the
legal Washington heirs, and had a right to
expect what was our due.  It was a clear-cut,
honest piece of business."

"Well, it's turned out worse than nothing for us."

"I don't see that, either," observed Dave.
"We went at the matter right.  We located
the sunken treasure.  Someone has stolen it.
Surely, father, you don't mean to tell me that
you will fold your hands meekly and make no
effort to recover the fortune we have worked
so hard for?  Why, father," declared Dave,
with spirit, "all we may have to go through
can't begin to be as difficult and dangerous as
what we have already accomplished.  It looks
simple and plain to me--our duty."

"Does it now?" murmured the old diver in
a thoughtful way.

"Yes.  Someone stole that treasure, and of
course it was the Hankers and Captain Nesik
and that crew of rascals.  Well, father, they
can't spend it on a desert island in mid-ocean,
can they?"

"Why, I suppose not," said the diver.

"Certainly not.  They will try to get back
to civilization.  Now I have been thinking out
the whole matter.  Mr. Drake, our boatswain,
saw the Hankers make a great show of putting
the gold into the four wooden boxes.  Now we
find out that this was just a pretense to
deceive the crew of the *Raven*.  Later, of course,
they secretly removed it.  To where, father?
To the *Raven*?  If so, they ran into a bad
predicament.  From what the Island
Windjammers told Pat Stoodles the last they saw
of the *Raven* she was scudding along in the
cyclone, completely disabled.  If she stranded,
of course they hurried out the treasure before
she sank.  Then it is hidden somewhere
among those islands where we had our hard
fight for existence.  The survivors are either
waiting there hoping some ship will stray
their way, or they fixed up the *Raven*
and are making for the South American coast."

"That's a pretty long talk, but a sensible
one, Dave," said the old diver, brightening up
a good deal.  "Go ahead, my son--supposing
all this?"

"Yes, father," said Dave, "supposing all this."

"Well, what then?"

"Why, the next thing is to prove I am right
or partly right.  We must go back to the
Windjammers' Island and hunt for a trace of
the *Raven*.  Stoodles can make his old
subjects, the natives, tell what they know.  If we
find that the *Raven* was not wrecked and has
made for the South American coast, then we
must put right after them."

"Dave, you give me a good deal of courage,"
said Amos Fearless--"you make me ashamed
of my despair.  I'm old, though, you see, and
this is a big disappointment."

"Don't you fret, father.  I feel certain that
prompt work will soon put us on the track of
the treasure."

"I'll speak to Captain Broadbeam right
away," said the old diver, and Dave was
pleased to see how nimbly his father started
off, encouraged and hopeful from the little
talk he had given him.

Bob Vilett had been watching Dave all this
time.  The young diver did not sit meditating
any longer.  He had thought out what had to
be done.  Now he must decide how to do it.
He paced up and down with smart steps.
Bob started to rejoin him.  There was an interruption.

A man half-dressed, one boot on and carrying
the other in his hand, came banging up the
cabin steps.

"Bad cess to it!  Begorra!  Who tuk it--who
tuk it?" he shouted.

This was Pat Stoodles.  He seemed to have
just awakened and to have learned of the
astounding discovery of the hour.  Making out
Dave, who was a great favorite with him,
Stoodles sprinted with his long limbs across
the deck.

"Wirra, now, me broth of a boy, tell me it's
false!" implored Pat.

"If you mean that we've got four boxes of
junk aboard instead of gold," said Dave,
"unfortunately it's true."

"Acushla! luk at that now," groaned
Stoodles, throwing up his hands in sheer
dismay.  "And I was to have had a thousand
dollars."

"More than that, Mr. Stoodles," answered
Dave.  "You have been one of our good loyal
friends, and my father has often planned
starting you in a nice paying business, had we
reached San Francisco with the treasure."

"Hear that, now!" cried Stoodles.  "Didn't
I write that same thing to my brother in New
York?  Didn't I tell him I'd be home, loaded
down with gold?  I sent the letter from
Mercury Island.  And now I must write him
again, telling him it was all a poor foolish old
fellow's dream.  All I've got is my losht
dignity as king of the Windjammers."

Poor Stoodles tore his sparse hair and
looked the picture of gloom and discontent.

"I'll write to my brother at once," he
resumed.  "Have you a postage stamp to spare,
Dave?"

"They use the Chilian stamps here, I
believe," replied Dave.  "You will have to go
to the town to get one, Mr. Stoodles."

"I can accommodate you," spoke a brisk,
pleasant voice promptly.

All hands turned sharply to view the
speaker.  Dave, in some surprise, saw a
bronzed bright-faced young man coming up a
rope ladder swung over the side of the
*Swallow*.

Dave had never seen him before.  The
newcomer had rowed up the creek in a skiff.
Looking down into this, Dave saw an artist's
sketching outfit, also a camera.

"Excuse me," said this newcomer, "if I am
intruding here.  I am a traveling artist out
for health and views.  Thought I'd take a
picture of your ship, if you don't object."

"Not in the least," answered Dave courteously,
although the request came at a time
when his thoughts were absorbed with more
important matters.

"And again," said the young fellow, "I
wanted to see some home faces and hear home
voices.  My name is Adair.  I live in
Vermont.  By the way, though," he continued to
Stoodles, taking out a wallet, "you asked for
a postage stamp, I believe?"

The speaker ran over the compartments in
the wallet.  A stray gust of wind caught a
little paper fragment it held, blew it up into
the air, and Stoodles caught it just as it was
being carried over the rail into the water.

"Good," said Adair gratefully.  "I wouldn't
like to lose that, I can tell you."

"A postage stamp, too, isn't it?" asked
Stoodles, looking at it.

"Yes," nodded Adair, "and a pretty valuable
one.  You see it is canceled and ragged.
That don't matter.  For all that, the little
scrap of paper is worth over two hundred dollars."

"You don't tell me!" gasped Stoodles, staring
at the stamp vaguely.

"That's right," insisted Adair.  "Here's an
island stamp," he added, extending one to Pat.
"No, don't bother making change for that
trifle.  Want to see it?" continued the young
man, extending the canceled stamp to Dave.

"I used to have quite a collection myself at
home," explained Dave, glancing with
interest at the canceled stamp.  "Morania?  I
never heard of that."

"No, a short and solemn history, that of
Morania," said Adair.  "It was one of the
South Sea islands with a population of about
one thousand natives.  Some shrewd Yankee
got their king to establish a post office, so he
could sell the government a stamp-printing
outfit.  There wasn't much business, but one
day Morania without any warning was swept
to destruction by a tidal wave.  Very few
letters had ever been sent out.  Of course the
few stamps to be had became immensely
valuable.  I have managed to pick up four of them
in my travels.  I value them at one thousand
dollars."

"Why----" said Dave, with a sudden start,
and glanced at Stoodles queerly.  Whatever
the artist's story had suggested, however,
Dave did not have time to explain.  Captain
Broadbeam came storming by like a mad lion.

"There's foul work here," he roared--"foul
work all around.  First that stupid, drunken
pilot runs us afoul of a snag and stove a hole
in our bottom.  Now that rascally governor
sends word asking a small fortune for the
timber and truck and men to mend up the
*Swallow*.  All right.  Pipe the crew, bosun.
We'll have to overhaul the keel ourselves and
do the best mending we can.  Then I'm out of
these latitudes mighty quick, I can tell you!"

"Don't he know?" inquired Adair, stepping
closer to Dave's side and speaking confidentially.

"Know what?" inquired Dave, in some surprise.

"Why, that the snag he ran into, or rather
the snag the pilot ran him into, was a sunken
brig that everybody on the island has known
for years blocked the creek bottom."

"Is that so?" said Dave.

"As I get it from the talk of the natives
here, yes," said Adair.

"Did the pilot know it was there?" asked Dave.

"Could he miss knowing it?" demanded
Adair.  "Truth is, I came down here with a
sort of fellow-feeling in my mind for you
people.  The governor here and his friends bleed
every American they get hold of.  They are a
precious set of thieves, and when I heard of
your predicament I wondered what new
mischief they were up to."

"Then," said Dave, in a startled way, "you
mean to insinuate that the pilot ran the
*Swallow* into her present fix purposely?"

"I do," nodded Adair.

"Why?" demanded Dave, with a quick
catch of excitement in his voice--"why did he
do it?"





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.. _`MR. SCHMITT-SCHMITT`:

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   CHAPTER III


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   MR. SCHMITT-SCHMITT

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"Yes," cried Bob Vilett impulsively.
"Why did the pilot try to wreck the *Swallow*?"

The young engineer had been an interested
listener to the conversation that had passed
between Dave and Adair.  The latter shrugged
his shoulders.

"Sheer natural meanness and hatred of
foreigners," he said, "or they mean to delay you."

"Why should they delay us?" protested Dave.

"To bleed you.  The longer you stay here
the more they will get out of you.  They
overcharge for everything, make you pay, and fine
you, and make you trouble on every little
technicality of the law that wretched governor
can dig up."

"Why, that's abominable!" declared Bob.

"You see, the island here is in a squabble
between Chili and Peru," explained the artist.
"The governor has set up an independent
dictatorship.  He knows it can't continue, so
he is hurrying to make all the money he can
out of his position while it lasts."

"It looks as if you have given us some pretty
straight information," said Dave seriously.
"I must tell Captain Broadbeam.  No," Dave
checked himself.  "I'll wait till I am sure of
what you suspect, and look a little deeper into
this matter."

"There's a group I'd like to take,"
interrupted Adair, glancing with an artist's fine
interest at the sailors of the *Swallow* getting
some tackle out to keel the ship.

He seized a boathook and, leaning over the
side, caught its end in his camera outfit lying
in the skiff below.

"There are some island views, if you would
like to look them over," he observed,
unstrapping a square portfolio from the camera rack.

Adair set up his portable tripod and
focussed the group amidships.  Dave turned
over the photographs in the portfolio.

"You'll find a pretty good picture of that
rascally pilot," said Adair.  "Third one, I
think."

"I've got it," nodded Dave, "and--say!"

So violent was this ejaculation that Adair
was startled into snapping the camera
shutter before he was quite ready.

"You've spoiled my picture for me," he said,
but not at all crossly.  "Why, my friend,
what's struck you?"

Dave was wrought up all out of the
common.  Generally cool and level-headed, his
nerves seemed to have suddenly gone to pieces.

He had dropped the portfolio, and Bob was
scrambling to preserve its scattered contents.
Dave himself held a single photograph in one
hand; with the other he was pulling Adair by
the arm.  He drew the surprised artist out of
direct range of the others.

"Look here," he said, with difficulty
steadying his trembling voice, "this picture?"

"Yes," nodded Adair, with a casual glance
at the photograph--"our friend, the pilot."

"There is no trouble recognizing him," said
Dave.  "It's the other fellow in the picture,
I mean."

"Oh, do you know him?"

"I think I do," answered Dave, in a
suppressed but intense tone.

"Likely.  He's been haunting the harbors
here for several days.  I happened to see the
two sitting on that bench in front of the pilot's
shanty, and took a shot."

Dave, looking worried and hopeful, in doubt
and suspicious, by turns, kept scanning the
photograph.

"Who is the man, anyhow?" he asked,
placing his finger on the pilot's companion.

"Schmitt-Schmitt, he calls himself--from
the Dutch West Indies, he says."

"He calls himself that, does he?" said Dave
thoughtfully, "and he is a Dutchman?"

"All I know is that he got onto the island
here somehow--I believe from a tramp
steamer a few days ago.  He's close up to the
governor and the pilot.  Every craft that
touches here, he visits its captain and wants
to charter the ship."

"He wants to charter a ship," repeated
Dave--"what for?"

"Mysterious cruise.  He has discovered an
island full of diamonds, or a mountain of gold,
or some such thing," replied Adair.  "He
makes fabulous offers to any captain who will
take a thirty-day cruise on the speculation.
When he turns out all promises and no ready
cash, of course the captains laugh at him.
Been to you to join in his speculation, eh?"

"No," said Dave emphatically.  "He knows
too much to try it!  Mr. Adair," he continued,
warmly grasping the artist's hand, "you have
done us a service you little dream of."

"Glad of that," responded Adair, with a
hearty smile.

"I don't know how to thank you.  May I
have this picture for a day or two?"

"Keep it--I've got the negative.  Time to
go, I fancy," added Adair, as the crew crowded
with the repair tackle in their direction.

Dave saw the artist safely into the skiff,
waved his hand in adieu, and went in search
of his father.

Amos Fearless sat in the cabin, immersed
in deep thought.

"What is the captain going to do, father?"
asked Dave.

"He's all worked up, and I hardly know
how to take him," replied Mr. Fearless.  "His
only idea for the present is to get away from
Minotaur Island; he says they're a set of
conscienceless plunderers."

"He is right in that," declared Dave.  "Did
you suggest to him anything about searching
for the stolen gold?"

"I did, Dave."

"What did he say?" eagerly asked Dave.

"He shook his head gloomily, said he would
like to help us out, but according to his
contract with the owners of the *Swallow*, he was
due in San Francisco.  You see, this cruise
was taken by him under direction of Doctor
Barrell.  The doctor having accomplished his
mission, there is nothing for him to do but to
get the government collection of curiosities
home as soon as possible."

Dave looked somewhat cast down at this
unfavorable report.  Of course, without the
*Swallow* at their service it was useless to
think further of the stolen treasure.

"Well, father," he said, after a long, thoughtful
spell, "just let things rest as they are for
the present.  Only I wish you would warn
Captain Broadbeam to keep close watch over
the *Swallow* and to allow no strangers aboard."

"Why," exclaimed the old diver, "is there danger?"

"In the air and all around us," declared
Dave.  "I don't want to alarm you, father,
and I don't want to say anything further until
I have gone up to the town here."

"Going ashore?" murmured his father, in an
uneasy tone.  "I wouldn't, Dave, if things are
not safe."

"Oh, they will be safe for me, as I shall take
Mr. Stoodles and Bob Vilett along with me.
When I come back, father, I think I shall have
discovered something that will put Captain
Broadbeam on his mettle and open the way
for one more effort to find the fortune we have
been robbed of."

Dave went to the deck again.  He sought
out Stoodles and Bob in turn and told them
he wished them to go to the town with him.
Of the trio the young engineer only was under
ship discipline.  He reported to the
boatswain and was soon ready to join the others.

They rowed down the creek to the ocean in
a small yawl, rounded the coast, and landed
about half a mile from the town.

"I'll just drop my letter to my friends in
New York while I'm in town," observed Pat.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you,
Mr. Stoodles," advised Dave.

"Eh, why not, lad?" asked Pat.

"Just a few steps further and I will tell
you," answered Dave.

He led his companions to a spot where there
were some low rocks and motioned them to be
seated.

"No one can overhear us at this lonely spot,
that is sure," said Dave.  "Now then, my
friends, I want to have a serious confidential
talk with you."

Bob looked curious and Stoodles important.

"Captain Broadbeam is worried and undecided,"
went on Dave, "my father is slightly
discouraged, the crew sullen and discontented
over losing that treasure.  If no one stirs up
something, as we must do--then things will
drop, and we will go back home poorer than
when we started out.  Now, I don't give up
so easily."

"Good boy!" nodded Stoodles approvingly.

"I shall make an effort to trace our stolen
fortune if I have to do it all alone in a canoe."

"If we only knew where it was," said Bob
Vilett.  "That's the trouble, you see, Dave.
It may be thousands of miles away.  It may
be adrift on the ocean.  It may be halfway to
China, or divided up and squandered by that
miserable Hankers crowd."

"No," said Dave, with emphasis.  "I have
pretty good evidence in my possession that
the treasure is safe and sound on the
Windjammers' Island."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A PAIR OF SCHEMERS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IV


.. class:: center medium

   A PAIR OF SCHEMERS

.. vspace:: 2

"The treasure is on the Windjammers'
Island!" exclaimed Bob Vilett.

"Yes," nodded Dave confidently, "I have
every reason to think so."

"Begorra!" cried the Irishman excitedly.
"On my paternal dominions?  On the
principalities of King Patrick Stoodles?  A horse,
my kingdom for a--no, I mane a ship.  Lad,
if the goold those Hankers stole is anywhere
among my subjects, we'll have it back, mind me!"

"Well, let me explain," said Dave, "and
then hear what you have to say.  We three
have shared too many perils and secrets
together, to need to be told that all I tell now is
in strict confidence until we get ready to act."

"Spoke like a lawyer," commented Stoodles.

"Like a friend, you mean," corrected Bob.
"Leave it to smart Dave to work a way out of
a dilemma.  I'm interested and excited, Dave."

"Well, first and foremost," continued Dave,
"do you recognize that picture, Bob?"

Dave handed out the photograph that Adair
had given him on the *Swallow*.

"Why, sure," answered Bob promptly.
"It's a picture of that rascally pilot."

"No, no---I mean the other figure in the
photograph."

"Oh--oh!" said Bob slowly, studying it.
"N-no," he continued, quite as slowly.
"Yes--no.  H'm!  One minute the face looks
familiar, the next it looks strange.  I can't
fix it, although it seems as if I've seen that
man before."

"You have," declared Dave.  "Here, Mr. Stoodles,
you take a try."

"Yes, there's the pilot," announced Stoodles.
"The other is the ould pawnbroker that was
on the *Raven*."

Dave's face grew eager and bright with
satisfaction.

"Good for you," he said.  "I knew I was
right.  Yes, that is the man the Hankers
picked up at San Francisco--a pawnbroker
named Gerstein.  He furnished some of the
money to fit out their ship for the expedition.
Well, my friends, Gerstein, under the false
name of Schmitt-Schmitt, is now on this island."

"Then the *Raven* crowd escaped!" exclaimed Bob.

"I don't know that," answered Dave.  "I
do know that Schmitt-Schmitt appeared here
a few days ago.  He has been trying to engage
a ship to go after a fortune he says he can
find.  Of course it's our treasure."

"The spalpane!  Of coorse it is!" cried
Stoodles excitedly.

"My theory," went on Dave, "is that the
*Raven* was terribly disabled or lost in the
cyclone.  I am also pretty sure that the treasure
was saved.  Perhaps it was already hidden
somewhere on land.  At all events,
Schmitt-Schmitt was in the secret, either as the
partner and emissary of others of the *Raven*
crowd or on his own account.  He managed
to get a small boat afloat, was taken up by a
liner, and landed here.  Now his whole time
is given, as I said, to finding a ship that
will go after a fortune, as he terms it, on
shares."

"Your theory is raisonable, your theory is
right," insisted Stoodles.

"Schmitt-Schmitt," proceeded Dave, "made
friends with the governor here.  He seems to
be staying at the pilot's house.  When the
*Swallow* was sighted he at once reasoned it
out that we had discovered the real contents
of those four boxes, that we might be bound
straight back for the Windjammers' Island.
He induced the pilot to run us onto the
sunken brig in the creek."

"Dave, I believe you've got this matter just
right," said Bob thoughtfully.

"If that is true," continued Dave, "they will
do all they can to delay us.  Who knows but
what this rascally governor and his crew may
intend to take the *Swallow* away from us and
furnish Schmitt-Schmitt with the very means
he wants to go after the treasure, with no
chance of being followed?"

"Dave, have you told Captain Broadbeam
about all this?" inquired Bob anxiously.

"I haven't had the chance.  I learned what
I have told you only in the past hour,"
responded Dave.  "As soon as we return to the
*Swallow*, though, I shall warn him.  I had a
purpose in coming ashore."

"Are we to help you, Dave?" asked Bob.

"All hands must help.  I want to locate the
pilot's house, I want to be sure that this
Schmitt-Schmitt is really there and that he is
the same fellow we knew as Gerstein on the *Raven*."

"That's easy," declared Stoodles.  "The
picture gives us a hint as to the house."

"We will separate so as to excite no notice
or suspicions," directed Dave.  "Let each one
of us find out all he can, and report at this
spot in three hours."

"In three hours be it," nodded Stoodles,
looking very businesslike.

"All right," assented Bob, taking another
good look at the picture of the pilot's house.

Dave allowed his two friends to select their
own course.  Then, when they were out of
sight, he took an independent route.

He surmised that the pilot would probably
live near the water's edge.  In this he found
his calculations correct, and an hour's search
brought some results.

"That is the house," spoke Dave finally,
peering from a clump of thick high bushes.
"Yes, there is the very bench the pilot and
Schmitt-Schmitt sat on when Mr. Adair took
their picture."

Before Dave lay a ground plot of considerable
extent and fairly smothered in luxurious
vegetation, sloping down to the beach.  In its
center was a lone hut, open and rambling, and
having a broad porch that ran clear around it.

It was a typical tropical habitation of the
poorer class.  No one seemed stirring about
the place except far back in the rear.  Here
there was a thick plantation of high resinous
bushes.  One man was feeding these into a
rude grinding mill operated by a big lazy
mule treading in a circle.

Dave stood quietly in his place of concealment
for fully half an hour.  The man drove
his mule away.  The place seemed now
entirely deserted.  However, just as Dave was
about to leave the spot someone came out on
the front porch.

"It's the man.  Yes, sure, it is
Gerstein--Schmitt-Schmitt!" said Dave.

Schmitt-Schmitt was dressed in a thin
linen suit.  He carried a large but light
wicker valise.  This he set down beside a
bench, looked at his watch, then in the
direction of the town, and stretched himself out
lazily in a hammock.

"Looks as if he was going away," mused
Dave, critically analyzing all the movements
of the person he was spying on.  "Looks too
as if he was expecting and waiting for
somebody--probably the pilot."

Dave thought out the situation and its
possibilities for about five minutes.  He
decided to go back to the yawl.  Then he
realized that he would be considerably
interested in hearing what the pilot and his guest
might say when they met.

Schmitt-Schmitt lay with his back to Dave.
On this account, and because of the shelter of
many shrubs and bushes, Dave found it no
task at all to cover the space unnoticed
between his present hiding-place and the porch.

Its floor was nearly two feet from the
ground.  Dave crawled way back under this
open space, got pretty nearly under the
hammock, and lay on his back.  The porch boards
were badly warped and splintered, and he
could look right up at the hammock and its occupant.

At the end of about ten minutes Dave heard
footsteps coming up the graveled walk.  He
turned his eyes sideways and was gratified to
recognize the pilot.

"Whew, this is hot!" ejaculated the owner
of the place, stamping heavily across the
porch and throwing himself into a chair near
the hammock, in which Schmitt-Schmitt now
arose to a sitting posture.  Then the speaker
glanced in the direction of the plantation
where Dave had noticed the treadmill.

"Ah," continued the pilot, with an angry
scowl.  "That lazy rascal has ceased making
the frew-frew?  I will cut him half a day's pay."

"Yes, it is hot," answered his guest.  Each
of the precious twain had a language of his
own, so they compromised on very broken English.

"What you done?" asked Schmitt-Schmitt.
The pilot chuckled and grinned from ear to ear.

"I have undone," he said gleefully.  "Have
I not?  But the governor went too far.  He
charged them prices for repairing the
*Swallow* the captain wouldn't stand, and he is
doing his own repairing."

"He is?" cried Schmitt-Schmitt, in a tone of
alarm.  "He is quick, smart.  He will be off
in twenty-four hours."

"Not at all," declared the pilot calmly.
"You wish him delayed?  Delay it shall be, a
long delay.  Delay after delay.  Only--my
pay must come.  The governor's too.  We are
exceeding the law for you."

"Both of you shall be rich--rich!  As soon
as I get my fortune," promised Schmitt-Schmitt
recklessly.  "Have you found out for
me yet--do they think they have the treasure
aboard the *Swallow*?"

"They have just found out differently, my
spies tell me," said the pilot.

"Then they will go right back to search
for it," declared Schmitt-Schmitt.  "I know
them--plucky fellows, all.  They must be
stopped."

"Fear not.  As I told you," interrupted the
pilot calmly, "that end of it is easy.  I hope
your getting the treasure is as simple."

"Get these fellows out of the way, get me a
ship, and I will show you," said Schmitt-Schmitt
eagerly.

"One thing at a time, then," Dave heard the
pilot say next in order.  "See, my friend."

"A brush, a little bottle of paint?" inquired
Schmitt-Schmitt.

Dave wriggled and twisted his neck to get
a focus on these two articles, which the pilot
held up.  Then the pilot leaned over and said
something to his companion in so low a tone
that Dave could not catch its import.

"Capital, capital, oh, that is just famous!"
gloated Schmitt-Schmitt.  "You have found
the man to experiment on?"

"He will be here to-night."

"And after the stuff is on?"

"Bah--a sponge and some turpentine, and
the patient recovers."

"Good, good!" said Schmitt-Schmitt.  "Yes,
that will indeed delay the *Swallow*.  Now,
listen, my friend: I must not run the risk of
being seen by any of the *Swallow* people."

"No, indeed."

"It would at once give them their cue--my
escape from the Windjammers' Island.  I
have packed my valise, I will disappear for a
few days."

"Excellent.  You will go at once?"

"I think so.  You will remember!  A blue
light, I am sick or in danger.  A red light, I
need provisions."

"Signal any time from ten to twelve.  I
will be on the watch.  If you say so I will
start up the launch at once and take you to
your destination."

"H'm," mused Dave, as double footsteps
sounded the length of the porch.  "Some new
mysterious trick to delay the *Swallow*?
Schmitt-Schmitt going away somewhere?
This is too interesting to miss."

Dave crept out from under the porch.  He
dodged in among some bushes.  Peering
thence he saw Schmitt-Schmitt leading the
way towards the beach, the pilot carrying his
wicker satchel.

Dave did not venture to follow them direct.
He lined the "frew-frew" plantation, and at a
clearing in it near the treadmill cut across it.

From the grinding-mill a rude wooden
trough extended.  This was full of a sticky
resinous mass, and the ground all round was
spattered with the glutinous substance.

"Frew-frew must be a sort of gum or oil
they make from those stalks yonder," decided
Dave.  "The mischief! it's worse than fly paper."

Dave's shoes stuck to broad leaves and
lifted them bodily as he walked; they became
tangled in vines which raised about him like
ropes.  He made an effort to get out of the
direct zone of stickiness.

Dave leaped over the edge of a board where
the wooden trough ran in among tangled vines
and plants.

"Oh, yes!" he gasped.  In an instant, as his
feet struck a soft, giving mass, Dave knew
he was in danger.  Unconsciously he had
landed in the center of an immense cistern--the
storage receptacle for the frew-frew product.

He tried to reach its edge but was held fast.
He struggled to release his limbs but was
pulled back and dragged down.

Dave sank in five seconds to the neck.  His
chin went under.  As he started to yell his
mouth was submerged.  With a last dip
eyesight was shut out and Dave sank under the
sticky mass entirely submerged.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`DOCTOR BARRELL'S "ACCIDENT"`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center medium

   DOCTOR BARRELL'S "ACCIDENT"

.. vspace:: 2

"Begorra!"

That was the first expressive word that
Dave Fearless heard as he realized that he
had been suddenly saved from death by suffocation.

His eyes, mouth, ears, and nostrils were
oozing with the sticky stuff in which he had
taken so dangerous a bath.  The top of his
head seemed coming off.  Dave felt as if he
had been scalped.

Dave was lying on the grass and Stoodles
was working over him, digging and dabbling
with a handkerchief to get the youth's eyes
and mouth clear of the glutinous "frew-frew."

"Sorra a bit too soon was I," said Pat, as
Dave blinked and groaned.  "I've a lock of
your hair for a keepsake, lad!  I saw you go
into that threacherous pit, I threw a plank
across, I grasped your topknot.  It was loike
taking a drowned cat out of glue.  Sit up, if
you can't stand up.  If you let that stuff
harden once, you'll be stiff as a statoo."

Dave tried to arise.  He dragged grass,
dirt, vines, and weeds up with him.  By this
time he could breathe and see.  Stoodles got
a stick and scraped off from his clothes as
much as he could of the adhesive mass that
coated Dave.

"Come on, lad," directed Stoodles, grasping
an arm of his tottering companion.  "It's a
brickdust bath in soft soap you'll be needing.
Acushla! but I stick to you like a brother."

Dave's feet gathered up everything they
came in contact with.  Then, every time he
brushed a bit of foliage, the frew-frew took off
leaves, and he began to look green and picturesque.

"Where is Bob Vilett?" he asked.

"I dunno," answered Stoodles.  "I do know
it was lucky I saw you thrailing the pilot and
that rascally pawnbroker.  If I hadn't you'd
have been a goner, Dave Fearless."

"I guess I should," responded Dave, with a
shudder, and then a grateful look at this
eccentric but loyal friend.  "Where have those
two gone--did you notice, Mr. Stoodles?"

"Only that they set off seaward in a little
launch."

"Get me to the *Swallow*, I have a lot to tell
Captain Broadbeam now."

They lined the beach.  A good many craft
of various kinds were visible in the opening.
All of them were too far distant to enable
Dave to make out which one might contain
the pilot and Schmitt-Schmitt.

When they got to the place of rendezvous
where they had left the ship's yawl, Bob Vilett
was discovered lying on the sand.

"Wandered off on a wrong trail," he
reported; "wasted time and thought I was due
here.  Dave, what have you been into!"

"Frew-frew, I believe they call it, Bob."

"Phew-phew I'd call it," remarked Pat.
"Up with the jibboom and across the briny,
Bob.  If we don't get our friend Fearless into
hot water and soap soon, we'll have to chip off
his coat of mail with chisels."

When they reached the *Swallow* they found
the steamer the center of vast bustle and
industry.  Captain Broadbeam had keeled the
craft and gangs of men were working inside
and outside to repair the breaks in the hull.

The cabins and forecastle were accessible,
but Mike Conners had temporarily removed
cooking headquarters to a tent at the side of
the creek.  Stoodles sought out Mr. Drake, the
boatswain, and explained Dave's dilemma.
They rigged up a canvas bathroom on shore
and supplied it with brushes, two tubs of
boiling suds, and plenty of soap.

It took Dave over an hour to get off the
worst of the villainous frew-frew.  His hair
was the hardest to clean.  Finally he
emerged, fresh and tingling in every nerve from
the vigorous bath.

They had supper ashore and hammocks
were rigged up under the trees.  Captain
Broadbeam set a guard about camp and ship.
About half the crew decided to quit and he
paid them off.  They and curious visitors
from the town were warned to keep away from
the *Swallow*.

About dusk Captain Broadbeam had given
out all necessary orders for the night.

"Well, lad," he said, coming up to Dave and
placing his hand on the youth's shoulder in
his usually friendly way, "I understand you
have something important to tell me."

"Yes, considerable," answered Dave.

"All right.  The others interested must
hear it, too.  We'll hold a council of war in
my cabin."

Dave's father, Doctor Barrell, Stoodles, and
Bob Vilett were invited to accompany the
captain and Dave to the *Swallow*.  The six of
them soon found themselves seated in the
captain's cabin.  It slanted slightly from the
present awkward position of the ship, but
they managed to adjust the stools and settees
comfortably.

"Now then, lad," spoke Captain Broadbeam
to Dave, "my old friend here, your father, has
intimated to me that you have discovered
some things of general interest to all of us."

"I think I have," said Dave.

"Then fire away, my hearty."

Dave began his story with a narration of
the visit to the *Swallow* of the young artist
Adair.  He followed this up with his
discovery of Schmitt-Schmitt, and his overhearing
of the conversation between that worthy
and the treacherous native pilot.

Captain Broadbeam was interested from
the first; when it became apparent from
Dave's clear, logical story that the stolen
treasure was still somewhere in the vicinity of
the Windjammers' Island, the old tar's eyes
glistened and he looked eager and excited.
Then, as Dave told of the evident existence of
a plot to delay, possibly destroy, the *Swallow*,
Captain Broadbeam sprang to his feet.

"Delay me, will they?" he shouted, growing
red of face and blazing with anger.  "Why,
the miserable scum! if they so much as hang
around here I'll fill them with a charge of
pepper and salt.  If I catch them up to any
tricks aboard, I'll swing them from the yardarm."

The doughty old mariner paced the cabin in
a fine rage.  When he had subsided Dave
approached the subject nearest his thoughts.

"Captain," he began, "from what I have
told don't you really think my theories are
right as to the treasure being hidden?"

"I do, lad, I'll admit that," growled the
captain.

"And that this fellow Schmitt-Schmitt is
an emissary of the Hankers and the *Raven*,
looking for a ship to go after the treasure?"

"Mebbe, lad, mebbe."

"Then what is the matter with hurrying up
your repairs and getting back to the
Windjammers' Island before Schmitt-Schmitt?
Don't you see, captain, we are bound to locate
the *Raven* crew, if they are there?"

Captain Broadbeam sank to a stool, bent
his head, and groaned.

"Lad," he said, "I know what you want to
do and what I'd like to do.  It can't be done--no, no."

"Captain," interrupted Amos Fearless, in
an eager, quivering tone, "we are old
friends----"

"Belay there!" roared the veteran tar,
springing to his feet and waving his
ponderous arms like windmills.  "Would ye tempt a
man from his duty who has never yet over-stepped
discipline?  That duty is plain, Amos
Fearless.  This here *Swallow* was sent out to
collect curiosities for the United States
Government.  Those curiosities are duly
collected.  Incidentally I helped you fellows all
I could on the side.  Now it's San Francisco.
Them's my sailing orders.  There's my duty."

"Ochone!" groaned Pat Stoodles, "and
phwat of the foine treasure?"

"I'm out of this hornets' nest here the
minute the *Swallow* is seaworthy," announced
Broadbeam.  "The minute I land at San
Francisco and get my clearance, I'll hark back
to the Windjammers with you if I have to
put all my savings into chartering a ship
specially."

"It will be too late then, captain," murmured
Dave, in a dejected tone.

"Sorry," said the commander of the
*Swallow*.  "I am responsible to the owners.  Why,
friends, if I should step outside of my duty I
am personally liable to a fine that would make
me a ruined man and a pauper."

Dave gave a queer start at this, a quick
color came into his cheek, a quick flicker into
his eyes.  He gazed at Stoodles in an eager,
speculative way.

"One moment, captain, please," he said,
arising and beckoning Stoodles to follow him
from the cabin, "I have just thought of
something important.  I hope you will not decide
finally on this matter until I have had a word
in private with Mr. Stoodles."

"Surely not, lad," nodded the captain, but
in some wonder regarding this peculiar move
on the part of the young fellow he had grown
to like greatly.

Silence fell over the little coterie in the
cabin then.  They could hear the low hum of
voices outside; Dave talking rapidly and
earnestly, and such violent ejaculations from
Stoodles now and then as "Begorra!"  "Luk
at that now!"  "Bedad!" and the like.

When Dave came back into the cabin he
was calm and collected, but Stoodles squirmed
about with a wise, important look on his
moonlike face.

"Captain Broadbeam," said Dave, "I have
just consulted with Mr. Stoodles on a matter
covering his ability to raise a certain sum of
money."

The captain of the *Swallow* grinned.  It
was so ridiculous to think of Stoodles ever
earning or saving a penny that he could not
well help it.

"Yes," announced Pat gravely, "by my royal
authority as king of the Windjammers' Island."

"Nonsense," muttered Captain Broadbeam.

"You will take my word for it, captain,
won't you?" insinuated Dave, in his smooth,
convincing way.  "I can say to you positively
that if you will land Mr. Stoodles among his
former subjects for a single hour, and later
safely at San Francisco, he will be prepared
to pay you five thousand dollars to meet any
fines the owners of the *Swallow* may assess
you for going back there."

"Why, Dave," began Mr. Fearless in
wonderment--but Bob Vilett interrupted.

"If Dave says five thousand dollars, he
means five thousand dollars."

"Remarkable!" commented Doctor Barrell,
surveying Dave in astonishment through his
eyeglasses close-set.

Captain Broadbeam was impressed.  He
studied Dave and Stoodles speculatively.

"How can you possibly get that sum of
money?" he demanded.

"We can," declared Dave positively, "can't
we, Mr. Stoodles?"

"Begorra! and ten if we nade it!" cried
Pat enthusiastically.  "Oh, the broth of a
boy!  It takes my friend Dave Fearless for
brains."

"Of course it is a secret," said Dave.

"A deadly saycret--I mane a close one,"
declared Stoodles.  "I never knew how rich I
was till the lad told me just now."

"Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed Captain Broadbeam,
dismissing the matter with a worried
motion of his hand.  "Money can't count in
this case.  My duty is plain!  I was ordered to
sail for the home port as soon as the government
collection was made.  Doctor Barrell
reported a month ago that he had finished
that collection."

"H'm, just so," observed Doctor Barrell,
"but, my dear sir--ha, a thought.  A moment,
Captain Broadbeam, just a moment."

"Thunder!" whistled Bob Vilett amazedly
in his chum's ear.  "What does that mean
now?"

Dave shook his head in silent wonderment.
Doctor Barrell had winked at them in a quizzical,
encouraging way that was mightily suggestive.

To have the high-class old scientist so far
forget his dignity was a most remarkable thing.

They heard Doctor Barrell stumbling about
in the aft cabin where he had stored some of
the curiosities he had gathered for the government.

Suddenly there was a loud bump followed
by a great clash.  The next minute the doctor
burst into the captain's cabin holding aloft
two cracked and broken specimens of starfish.

"Captain," he cried--"bad accident!  The
collection is incomplete.  See, Captain Broadbeam,
the only specimens of the *Mercuria
stellaticus* we had, destroyed, case tipped over."

The commander of the *Swallow* bestowed a
searching look on the speaker, but was silent.
"They are to be found only at the Windjammers'
Island," went on Doctor Barrell.  "Oh,
dear, dear!  This will, I fear, necessitate a
return to the island."

"Oh, will it?" snorted the captain sarcastically.
"So, you're in the plot, too, to lure me
from my duty, hey, you old conspirator?
Well, you mutinous old humbug, after breaking
your mercurian stellians purposely, you'll
not get me to go a single knot back on the
west course till you sign a paper officially
ordering me to do so as a necessity of the expedition."

"Pen and ink--quick," chuckled Doctor
Barrell.  "Captain," he added pathetically,
indicating their sturdy, loyal companions with
a kindly affectionate wave of his hand, "their
hearts are set on that stolen treasure, rightly
too.  They are our true, good friends.  Honestly,
won't you be glad to help them try and
find it?"

"Shiver my timbers, but you're a set of
conspiring mutineers!" roared the captain
doughtily, but the fierce words were spoken
with a secret chuckle.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE PILOT'S PLOT`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center medium

   THE PILOT'S PLOT

.. vspace:: 2

"Hurrah!" shouted Bob Vilett, tossing his
cap up in the air.

"Don't crow too quickly, Bob," warned
Dave Fearless.  "We're not out of the woods yet."

"And don't you croak," retorted the
sprightly young engineer of the *Swallow*.
"Captain Broadbeam says that by this time
to-morrow we will be on our way to the
Windjammers' Island."

"Yes," nodded Dave significantly, "provided
they let us start."

"Eh, who?" demanded Bob.

"The governor here and the pilot, Schmitt-Schmitt,
the whole crowd, who I am persuaded
are in league to delay us."

"Oh, nonsense," cried Bob airily.  "What
right have they to interfere with our business?"

"What right had they to wreck the
*Swallow*?" inquired Dave pertinently.  "I don't
say they will dare to try to make us any
further trouble, but they have planned to,
that I know, and every one of us must keep
our eyes wide open until we leave Minotaur
Island far to the rear."

For all Dave's misgivings, however, he was
a happy, hopeful boy.  It had been settled
that they should return to the Windjammers'
Island to secure duplicates of the *Mercuria
stellaticus* which Doctor Barrell had disposed
of by accident.

"The royal old trump!" Bob Vilett had
enthused.  "Good-by to that treasure if the
doctor hadn't acted so promptly.  But I say,
Dave, what was that bluff you and Stoodles
worked up about five thousand dollars?"

"No bluff at all, as you call it," declared
Dave seriously.  "A hint from that artist
Adair gave me a fine suggestion.  Stoodles
can easily make five, ten, yes, maybe twenty
thousand dollars if he has a chance to once
more, even for a single hour, regain his
position as king of the Windjammers."

"If I didn't know you so well, Dave
Fearless," said Bob gravely, "I'd say you was
romancing."

"Wait till you see the reality, Bob," advised
Dave, with a confident smile.  "By the way,
about this same secret of Stoodles'--I
must make some purchases in the town to-day."

Just after noon, in pursuance with this
suggestion, Dave was rowed to the town by the
boatswain and two others of the crew of the
*Swallow*.

When he returned he carried two heavy
boxes, storing them safely under lock and key
in the purser's own closet.

The inquisitive Bob tried to pump Stoodles,
but it was of no avail.  Pat looked crafty and
wise, and only muttered some remarks about
his royal prerogative and the like.

By sundown the *Swallow* had been
completely repaired.  She was righted and
cleaned up, and everything put in order for a
run to Mercury Island.  Captain Broadbeam
decided to provision up there.  He was
uneasy every minute he dallied among the tricky
inhabitants of Minotaur Island.

They were short-handed as to a crew, on
account of the desertions of the day previous.
Several natives had applied for work, but the
captain was distrustful of them as spies.

The second mate had several times gone to
the main harbor port in search of English
sailors, but there chanced to be none unemployed
just then.  He did manage, however, to pick
up one recruit.  This was a sickly-looking
white man who called himself Tompkins.  He
was quiet and industrious, and wanted to go
as far as Mercury Island, he said to the captain,
who entered him regularly on the crew's list.

There had been a great ado that afternoon
over maps, charts, and other details pertaining
to a long cruise.  Captain Broadbeam had
engaged Dave in conversation several times
about his discoveries and theories.

Both the captain and Amos Fearless now
believed that Dave had reasoned out matters
concerning the stolen treasure just as they
existed in fact.

They could not hope to gain any specific
information from Schmitt-Schmitt, even if they
learned where he was now keeping himself in
seclusion.

"No," Captain Broadbeam had concluded,
"we won't stir up affairs any further
hereabouts.  We will let the people here believe
that we are going home to the United States.
Schmitt-Schmitt never dreams that we know
of his living here.  His suspicions will be
allayed.  We shall leave a clear field and
probably get to the Windjammers' Island before
he even finds a ship to go in search of the
treasure."

The camp on shore was now broken up and
its temporary equipment moved back to the
*Swallow*.  The work on the steamer was all
in shipshape order by supper time.  The men
had labored diligently, and the captain
ordered an extra-fine meal.

It was an hour of typical comfort.  A brisk
breeze had cooled the air, the sky was bright
and clear, the surroundings picturesque and
beautiful.

Some of the sailors were singing a jaunty
rollicking sea ditty.  Dave and Bob paced the
after-deck full of their plans for the
prospective voyage to begin on the morrow.

"This is certainly life as she is on the ocean
wave," declared Bob enthusiastically.

"I love the smell of the brine, Bob," said
Dave.  "I was born breathing it, and now the
seafaring life seems to be a regular business
proposition with me."

"Good business, if you recover all that
money," observed Bob.

"Look there, Bob," spoke Dave suddenly.

His companion turned.  Facing the coast
end of the creek a gruesome-looking craft with
black funnels, and odd and awkward of shape,
was hovering about the mouth of the little inlet.

"Hello," exclaimed Bob, "that's the government
ironclad.  What's she doing here?"

"Yes," nodded Dave, taking up a telescope
and looking through it, "that's the *Chili*, the
governor's special warship, sure.  They say
she's a poor apology of a craft.  Bought her
second-hand from some English shipyard.
They are putting off a yawl."

"Going to visit us?" inquired Bob.

"It looks that way."

"More trouble?" insinuated Bob.

"More meddling and spying, more like," said Dave.

Both boys watched a natty, well-manned
yawl come spinning up the creek towards the *Swallow*.

The Chilian colors adorned the bow, indicating
an official visit.  A man in military dress
directed the boat.  Beside him sat another of
the governor's aides in semi-official uniform.

Dave called Captain Broadbeam, and all
hands on board the *Swallow* were now
interested in the approaching yawl.

"Colonel José Silverado, from his excellency
the governor," announced the officer in charge
of the yawl as he neared the side of the steamer.

"Coming aboard?" asked Broadbeam, in his
blunt, gruff way.

"On duty, yes," responded the officer, very
politely, but with a covert grin.  "The
governor's physician--Dr. Monterey," added the
officer, indicating his companion.

Captain Broadbeam bowed brusquely, and
with surly and suspicious mien awaited the
further pleasure of the governor's envoy.

The officer glanced keenly all about the
ship.  Then he took a card from his pocket
and scanned it.

"Sorry to trouble you, captain," he said,
"but we have reason to believe that you have a
refugee aboard your ship."

"A refugee?" repeated Broadbeam, with a
start.  "Who is he?"

"Man named Tompkins."

"Why, yes," admitted the captain, "we have
a new man here by that name."

"Will you kindly summon him?  We have
business with him.  That is the man, doctor?"
inquired the officer, as the sickly-looking
fellow employed by the *Swallow* that morning
slipped out from among the crew at a call
from Captain Broadbeam.

"Ah, yes," nodded the governor's physician,
eying Tompkins critically.  "My man, you
are making us a whole heap of trouble, it seems."

Tompkins looked confused and ill at ease,
gazing surlily at the deck.

"What's the matter with him?" demanded
the captain.

"Suspect," announced the officer quickly.
"Came in on a fruit boat a few days ago.  Boat
infected, and this man and the others put in
quarantine.  He got away.  Look him over, doctor."

Monterey stepped up to Tompkins.  He
examined his pulse and his tongue and tapped
him on the chest.  Then he said tersely:

"Strip."

Tompkins pulled off his shirt.  As his
naked back came into view several of the crew
curiously regarding the scene uttered quick,
startled exclamations.

Across the chest, shoulders, and arms of the
suspect, the refugee, were half-a-hundred
purple-black blotches.

"Spotted fever," said the governor's physician,
stepping back as if his task was done and
over with.

"Tut! tut!  Too bad," observed Silverado.
"Captain, I regret to say that this is a quarantine case."

"Eh?  Oh, just so," responded Broadbeam.
"Well, take him to the pesthouse, then."

The officer shook his head slowly.

"Gone too far for that," he said.  "He has
probably infected the others.  Let no man
leave the ship," he called out loudly to some of
the crew who were moving away in the haste
of fright.  "I declare this ship in a state of
quarantine," pursued Silverado, in a tone of
command, producing a document bearing an
official red seal.  "We will send you a yellow
flag, captain, and you will remain here subject
to official orders."

"Quarantined?" cried the captain,
bristling up.  "And for spotted fever?  See here,
colonel, we have a skilled physician on board.
We will move out to sea at once and take our
own risk on this matter."

"Impossible," dissented Silverado, smiling
sweetly, but with the latent malice of triumph
in his undertone.  "Law of the nations--no
right to imperil the general safety.  No,
within two weeks we will give you clearance
if no new cases break out.  Meantime----"

The officer coolly affixed the sealed
document in his hand to the mainmast.

Captain Broadbeam wriggled, fumed,
groaned.  He was too thorough a seaman to
mistake his predicament.  His brow grew
dark and threatening.

"Bob, quick, come here."

With a violent jerk Dave Fearless pulled
his startled chum to one side.

"Quick as you can," he spoke rapidly, "rush
to the purser.  Tell him to instantly send me
up a rag that has been well saturated in turpentine."

"Why, Dave----"

"No questions, no delay," ordered Dave
peremptorily.

Bob shot away on his mission, Dave set his
teeth, breathing hard.  In a flash a sinister
suspicion had arisen in his mind.  Like
lightning memory flew back to the overheard
interview on the porch of the native pilot between
that crafty individual and the tricky Schmitt-Schmitt.

"He said he could delay the *Swallow*, he
hinted at spots, some paint, at washing them
off," mused Dave.  "Good for you.  Hold on."

Dave snatched the rag soaked with turpentine
from Bob Vilett's hands.  He ran forward
now to where his friends were
depressedly watching Tompkins arranging his
shirt to replace it.

Dave made a dash at the man.  He held him
firmly by one shoulder.  With his free hand
he slapped the rag briskly over his bare flesh
to and fro.

Dave's eyes sparkled immediately with the
intensest satisfaction.  One by one the dark
spots on the back of Tompkins began to disappear.

"Captain Broadbeam," cried Dave, pulling
the squirming Tompkins around into full
view, "a paint-trick.  This man has got no
more spotted fever than I have myself."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE MYSTERIOUS JAR`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium

   THE MYSTERIOUS JAR

.. vspace:: 2

Dave Fearless had saved the day.  The
young ocean diver knew this the moment he
glanced at the faces of those about him.

The wretch Tompkins shrank and cowered
in a guilty manner.  The squeamish crew
looked relieved.  The governor's physician
and his military companion affected a
profound astonishment, but secretly were
overwhelmed with confusion and chagrin.

Captain Broadbeam's eyes opened wide in
amazement at the first.  Then as he guessed
it out that a plot against him had been
attempted they blazed with wrath.

"Put that man in irons," he roared out.

"Pardon, captain," interrupted Silverado,
stepping forward, "we will do that.  There is
some grave mistake here."

"Mistake?" shouted Broadbeam.  "Villainy,
a conspiracy.  Why----"

"The governor will investigate this matter
thoroughly," said Silverado.

Dave had glided to the captain's side.  In a
quick undertone he advised him to smother his
wrath for policy's sake.  They allowed their
visitors to hustle Tompkins into their boat.
To the last Silverado wore a suave mask of
forced politeness.

"You vile scum," broke out Broadbeam,
shaking his fist after the departing yawl.
"It's hard to keep the bit between my teeth
and say nothing when I know that all hands
from the governor down are in this dirty plot."

The old salt bestowed an approving look
on Dave and hustled to the forecastle, calling
the crew around him.

"Dave, how did you ever come to think of
it?" marveled Bob Vilett.

"Why, it was simple--putting two and two
together.  I remembered the pilot's talk about
paint," replied Dave.  "Hear that!  Captain
Broadbeam is on his mettle."

Both boys listened to the sonorous voice of
the commander of the *Swallow*.  He was
greatly aroused.  They heard him give orders
to have the entire armament of the *Swallow*
put in active commission.  A stand of rifles
was to be set ready for use.  To Mr. Drake was
delegated the task of furbishing up two old
brass ten-pounders from the hold.

"We sail to-morrow," announced the
captain.  "Look out for tricks to-night.  These
villains won't let us go without meddling
further if they can help it.  My men, I ask
you all to stand by me if there's a scrimmage,
and there will be one if those fellows try to
block my way."

Dave came in for a good deal of attention
from the captain, Doctor Barrell, and his
father, when affairs had quieted down
somewhat.  They all realized that his good memory
and shrewd forethought had saved them a
vexatious delay and no end of further trouble
from the treacherous governor and his cohorts.

"I will be glad when we get clear of the
island to-morrow," said Dave, as Bob turned
in for the night.

It had been a busy, exciting day, and Dave
was glad to have a few moments to himself to
think over affairs in general.

He stretched himself on a heap of canvas in
the shadow of the rear cabin, overlooking the
creek and the beautiful moonlit expanse
stretching out beyond it.

Dave mused, dozed, woke up, and stretched
himself.  He heard the night-watch laughing
and talking in low tones amidships.

"I'll join them, listen to one or two of their
wild yarns, and then turn in for the night
myself," he decided.

Half-arising, however, Dave came to a rigid
pose.  He stared hard beyond the rail and
down into the still waters of the creek.

Everything was so calm and still that the
least sound or movement was vividly distinct
to ear and eye.

Dave's eye had detected a ripple in the quiet
waters.  Then momentarily a human head
had protruded into view.

It bobbed down under water again.  It
came up ten feet nearer to the *Swallow*.  It
disappeared once more, and this seemed to
carry it past the watcher's direct range of
vision.

"Someone, and up to something," declared
Dave to himself.  "Hark, now."

He bent his ear keenly.  A soft drip-drip
sounded just beyond the rail.  Then a black
hand glistening with water clutched the rail
itself.

Slowly, cautiously the body of a dusky
native, attired only in swimming garb, came
into view.  This was the person Dave had
detected swimming under water.

Straddling the rail, the intruder crouched,
looking all about the deck.  Then he lifted
both feet over onto the planking.

Dave now noticed that the man carried
under one arm quite a bulky package done up in
black oilskin.

The intruder glanced sharply at the
forecastle.  Just abutting it was a box-like
section into which all kinds of odds and ends of
canvas and ropes were bundled.  Its door was
half-ajar.  Dave saw the stranger glide to
this, thrust his package inside, glide back to
the rail, slip over it, and drop into the water.

A minute later the ripples in the creek
showed where the fellow was making his
retreat under water.  His head came up to the
surface once or twice.  Then he arose at a
distance down the stream and disappeared among
the dense shrubbery lining the creek.

"More mischief," instantly decided Dave
Fearless.

Dave made a rush for the forecastle cubby
hole.  He pulled its door wide open and
groped about.  His fingers closed about a
dripping object there.

"Hard and heavy," said Dave.  "Wrapped
in the oilskin to protect it.  What can it be?"

Dave arose to his feet.  Suddenly a thrill
passed through his frame.

"Put here for a purpose," he thought.  "Can
it be an explosive!"

Internally Dave became immensely excited.
Coolly, however, though carrying the dubious
object as though it were an egg, he proceeded
to the ship's rail nearest the shore.

Dave set the object gently on the rail,
climbed over, took it up again, and, holding it
above his head in one hand, dropped into the
water.

The splash, slight as it was, aroused the
watch.  Two men came hurrying to the rail.

"Hold on, there," challenged one of them.

"It's only me--Dave Fearless," came the
retort promptly, "cooling off--a little swim,
that's all."

"You pick a fine time for it."

Dave laughed.  He liked water, and swam
with one hand, came ashore, and went past its
fringe of brush to a clearing.

"Now then," said Dave, with a great sigh of
relief, at a safe distance from the ship, "burst,
if you want to!"

Dave had set the object he carried down on
the ground.  He stepped back a few feet and
surveyed it suspiciously.

"A bomb?" he questioned himself.  "How
am I going to find out?  Perhaps it's some
infernal machine loaded with phosphorus.  Then
those villains intended to burn the *Swallow*.
Certainly this means some black mischief."

Dave roamed about till he found a stout
long reed.  Then he began to poke at the
object he had brought from the ship.  He finally
managed to remove its oilskin covering.

"It's a jar, a stone jar," he said, "queer and
foreign-looking, like we get snuff or preserved
ginger in.  Labeled, too, and seals across the
top.  It don't look very dangerous, for all the
sinister way it came aboard."

Dave did not belie his name.  He dallied
with the situation no longer and now took up
the jar fearlessly.

Its label resembled the covering used on a
package of firecrackers.  The seal was of
tin-foil stamped with similar characters in red.

"Chinese, that's sure," thought Dave.
"Shall I risk it?" he questioned himself, his
fingers surrounding the jar cover.

Dave snapped the seal and removed the
cover.  A layer of tissue paper showed.  He
pulled this out.  A dense stench was emitted
by the jar.  He poked his finger down into the
contents.  They were solid and sticky.

"Why," said Dave, a good deal puzzled,
sniffing vigorously, "it's opium."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`OUTWITTING AN ENEMY`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center medium

   OUTWITTING AN ENEMY

.. vspace:: 2

Dave Fearless stood looking over the queer
jar and its contents very thoughtfully.

"Well," he declared at length, "this is a puzzle."

Under ordinary circumstances Dave might
have supposed that some sailor addicted to the
use of opium had hired some emissary to
smuggle some of the drug aboard ship.

This, however, did not look rational in the
present case.  In the first place the contents
of the jar represented over a year's pay of the
average sailor.  In the next place it was too
easy to get it aboard by ordinary methods to
occasion all this mystery.

Of course Dave at once decided that the
placing of the opium in the forecastle cubby-hole
was part and parcel of the same plot that
had nearly wrecked the *Swallow*, that later
just that day had developed the unsuccessful
attempt at quarantining the steamer.

"What's the motive in this latest trick?"
mused Dave.  "Aha!" he exclaimed suddenly,
"have I guessed it right?"

A quick suspicion, a prompt suggestion
came to Dave's mind.  He was speedy to act.

"I think I've struck the clew," he said--"I
think I'm acting right in this matter."

Dave, carrying the jar with him, wandered
about till he found a decayed tree stump.  He
emptied the opium into a hole in the wood and
covered it over with bark.

Dave scraped the jar and made a little ball
of the leavings, a sample of the stuff he might
need for later experience and evidence.

This he did up in a piece of paper, shoving
it in a safe pocket.  He washed out the jar
thoroughly.  Then he wandered about studying
the branches of various trees under which
he passed.  Several of these Dave ascended
like a boy bird's-nesting.

He was quite a long time in one tree-top.
When he descended to the ground he had the
cover firmly attached to the jar, which he
carried as if extremely careful of its contents.

"If I am guessing things out right," said
Dave, with a kind of satisfied chuckle, "I think
we shall give our enemies quite a novel surprise."

Dave swam back to the steamer.  Arrived
on deck he placed the jar just where he
had originally found it.  Then he went to bed.

He overslept himself next morning.  The
ship was a scene of bustle and activity.  When
he came up on deck, every member of the crew
proper was busy, even Bob Vilett.

So Dave found no opportunity to make a
confidant of his special chum, even had that
been his desire or intention.

At nine o'clock Captain Broadbeam
announced that all was ready for their
departure, and ordered steam up.

Within thirty minutes of getting under
way the boatswain hurried from the bow to
where the captain was standing amidships.

"Coming again, sir," he announced, touching
the peak of his cap respectfully.

"Who's coming?" demanded Broadbeam.

"Those buzzards--same gang in the
longboat that was here last night."

"Humph!" growled the captain, gazing
stormily at a yawl just rounded from open
water into the mouth of the creek.

The approaching craft was directed by the
plausible Silverado.  Smiling as ever he came
on board, three men with him.

"From his excellency the governor," he said.

"Yes, yes," answered Captain Broadbeam
crossly; "I know all that rigmarole.  What
do you want?"

"A complaint, captain."

"Who from?"

"I do not know."

"What about?"

"Contraband goods--smuggling."

Captain Broadbeam laughed in the officer's
face outright.

"Guess not," he said.  "I reckon, my friend,
about all we will take away from Minotaur
Island will be a mighty poor opinion of its
inhabitants."

"Oh, I trust not," the polite official hastened
to say, but added tersely: "We must make a
search."

"What for?"

"I have told you--contraband goods.  We
are having a good deal of trouble in this line.
Ships touching here make the island a sort of
clearing house for dutiable imports and
exports.  Our governor's high sense of honor
demands extreme vigilance and discipline.  We
are authorized to make a search."

"Search away," cried Broadbeam
indifferently, but with some show of mental irritation.

Silverado and his aids went into the hold.
They made a great pretense of looking through
the lockers in the cabins.

"Well?" demanded the captain of the
*Swallow* as they came on deck again, "found any
smuggled goods?"

"None," reported Silverado promptly--"none,
I am pleased to say."

"Then you give us a clean sheet on health
and cargo, do you?" said Broadbeam.  "Reason
I ask, is that we are going to swing out of
harbor soon as you get through with your
tomfoolery."

Just here one of the officer's assistants came
up and whispered in the ear of his superior.
He pointed at the forecastle.

"Yes, yes," nodded Silverado, "take a look
there, and be thorough."

"Getting warm!" chuckled Dave to himself--"the
precious hypocrites!"

The man went into the forecastle and came
out again.  He looked into the water barrel.
He lifted some box covers.  Just as Dave
guessed he would do, he kept up all this wise
pretense until he landed up against the
forecastle cubby-hole.

"I have found something," he announced,
after groping in the hole.  He had brought
forth the stone jar.

"Ah, what is this?" spoke the officer.
"Captain," he added, assuming great sudden
gravity as he inspected the jar, "this looks
pretty serious."

"Well, what's the mare's nest now?" petulantly
demanded Broadbeam.

The officer held up the jar in plain view.

"It is what we expected to find," he
announced severely.  "It is opium.  We know
that last week a tramp steamer landed a lot of
the stuff on the island.  The labels show that
this is part of the same contraband cargo.  I
declare this package and the *Swallow* under
confiscation, and arrest you.  You must come
to the governor."

"Oh, that so?" slowly spoke Captain
Broadbeam, his shoulders hunching dangerously.
"I never saw that jar before, and, shiver my
timbers!" roared the incensed old captain,
shaking his fist vigorously under Silverado's
nose, "I don't know the stuff is opium."

"Oh, yes, captain," insisted the officer.
"The labels are unmistakable.  Look for yourself.  Ough!"

With smart-Aleck readiness the suave
Silverado untwisted the jar cover.  With a
sharp cry he dropped it.  In a cloud, a stream,
there instantly darted out from the receptacle
an angry procession of hornets.

They lit on those nearest to the jar, the
officer and his assistants.  One of his aides
was a special target.  The poor fellow ran to
the side to escape them.  He set up renewed
yells as they stuck, pestered, and stung.  Then,
splash! he took a reckless header into the
waters of the creek to escape his pertinacious
tormentors.

Silverado lost all his usual calm dignity
trying to evade the little pests.  He bit his
lips and scowled as the captain faced him with
a loud derisive guffaw.

"Here, take away your contraband goods
with you," shouted Broadbeam, dropping jar
and cover into the yawl, as the official hastily
descended into it, a crestfallen look on his
face.  "Ready, there," he added to the
boatswain.  "Steam up."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Captain Broadbeam stepped to the little
pilot house.  He touched an electric button.

Dave watched the maneuver with a glowing
face.  He was full of the successful guess he
had made concerning the planted opium, but
he did not try to explain that just then.

The jar of the starting steam below
communicated a vibrating thrill to his nerves.
Dave ran up to Amos Fearless as the veteran
diver crossed the deck.

"Good news, father!" cried Dave gayly,
"We've started."

"Hey and hallo for me paternal dominions--once
more for the Windjammers' Island and
the stolen threasure!" shouted Pat Stoodles,
cutting a caper.

"Will we find it, I wonder?" sighed the old
diver thoughtfully.

"I think we shall, father," answered Dave
Fearless, with confidence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A BOLD PROJECT`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium

   A BOLD PROJECT

.. vspace:: 2

The *Swallow* cleared her moorings in the
creek on Minotaur Island, and steamed out
into the broad waters of the bay, a thing of
life and beauty.

"And what's that for now?" asked Pat
Stoodles of Dave, who was watching their
progress and the coastline with great interest.

"I see," nodded Dave.  "You mean the longboat
from the governor?"

"That same, lad.  Luk at 'em, now.  Ever
since we came into open wather they've been
tearing along for the town like mad.  Aha,
there goes one of those measly marines overboard."

Dave ran for a telescope.  He viewed the
government boat with a good deal of curiosity.

The official, Silverado, stood up in the stern
gesticulating with energy, and evidently
inciting his men to their best efforts at the oars.

"In a hurry to reach town, it seems," muttered Pat.

"In a tremendous hurry," said Dave.  "So
much so, that one of the men has leaped
overboard, waded ashore, and is making a
lickety-switch run across lots for the town."

Dave went at once to Captain Broadbeam
and apprized him of the maneuvers of their
recent visitors.

"That's all right, lad," chuckled the old
mariner.  "Let 'em squirm.  We're safe out
of their clutches."

"Not so safe," spoke Dave to his father,
half an hour later.  "Look there."

The officer Silverado had seemingly got
word to the governor of the departure of the
*Swallow*.  A few minutes after the longboat
had disappeared around a neck of land, the
ironclad gunboat hove into view.

She was a saucy, spiteful little craft and a
fast runner.  She was headed direct for the
*Swallow*.

"Are they coming for us, captain?" inquired
Amos Fearless, somewhat anxiously.

"I hope not, for their own sakes," muttered
Broadbeam quickly.  Then he shouted some
orders down the tube and the *Swallow* made a
spurt.

"Running away?" said Pat Stoodles.
"Shure, if I was in command I'd sthand and
give her one or two good welts."

"Captain Broadbeam knows his business,
Mr. Stoodles," declared Dave; "you can
always count on that."

Far out in the bay were a group of sandbars
and several small wooded islands.  The
*Swallow* was headed for the largest of these islets.
The gunboat swung a challenge signal to
which the *Swallow* made no reply.

Then, just as the steamer, pursuant to her
captain's orders, began to slow up, the
ironclad fired a gun.

"Give them their walking papers, Mr. Drake,"
rang out Broadbeam to the boatswain.

The latter ran up a signal flag.  This
signified that the *Swallow* announced herself
two-and-one-half miles from shore, and therefore
out of the jurisdiction of Minotaur Island,
claiming the freedom of neutral waters.

"That'll hold her for a while," gloated
Stoodles.  "Aha! ye'll have to take back
wather now."

The gunboat reminded Dave of some spiteful
being cheated out of its prey.  She circled,
spit steam, and went more slowly back to port.

Captain Broadbeam now ordered the
*Swallow* just without the shoal line of a big sandy
island they had neared.  Here they came to
anchor.

Bob Vilett came up on deck reeking with
the steam and grease of the engine room.

"What's the programme, Bob?" asked Dave.

"Captain says we are going to stop here and
take on ballast."

"For how long?"

"Till to-morrow, I reckon.  I say, Dave,
you've got your heart's desire, eh?"

"I am the happiest boy living," answered
the young diver.  "Something tells me we are
going to get and enjoy that treasure after all
mishaps and disappointments."

In order to repair the *Swallow* in the creek,
the ballast had been taken out and the
contents of the hold generally shifted about.

Now the captain set his men at work to take
on new sand ballast from the island and get
things in the hold in regular order.

A pulley cable was run ashore.  Dave and
Bob were the first to take an aerial spin along
this, dangling from the big iron kettle that
ran down the incline.

Dave had told Captain Broadbeam and the
others of his agency in the matter of substituting
the hornets for the opium.  The recital
had made the captain good-natured, and he
had given the boys permission to rove over the
sand island at will for the day.

Dave and Bob put in a pleasant hour or two
talking, fishing, and discussing the probable
adventures that would greet them when they
again visited the Windjammers' Island.

At about five o'clock in the afternoon the
work of securing ballast was completed.  The
captain then announced that there was some
work still to do in the hold.  They would make
their real start with daylight.

Dave and Bob were taking a last swim in
the cool of the day.  A clear sky and a fine
breeze made the exercise delightful.  Finally
they got daring one another.  Dave swam to
the little sand islet next to the large one.  Bob
beat him in a race to the third of the group.

"Come on, if you've got the nerve," hailed
Dave, making a quarter-mile dash for a sand
mound still beyond them.

Bob started, but turned back.  Dave made
port and threw himself on the dry sand to
rest.  He got back his breath and sat up ready
to take the home course, when his eye was
attracted to something on an island about a
furlong beyond the one he was on.

This was the nearest of the wooded islands.
Dave had not noticed it much before.  What
made him notice it now was that, half-hidden
in a great growth of bushes and vines, he
noticed a small log hut.

In front of this a mast ran up into the air.
At the moment that Dave looked he saw a man
fumbling at the lines along this mast.  It was
to raise a blue bunting.

"Hello, hello," murmured Dave slowly,
staring hard and thinking desperately fast.
"Why, that's easy to guess.  That man is
Schmitt-Schmitt."

Dave could not precisely recognize the man
at such a distance, but felt sure that it was
Schmitt-Schmitt.  He thought this the more
positively as he saw that piece of blue bunting
run up the mast.

"That was one of the signals I heard
Schmitt-Schmitt tell the pilot about," mused
Dave.  "Red for provisions, blue for sickness
or help wanted.  Lantern at night, bunting
by day.  That's it, sure.  He is signaling the
pilot.  That island is Schmitt-Schmitt's place
of hiding.  Say, here's something to think
about."

Dave did not stay long to think about it.
His eyes brightened and he seemed moved by
some inspiriting idea as he jumped into the
water and was soon back in the company of
his chum, Bob Vilett.

Dave was quite silent and meditative till
they had reached the big sandy island.
Arrived there, he slowly dressed himself.

"Come on, I'm hungry as a bear--don't
want to miss a good supper, Dave," hailed
Bob, starting for the *Swallow*.

"Hold on!" challenged Dave.  "I want to
tell you something before we go aboard."

"Fire away," directed Bob.

"Can you manage to get off duty about dusk?"

"There's nothing for me to do till we steam
up again," replied Bob.  "Why?"

"Can we get one of the small boats for an
hour or two, do you think?"

Bob shook his head negatively.

"Heard the captain shut down on the chance
of anybody sneaking to town and making more
trouble.  No, it can't be done, unless the
captain gives special orders.  Why?" pressed
Bob curiously.

"I don't want to tell the captain what I am
up to till I accomplish something," explained
Dave.  "I'll tell you, though, for you've got
to help me."

"All right, Dave," piped Bob readily.

"We must rig up some kind of a craft to
reach the first wooded island."

"What for?"

"Schmitt-Schmitt is in hiding there."

"Aha, I see!" cried Bob excitedly.

"I propose," said Dave deliberately, "that
we visit him, capture him, and bring on board
the *Swallow*--as a prisoner--the only man
probably who can guide us straight to that
stolen treasure."

"Famous!" cried Bob Vilett enthusiastically--"but
can we do it?"

"Let's try it, anyhow," answered Dave Fearless.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE WOODED ISLAND`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center medium

   THE WOODED ISLAND

.. vspace:: 2

Captain Broadbeam gave pretty strict
orders at dusk.  A watch was set with
directions to allow no one to leave the *Swallow*.
All the small boats were chained stoutly.

"We'll have to defer going ashore, or report
our plans to the captain," said Bob Vilett
about eight o'clock, coming up on deck with a
wry face.  He was in overalls and his hands
covered with oil.  "No go, Dave," he reported.

"You mean you can't join me?" asked Dave,
in disappointment.

"That's it, Dave.  There's work till twelve.
I've got to stay.  Say, why don't you tell the
captain your idea and have him send men and
a boat after Schmitt-Schmitt?"

"No," said Dave, "Captain Broadbeam
wouldn't entertain the project for a moment.
He is a first-class captain, but hint at
anything outside of his ship, and he won't take
the risk."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Try it alone."

"Be careful, Dave.  Don't undertake too
much.  You can never manage Schmitt-Schmitt
alone.  Why don't you impress Stoodles into
service?"

"Mr. Stoodles is willing enough," answered
Dave, "but he might bungle.  It will be all I
can do to get off the *Swallow* alone."

Dave managed this, however, a little later,
without discovery.  Once on the sand flat, he
dragged some planks and ropes the ballast
crew had left there to the other side of the
island.  Dave constructed quite a raft and
pushed it into the water.  Swimming, he
propelled it before him.  Within half an hour he
was on the wooded island.

The first thing that caught his eye was a
blue light strung from a tree at the end of the
island nearer the town.  Here there was a
favorable natural landing-place.

"The bunting signal didn't attract attention,"
reasoned Dave, "so Schmitt-Schmitt has
tried the lantern.  Wonder if he is at the hut?
I'll work my way around that direction and
find out."

Dave had the bold idea in mind of capturing
this man.  As he went along he thought of
plan after plan.  If he could get Schmitt-Schmitt
helpless in his power, he could
convey him to the *Swallow* on the raft.

"The very thing," said Dave gladly, as he
neared the vicinity of the hut.  Lying across
the top of some bushes was a fishing net.  It
had long rope ends.  Dave with his pocket
knife cut these off and thrust them in his pocket.

"Hey, what are you up to there?"

Dave thrilled at the sharp call, and turned
quickly to face his challenger.

It was Schmitt-Schmitt.  He had abruptly
emerged from the greenery surrounding the
hut.  He carried a big cudgel, and as the clear
moonlight revealed the face of the intruder
plainly he uttered a quick gasp.

"Ha, I know you!" cried Schmitt-Schmitt,
advancing with a scowling face.

"It seems so," answered Dave coolly,
cautiously retreating.  "You are Mr. Gerstein."

"No, you don't!" spoke the man, with a
speedy leap forward.

Dave dodged, but not soon enough.  The
cudgel came down directly on top of his head.
He saw stars, sank flat, and knew no more for
fully five minutes.

Then, his lower limbs wound round and
round with ropes, he struggled upon the floor
of a hut.

At a table on which burned a candle sat
Schmitt-Schmitt.  He had just opened a
bottle of lime juice and was about to pour some
of its contents into a glass to refresh himself.

He suspended operations, however, as Dave
struggled to an upright position, attracting
his attention.

"Well," he spoke with a coarse chuckle,
"how did that wallop suit you?"

Dave rubbed his sore head and made a wry grimace.

"You don't treat visitors very politely, do
you?" he said.

"You're a spy, you are," spoke Gerstein
sullenly, "and don't you deny it.  I know you.
Now then, what brought you here?"

"What brought you?" retorted Dave.

"Don't you get saucy," warned
Schmitt-Schmitt.  "All along you did the big things
that were done in baffling the Hankers.  I
hear, too, you have been pretty smart with
your tricks since you came to Minotaur Island."

"Of course I've been trying to do all I could
to protect my rights," said Dave.  "I knew
you were in hiding here."

"Ha! eh?" exclaimed Schmitt-Schmitt,
pricking up his ears.  "How did you know that?"

"Oh, we have kept track of you," answered
Dave lightly.  "As soon as we found you were
back of the governor and the pilot in
bothering us, we naturally watched you."

Schmitt-Schmitt stared in stupefaction at Dave.

"Knew it, did you?" he muttered.

"Of course we did.  We knew what you
were up to.  Now I can tell you, Mr. Gerstein,
you will never get that treasure away from the
Windjammers' Island, no matter how hard
you try."

"Treasure!  The Windjammers' Island!"
gasped the man.  "How--when--where--the--the
treasure was lost at sea."

"Not a bit of it, as you and I both know,"
asserted Dave blithely, reading in the
confusion and excitement of the man a
confirmation of his suspicions.  "I say the *Swallow*,
with or without me, sails in search of that
treasure at daylight.  Come, sir, you have
gone in with a measly crowd who will only rob
you in the end.  Come to Captain Broadbeam,
save us the trouble of a long search, and my
father will pay you all right."

Schmitt-Schmitt got up and paced the floor.
He seemed thinking over what Dave had
suggested.  His face, however, gradually resumed
its customary ferocity and cunning.

"No," he said finally, striking the table with
his fist and taking in his captive's helpless
situation with a good deal of satisfaction.  "I
have the upper hand.  I keep it."

"What upper hand?" asked Dave.

"You are my prisoner.  Soon the pilot will
be here in response to my signal with his
launch.  I will take you to the island with
me.  I will hide you.  They will not get along
so grandly without you.  They will delay to
search for you, and delay is all I ask.  Yes,
yes, that is the programme."

Some whistles from craft in the bay echoed
out.  Schmitt-Schmitt went outside, apparently
to see if some answer was coming to his signal.

"I am in it--deep," mused Dave.  "Pshaw!
I hate to think I shall delay and bother
Captain Broadbeam."

Dave found that the ropes securing him
were not very tightly arranged.  They had
been drawn to a loop about his waist and
caught with snap and hook behind.

"If I had time I could work loose," he
thought.  "I have not time, so I suppose I
must wait meekly and take what comes to me.
Oh, by the way--that's an idea!"

The "idea" in question was suggested by a
glance at the bottle and glass on the table.
Dave's eyes sparkled.  He fumbled under the
ropes and brought out wrapped up in a
fragment of paper the sample of opium he had
discovered the night previous.

Frog-like he began hitching himself across
the floor.  Dave kept his eye anxiously fixed
on the open doorway.  He got to the table,
reached up, dropped some grains of the drug
into the glass there, and nimbly as he
could hitched his way back to his former
position.

Two minutes later Schmitt-Schmitt
reappeared.  He went at once to the table,
poured out a drink, settled back in his chair,
and said complacently:

"My friend will soon be here.  Do your
friends also know I am here?"

"Oh, dear, you mustn't expect me to tell any
secrets to a fellow who won't join in with us,"
said Dave.

"Maybe after a little solitude you will be
willing to talk," observed Schmitt-Schmitt
meaningly.

"All right--we'll see," said Dave, with
affected unconcern.

Dave's eyes sparkled as Schmitt-Schmitt
began to blink.  He was delighted as the man
fell back drowsily in the chair.

"Now's my chance," said Dave, as a prolonged
snore announced the complete subjugation
of Schmitt-Schmitt to the influence of the
drug.

Dave did some brisk moving about.  He
managed to get to a cupboard.  He could not
reach his own pocket knife.  In the cupboard
he found a case knife and set at work sawing
away the ropes that bound him.

He laughed at his rare success, as stretching
his cramped limbs he went outside for a moment.

"I don't want to delay," he thought.  "That
signal may bring the pilot at any moment, and
that means two to handle instead of one.
This is just famous.  Better than I planned
out.  How shall I get Schmitt-Schmitt to the raft?"

Dave found an old wicker mattress on the
rude porch of the hut.  It had rope ends to
attach as a hammock.  He took the precaution
to tie Schmitt-Schmitt's wrists and ankles
together with ropes.

Then Dave dragged the insensible man from
his chair across the floor and let him down flat
on the wicker mattress.

It required all his strength to pull this drag
and its burden the two hundred feet required
down the beach.

"The mischief!" cried Dave, as, panting, he
reached the spot where he had left the rudely
improvised raft.

It was nowhere in sight, and he readily
surmised that he had carelessly left it too near
the surf, which had carried it away.

"Whatever am I to do now?" thought Dave.
"I can't swim to the *Swallow* with this man.
I must find the material for a new raft.
Pshaw! there's a call to time."

Dave glanced keenly seawards.  Then with
due haste he dragged mattress and burden
back into the brush out of sight.

Peering thence, he watched a little launch
making for the wooded island at the point
where the blue signal shone.

"The pilot, of course," said Dave.  "He has
come to see his friend.  What will he do when
he fails to find him?"

With some anxiety Dave Fearless watched
the little launch come nearer and nearer to
the wooded island.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A RACE FOR LIFE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium

   A RACE FOR LIFE

.. vspace:: 2

"Yes, it is the pilot," said Dave to himself,
as the launch drove directly into the little
natural landing-place where the blue lantern
swung.

Dave peered from his bushy covert and
closely watched the maneuvers of its occupant.

The pilot ran the nose of the craft well into
the sand, shut off the power, and leaped
ashore.

Dave saw him take up a basket and watched
him depart for the hut.  As soon as some
trees shut him out from view Dave leaped on
board of the launch.

A momentary inspection of the operating
lever and steering gear told Dave that he
could easily navigate the boat.

"I must lose no time," he thought.  "My
only chance of getting away with Schmitt-Schmitt
is in taking the launch."

Dave forthwith dragged his unconscious
captive to the launch.  It was no easy task to
get that bulky individual aboard.  Dave
accomplished it, however, and then paused to
catch his breath and wipe the perspiration
from his face.

"Hi! hi! hi!"

A ringing yell, or rather three of them,
uttered in rapid and startling succession, made
Dave turn with a shock.

Looking down the beach, he saw the pilot
running towards him at full speed.  The
latter had evidently visited the hut, had found it
vacated, and coming out to look for his
missing friend, had discovered the launch in the
hands of a stranger.

Dave made no reply.  He sprang to the
little lever, reversing it, and the launch slid
promptly back into the water.  Swinging the
steering gear south, Dave turned on full
power.

"Stop.  I'll shoot--stop! stop!" panted the
pilot, gaining on Dave with prodigious 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 a quick glance
backward.  The pilot, coming to a standstill, was
firing at him from a revolver.

Dave saw a point of refuge ahead.  This
was a broken irregular wooded stretch,
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 in crossing the
stretch lying between them, as it was marshy
in spots.  Dave lined the shore farther on,
feeling pretty proud of the success of his
single-handed enterprise.

"Why," he mused, "we have the game in our
own hands completely now.  I wonder what
father and Captain Broadbeam will say to all
this.  Of course they won't fancy such a guest
as Schmitt-Schmitt, but they must see how
holding him a harmless captive helps our plans."

Dave made a sweep with the launch to edge
the rounding end of the island.  Here it
narrowed to about two hundred feet.  It would
now be a straight 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 the ironclad.  In that
clear moonlight everything was plain as in
daylight.  Dave could see the people on board
the gunboat, and they could see him--without
doubt.

In fact, someone in uniform leaned over the
bow of the ironclad in his direction.  Dave
caught an indistinct hail.  He paid no
attention to it.

He acted with the precipitancy of a school
fugitive running away from a truant officer.
He saw just one chance to evade an unpleasant
overhauling by the ironclad, and took it.

This was to instantly steer to the north and
shoot down the narrow neck of water lying
between the wooded island and the nearest sand
island.

Dave knew that this channel must be quite
shallow.  He doubted if the cumbersome
iron-clad could navigate it.  Even if it tried to, it
would be some minutes before its crew could
swing around into position to make the chase.

The launch took the channel like an arrow.
Dave's spirits rose high, notwithstanding some
loud and quite peremptory hails from the
direction of the gunboat.

"Better than before," soliloquized Dave.  "I
can swing around the sandbars directly to the
anchorage of the *Swallow*."

Glancing back, Dave saw that the gunboat
did not intend to follow the course 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 some bushes on the
wooded island, there were two sharp flashes
and reports.  One bullet whizzed past his
head, the second plowed a furrow across his
forearm.  It was not deep, but the wound
bled, and the surprise and shock sent Dave
over backwards.

The worst of it was that he jerked the lever,
and this, turning the launch, sent its nose
directly into shore, and there the boat stuck,
vibrating with the impact of the still working
machinery.  The pilot instantly ran from
cover towards the boat, flourishing the weapon
in his hand.  He had crossed the island,
it seemed, to head off the launch, and it looked
as though Dave was doomed to disaster in his
present enterprise.

Dave scrambled to get back to the lever, and
reverse the launch.  As he did so his hand
touched something lying upon straps at the
side of the seat pit.

It was a rifle.  Dave seized it, jerked it and
its fastenings free, and extended it directly at
the running figure ashore.

"Get back," he shouted.  "Drop that pistol,
Mr. Pilot, or there will be trouble."

The pilot, with a howl of rage, halted short.
He flung the revolver down.  Dave guessed
that it was now empty.

As Dave touched the lever and got out into
the channel again, he saw the pilot running
back along the beach.  He was headed for the
end of the island in the direction of the
ironclad, and yelling out some information 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 fine spirits.  It was a clear
run now past the two outer sand islands, and
a half-mile turn would bring him to the
*Swallow*.

He proceeded more leisurely now, for it did
not seem possible that the ironclad could
make the opposite circuit in time to head him
off.  Where the sand hills dropped, however,
Dave had a view across the two next islands.

"They are after me," he exclaimed.  "The
pilot has advised them of the real state of
affairs, and it's a sharp run.  Full power--go!"

Dave had made out the gunboat whizzing
down the channel between the two outer sand
islands.  She was forcing full speed.  It was
a question whether the gunboat would not
emerge first into the open sea and block his
course.

Dave put on power that made the little
launch strain and quiver from stem to stern.
He was terribly excited and anxious.  His
breath came in quick 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 her outlet.  The
ironclad swung out after him not one minute later.

The launch fairly skimmed the water.  The
ironclad loomed portentously near, 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 a condition 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 his insensible captive.

Dave regarded the damage done with grave
dismay--the stern had sunk and the 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 and going down.
Dave never let go his grasp on the lever.  He
held firmly to the last notch in the indicator.

As he turned the end of the last sand island,
the maneuver made the launch wabble.  Just
here a second gun was fired from the ironclad.
The shot went far wide of its intended mark,
but a vital alarm urged Dave to change his
course.

The launch went sideways, and a sudden
inrush of water sunk her to the middle.  Dave
headed for shore.  There the launch struck, a
wreck.

Down the shore lay the *Swallow*.  Active
lights were bobbing about her deck, 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-submerged launch.
He dragged his captive to the beach, then he
took a look at the gunboat.

"Why," exclaimed Dave, in mingled astonishment
and satisfaction, "she's grounded."

Apparently the ironclad had struck some
treacherous sandbar over which the 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 get him to the
*Swallow*.  But how?

The pit crate of the launch had floated up
as the craft filled with water.  Dave waded to
it, pulled it ashore, and rolled Schmitt-Schmitt
across 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.  There was no
pursuit.  More hopefully and nearer and nearer
he approached the *Swallow*.  With a kind of
a faint cheer Dave hailed her as he came
within hearing distance.

"Ahoy, there!" rang back Captain Broadbeam's
foghorn voice, as he gazed down 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?  Lower away there,
men.  Two of you, eh?  What! that rascally
pawnbroker, Gerstein!" fairly yelled the
captain, as by stages Dave and his captive came
nearer, were helped by the crew, and now
gained the deck of the *Swallow*.

"Yes, Captain Broadbeam," nodded the
nearly exhausted Dave.  "The gunboat--after
us--suggest you get away--at
once--excuse--weak and dizzy----"

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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`OVERBOARD`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center medium

   OVERBOARD

.. vspace:: 2

"What does he say, Captain Broadbeam?"
asked Dave Fearless.

"Mum as an oyster, lad."

"Won't talk, eh?" remarked Dave's father.
"Nothing come of giving him free board, and
after all the trouble you had, Dave, in getting
him onto the *Swallow*."

"You forget, father," reminded Dave, "it is
one enemy the less to worry about."

"The lad's right," declared Captain Broadbeam.
"It means a good deal to clip the wings
of the main mover in this scheme against us.
If Gerstein, or Sehmitt-Schmitt as he calls
himself, won't do us any good, at least he can
do us no harm as long as we hold him a
prisoner.  I reckon those fellows back at Minotaur
Island are a little dazed at the slick way we
disappeared,--ship, their crony, and all."

Bob Vilett, seated in the cabin with the
others, laughed heartily.

"It was a big move and a good one, that of
yours in capturing this rascal," he declared to
Dave.  "Now we certainly have the field to
ourselves.  The governor and the pilot can't
follow us, for they don't know where we have
gone.  No one is on this treasure search
except ourselves.  It's a clear field, as I say."

"Until we reach the Windjammers' Island,"
suggested Dave.  "I wouldn't wonder if
Gerstein had left Captain Nesik and the others
there, probably guarding the treasure while
awaiting his return."

The *Swallow* had got away from the vicinity
of Minotaur Island two days previous.  Just
as soon as, after his exciting capture of
Gerstein, Dave had sufficiently recovered to
explain matters to Captain Broadbeam, the
latter had ordered on full steam, leaving the
ironclad stuck on the sandbar.

Gerstein raved like a madman when the
drug Dave had given him began to lose its
effect.  He threatened all kinds of things--the
law, for one, for kidnapping--but Captain
Broadbeam only laughed at him.

"Just one word, my hearty," he observed
spicily.  "As long as you behave yourself,
outside of every man aboard having his eye on
you to look out for tricks, you'll have bed and
food with the best of us.  Try any didos,
though, and I clap you into irons--understand?"

Gerstein became at once sullen and silent.
When he came on deck after that he spoke to
nobody.  Most of the time he remained shut
up by himself in the little cabin apportioned
to him.

The second day out Captain Broadbeam
sought an interview with him.  It was after a
talk with Amos Fearless.

He offered Gerstein a liberal share of the
treasure if he would divulge its whereabouts
and tell what had become of the *Raven* and
her crew.

Gerstein declined to say a word.  He simply
regarded the captain in a mocking, insolent
way.  It was evident that the fellow
appreciated the full value of his knowledge
concerning the treasure.

"He's counting on getting away from us
somehow, before the cruise is over," reported
Captain Broadbeam to his friends, "or he is
taking chances on our running into a nest of
his friends when we reach the Windjammers'
Island."

The *Swallow* had a delightful run to
Mercury Island.  Before they reached it Gerstein
was placed in the hold, and there closely
guarded by two mariners until they had
provisioned up and were once more on their way.

Dave had little to do except to wait the end
of their cruise, yet he put in some busy hours.
For three days he kept Stoodles at his side at
the table in the captain's cabin, questioning
him on every detail about the lay and outlines
of the island they were sailing to.  Then he
made a chart of the island, and as near as
possible from memory marked in the other
island where they had recovered possession of
the *Swallow* after it had been stranded during
a cyclone.

The weather changed suddenly a day or two
out from Mercury Island.  They rode into a
fierce northeaster, and it rained nearly all the
time, with leaden skies and a choppy sea.

Dave was a good deal below.  One
afternoon, returning from a brief visit to Bob
Vilett, as he was making for the cabin
passageway, a chink of light attracted his attention.

It emanated from a crack in the paneling of
the cabin occupied by Gerstein.  Dave drew
nearer to the chink, and could look quite
clearly into the compartment that housed the
person in whom he was naturally very much
interested at all times.

"H'm!" said Dave, with a bright flicker in
his eye.  "He's making a chart, too, is he?"

The daylight was so dim that Gerstein had
a lighted candle on the table at which he sat.
Spread out before him was a sheet of heavy
manila paper.  It bore black outlines as if an
irregular body of land, and had crosses and
dots all over it.

At this Gerstein was working, thoughtfully
scanning it at times and then making
additions to it.  Dave believed that it had
something to do with the treasure.

"Our treasure," he reflected, "and I'll play
something else than the spy if I get a chance
to look over that chart, whatever it is."

He watched the man's movements for over
half an hour.  Then Gerstein folded up the
paper, placing it in a thin tin tobacco box.
This he secured in a pocket in the blue shirt
he wore, buttoning the pocket flap securely.

Dave got no further sight of the mysterious
paper, if such it was, during the next week.
He felt himself justified in trying to get a
chance to secure the little tin box.  Twice he
visited Gerstein's cabin secretly, while its
occupant was on deck.  Gerstein, however,
apparently carried the box with him wherever
he went.

One night, when he slept, Dave crept into
the cabin, the door of which for a wonder had
been left unlocked.  He ransacked Gerstein's
clothing, but with no result.

"Got it somewhere in bed with him," thought
Dave.  "I don't dare to try and find it, though.
I would surely wake him up.  I believe I will
tell Captain Broadbeam about the little tin
box.  If it in any way concerns this treasure,
why haven't we the right to take it away from
Gerstein, even by force?"

Before Dave had an opportunity to consult
with Captain Broadbeam, however, something
transpired that changed all his plans.

It was a dark and stormy night.  The
weather had been rough all day.  Dave came
on deck about eight o'clock to find the captain
on duty.  A few men were making things tidy
about the stern deck.

The *Swallow* was plowing the water, slanted
like a swordfish in action.  Dave held to a
handle at the side of the cabin, peering into
the darkness that hung about them like a pall.

According to the calculations of the captain
they were somewhere in the vicinity of the
Windjammers' Island--probably within fifty
miles of it, he had told Amos Fearless at sunset.

As Dave stood there, braced and exhilarated
by the dash of wind and spray, he saw
Gerstein suddenly rush up the cabin stairs.

"Hello, what's up with him, I wonder,"
thought Dave.

The remark was caused by a view of the face
of the fellow as he passed a lantern set near
the forecastle.  Gerstein seemed frightfully
agitated.  Heedless of the slippery deck, he
plunged along towards the stern.  Once or
twice a lurch threatened to bring him clear
over the rail and into the sea.

Dave could not resist following him to learn
the cause of his perturbation.  A swing of the
boat sent him clinging to the rail.  Holding
firmly, Dave, within twelve feet of the stern,
saw Gerstein dash in among the men busy
there and heard him shout out:

"Barlow--quick.  Is he here?"

"Here I am," answered the owner of that
name, looking around from his task of lashing
down the cover of a water butt.

"My shirt--your shirt--the one you loaned
me while I had mine washed," spoke Gerstein,
in an anxious, gasping tone.  "I gave it back
to you this afternoon."

"Yes, you did," nodded Barlow.

"Where is it?  Have you it on--say, quick!"

"Threw it under my bunk.  In the
forecastle.  Bunk nearest the gangway.  Hey,
you've no sea legs, that's sure."

A lurch of the steamer had sent Gerstein off
his footing.  He went headlong.  His head
struck the side, and for a second he lay
stunned.

Before he had fairly got to his feet, Dave
Fearless had acted under the impulse of a
very vivid suggestion.

From what he had seen and heard he felt
certain that Gerstein wanted the shirt he had
borrowed because he had left something in his
pocket.

"That tin box, I'll bet--why not?" cried
Dave, making a dash in the direction of the
forecastle.

Dave was so full of his idea that he did not
take the trouble to look back to see if Gerstein
was coming, too.  He got to the forecastle,
was down the gangway fast as he could go,
and a second later was groping under Barlow's
bunk.

"Here it is," he said, pulling out the
garment in question.  "Something in the pocket,
too, yes, it's the box--the little tin box, I can
tell by the feeling.  Good!"

Dave hurried back up the steps.  He just
cleared them as Gerstein plunged rather than
ran towards them.  A steady light shone here.

"Say," bolted out Gerstein, at once recognizing
the garment in Dave's hand, "that's my shirt."

"No, it isn't," declared Dave, swinging back
as Gerstein made a grab at the garment.  "It
belongs to Barlow."

"I have something in it."

"I know you have."

"Ha, you spy!  Let go, let go."

The result of a general mixing up of Dave
and Gerstein was that each now had hold of
the coveted garment.

As Gerstein spoke last he sagged and swung
Dave around to one side.

Dave held on tightly.  Suddenly Gerstein
made a feint.  He slackened the tension by a
bend forward, one hand swung out.

Dave received a heavy blow at the side of
the head.  It was totally unexpected, and
he loosed his grip and went reeling backward.

At that moment a terrific wave swept over
the deck.  Dave was submerged and carried along.

He tried in vain to catch at something.  The
tilt of the steamer sent him shooting outward,
and the next moment he plunged over the rail
into the sea below.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium

   ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC

.. vspace:: 2

The sea had been the natural element of
Dave Fearless since his earliest childhood.
In the stress of his present predicament,
however, he felt that he was in the most critical
situation of his life.

A great wave received him as he went
overboard.  A second swept over it, ingulfing him
for a full half-minute, and he was battling
desperately with the vortex caused in part by
the storm, in part by the swiftly-moving
steamer.

As the youth emerged into less furious
elements, his first thought was of the *Swallow*.
He dashed the water from his eyes with one
hand and strained his sight.

"It's no use," he spoke.  "She'll be out of
reach in two minutes."

Dave did not try to shout.  It would have
done him no good, he realized.  As he was
lifted up on the crest of wave after wave, the
vague spark of light that designated the
*Swallow* grew fainter and farther away.  Finally
it was shut out from view altogether.

The water was buoyant, and aided by his
expertness as a swimmer Dave did not sink at
all, and found little difficulty in keeping
afloat.  But how long could this state of things
last? he asked himself.

There was not the least possible hope of any
aid from the *Swallow*.  He had gone overboard
unseen by any person except Gerstein.

"He will tell no one," reflected Dave.  "In
the first place it would be dangerous for him
to do so, for they would suspect treachery on
his part.  In the next place he is probably
glad to get rid of me.  Unless Bob or father
look into my stateroom, I shall not be missed
before morning.  By that time----"

Dave halted all conjecture there.  The
present was too vital to waste in idle surmises.
He planned to use all the skill and endurance
he possessed to keep afloat.  He might do this
for some hours, he calculated, unless the
waves grew much rougher.

"It's a hard-looking prospect," Dave told
himself, as he began to feel severely the strain
of his situation.  "Adrift on the Pacific!  How
far from land?  As I know, the *Swallow's*
course was out of the regular ocean track.
The chances of ever seeing father and the
others again are very slim."

Something slightly grazed Dave's arm as he
concluded this rather mournful soliloquy.  He
grabbed out at the touch of the foreign object,
but missed it.  Then a second like object
floated against his chest.  This the lad seized.

It proved to be a piece of wood, part of a
dead tree, about three inches in diameter and
two feet long.  Dave retained the fragment,
although scarcely with the idea of using it as
a float.

To his surprise these fragments, some large,
some small, continued to pass him.  In fact,
he seemed in a sort of wave-channel, which
caught and confined them, forming a species
of tidal trough.

One piece was of quite formidable size.
Dave threw his arms over it with a good deal
of satisfaction, for it sustained his weight
perfectly.

"Queer how I happened right into their
midst.  Where do they come from, anyhow?"
reflected Dave.  "Is it a hopeful sign of land?"

There was a lull in the tempest finally, but
the darkness still hung over all the sea like a
pall.  Dave longed for daybreak.  The
discovery of the driftwood had given him a good
deal of courage and hope.

For over eight hours Dave rocked and
drifted, at the mere caprice of the waves.
Wearied, faint, and thirsty, he tried to cheer
himself thinking of the possibility of land
near at hand.

Daylight broke at last, but a dense haze like
a fog hung over the waters for an hour before
the sun cleared it away.  Eagerly Dave
scanned in turn each point of the compass.  A
great sigh of disappointment escaped his lips.

"No land in sight," he said; "just the blank,
unbroken ocean."

His plight was a dispiriting one.  Dave felt
that unless succor came in some shape or
other, and that, too, very soon, his chances of
ever seeing home and friends again were
indeed remote.

He noted the widespread mass of driftwood
with friendly eyes, for it broke the monotony
of the green expanse that tired the sight with
its illimitable continuity.

"There's a pretty big piece of driftwood,"
Dave said, looking quite a distance towards a
larger object than he had yet seen.  It rose
and fell with the swaying of the wave.  "If I
could find a few such pieces I might construct
a raft."

Dave began to swim off in the direction of
the object in the distance.  A great cry of joy
escaped his lips as he neared it.

"It is not a log," he shouted rapturously,
"but a boat.  A small yawl.  Oh, dear, but I
am thankful!"

In his urgency to reach the boat Dave let go
of the piece of driftwood that had served him
so well.  His eyes grew bright and he forgot
all his discomfort and suffering.

With a kind of cheer Dave lifted himself
over the side of the little yawl.  It was flimsy,
dirty, and old.  The prow was splintered, one
of the seats was broken out, but Dave sank
down into the craft with a luxurious sense of
relief and delight.

There were no oars, but Dave did not think
much of that.  He had something under him
to sustain him.  That was the main thing for
the present.

"I can make rude oars of some of the
driftwood and the front seat," he calculated.  "If
it rains I shall have water, and there are
clouds coming up fast in the west now.  I
may catch some fish.  What's in there, I
wonder," and Dave pulled open the door of the
little locker.

"Hurrah!" he shouted this time, utterly
unable to control his intense satisfaction.  Lying
in the locker was a rudely made reed basket.
In this were two bottles.  Dave speedily
assured himself that they held water, warm and
brackish, but far from unwelcome to the taste.

About twenty hardtack cakes and a chunk
of cheese completed the contents of the basket.

"I never ate such a meal before," jubilated
Dave, having satisfied his hunger and
carefully repacked the supplies.  He paused to
read a part of a label pasted across the front
of one of the bottles of water.  "This came
from the *Raven*."

Dave had a right to think this.  At one time
the bottle had held some kind of table sauce.
Written under the label were the words
"Captain's table, *Raven*."

"The boat, too, must have belonged to the
*Raven*" said Dave, "although I don't know
that surely.  It looks as if some one of
Captain Nesik's crew had put to sea in this yawl,
and was probably lost in the storms of the last
week."

A great rain came up about an hour later.
There was not much wind.  Following the
rain a dense mist shut out sea and sky.

Dave could only drift at the will of the
waves.  He had it in mind to construct some
kind of oars, but he did not know the distance
or even the direction of land.

The day grew well on into the afternoon.
Dave had removed the door of the locker.  He
had also gathered into the boat the longest
pieces of driftwood he could find.  Fortunately
he had discovered in the locker several pieces
of fine tarred rope, which would prove a great
help in making the oars.  He was laying out
his work when a curious flapping noise made
him look up.  He sprang to his feet.  Pouncing
down upon him were four immense birds.
They were not eagles, but fully twice as large
as any eagle he had ever seen.

They attacked Dave in unison.  One clawed
into his left arm while another gave him a
severe blow with one of its wings, swooped
down upon the exposed reed basket, seized it,
and flew away with it.  Dave snatched up a
piece of driftwood.

He shouted to frighten the birds, swinging
his weapon among them vigorously.  One he
disabled and it fell into the water and floated
out of sight, the other two he finally beat off.

The loss of the provision basket troubled
Dave severely.  He sank breathless into the
boat, his face and hands badly scratched and
bleeding.

The next instant, to the infinite surprise of
Dave Fearless, a gruff voice sounded through
the mist:

"Ahoy there!  What's the rumpus?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`STRANGE COMPANIONS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIV


.. class:: center medium

   STRANGE COMPANIONS

.. vspace:: 2

Dave knew at once that his shouts at the
large birds must have attracted the attention
of the person who was now hailing him.

"Ahoy, yourself!" he cried, starting to his
feet and peering expectantly through the mist
in the direction from which the challenge had come.

In a few moments the outline of a yawl
somewhat larger than the one Dave was in
loomed up in the near distance.  A man was
seated in its bow, while two others rowed the boat.

They came alongside.  All three looked
haggard and worn out.  In the bottom of their
boat lay a broken demijohn.  They reminded
Dave of sailors he had often seen on shipboard
getting over a debauch.

"Why," said the man in the bow, staring in
amazement at Dave, "if it isn't young
Fearless, the diver!"

"I remember you, Mr. Daley," responded
Dave, recognizing the speaker as one of the
crew of the *Raven*.  Dave had a dim memory,
too, of having seen Daley's two companions
with Captain Nesik's crew.

Daley drew the two yawls close together
with a boathook, and he and Dave were face
to face.

"Young Fearless of the *Swallow*," he kept
saying, in a marveling tone.  "And in this fix.
Why, where did you ever come from?"

"Where did you, Mr. Daley?" inquired Dave
directly.  "Mine is a pretty long story--suppose
you tell yours first?"

"Huh, that won't take much time,"
muttered Daley, with a savage kick at the
fragments of the demijohn.  "We stole all that
gold from you.  Little good did it do us.
Captain Nesik and the Hankers, after they
marooned you fellows, made a landing and
divided up the gold into boxes.  They put
them on the *Swallow*.  Well, when the
*Swallow* parted from the *Raven* in a cyclone, she
went down--gold, men aboard, and all."

"And the *Raven*?" inquired Dave.

"She drove on the rocks and has been
disabled ever since.  It would take a big steamer
to pull her into service again," explained
Daley.  "After she got into that fix Nesik
decided to desert her.  They made a camp on
land on the west island of those you know about."

"What about the natives?" inquired Dave.

"They seemed to have all gone back to the
main island except a few.  These hung
around and spied on us; most of them Nesik
shot.  He landed lots of provender and rum
from the *Raven*.  For a week Nesik let the
men have their fill.  He and the Hankers and
that pawnbroker fellow----"

"Gerstein?" suggested Dave.

"Yes, Gerstein," nodded Daley.  "Well,
those four took the longboat which was saved
from the wreck and went scouting, they called
it.  They went away and returned for several
days.  One day they came back on foot without
the longboat, and said that it and Gerstein
had gone down in a quicksand.  The men
began to grow restive after another week.  They
couldn't understand what Nesik was lying
idle for.  They wondered what made him and
Cal Vixen the diver and the Hankers so
contented to just squat down and loaf.  The men
got cross when Nesik cut down grub rations.
A deputation waited on him."

"What was the result?" inquired Dave, with
great interest.

"Nesik told them to do what they liked and
go where they liked.  Said he was going to
take his chances, waiting for a ship to come
along.  Result was, one by one the small craft
of the *Raven* were stolen.  We nabbed this
boat one night and put to sea.  We were
bound to make some kind of a try to get away
from those islands."

"Have you any idea where we are now?"
inquired Dave.

"Sure, I have," answered Daley.  "We're in
one of those tidal channels that run around
the Windjammers' Island so freely.  That's a
queer thing about these diggings.  A fellow
can row miles and drift back to the islands.
Those channels are regular whirlpools in a storm."

"And what are you thinking of doing now?"
asked Dave.

"Getting back to land of course.  We
wouldn't run across a ship in a hundred years
on this out-of-the-way route.  We can never
hope to row thousands of miles to a continent
coast.  No--provender being gone, and
especially the rum, we don't feel quite as bold as
we did when we started out," confessed Daley,
with a dejected air.

"No," put in one of his companions lazily,
"we'll go back and take pot-luck with what's
left of the *Raven* crowd."

"If they'll have us," put in his companion.
"Looked to me all along as if for some purpose
or other Nesik wanted to get rid of us."

"You're right there, mate," declared Daley.
"I've thought that, too, many a time.  Maybe
he and his cronies calculated there would be
more grub around with fewer mouths to feed."

Dave thought over all the men had said.
He fancied that he guessed out the reason why
Nesik was so willing to have his men leave
him.  He knew that he would be asked to give
information in return for what he had
received.  Dave tried to decide how far he dared
to trust the three castaways.

"Now then," just as he expected, Daley
spoke, "we've told you our story.  How about
yours?  That's a *Raven* boat there you're in.
How did you get it?"

"I found it drifting loose a few hours ago,"
said Dave.

"That's likely enough," said Daley suspiciously,
"but where was you waiting for such
things to drift around loose?"

"I was floating on a piece of driftwood,"
explained Dave.  "You know you people
marooned us on the island."

"I didn't," declared Daley; "that was
Nesik's work."

"You helped," said Dave, "and you've had
nothing but bad luck since.  Now, Mr. Daley,
I'm going to tell you something.  You think
the *Swallow* was lost in the cyclone."

"Know it.  Men, gold, and all."

"No," said Dave, watching his man closely
to note the effect of his disclosures.  "The
*Swallow* was not lost at all."

Daley stared hard and incredulously at Dave.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Because I was aboard of her not twenty-four
hours since.  The truth is, in that cyclone
she was driven ashore on the west island you
speak about.  There Captain Broadbeam and
the rest of us discovered her.  We found
Mr. Drake, the boatswain; Bob Adams, the
engineer, and Mike Conners, the cook, prisoners
on board."

"That's right," nodded Daley; "those
fellows wouldn't come in with us, and Nesik put
them in irons.  Go on."

"We also found some labeled boxes in the hold."

"The treasure!" cried Daley excitedly.
"Alas, yes, it was all divided and made into
portions, so much for the Hankers, so much
for Nesik, so much for the crew.  Why, we
saw the Hankers divide it with our own eyes,
didn't we, mates?"

"That we did," declared his two companions
in unison.

"So Mr. Drake told us," resumed Dave.
"Well, we liberated our friends, got the
*Swallow* in trim, and steamed away from the
Windjammers' Island about three weeks ago."

"With all that gold!" cried Daley, with
disappointed but covetous eyes.  "Oh, my mates,
think of it!"

"No," interrupted Dave, "we thought the
gold was there.  The second home port we
reached we opened the boxes to see."

"It must have been a sight," said Daley
gloatingly.

"It was," nodded Dave, with a queer little
smile--"sand, lead, old junk, every box full of
them, and not a gold coin there."

Daley sprang up in the boat with a wild cry.
His companions partook of his excitement.

"Then--then----" panted Daley, with blazing eyes.

"Why, the Nesik crowd just deluded you
poor foolish fellows.  Exactly as he did us,"
spoke Dave quietly, but with a definite
emphasis.  "As I say, there was none of the
treasure in the boxes.  Where was it, then?
Easy to guess.  It was put in the boxes to
delude you fellows and later secretly removed
to the *Raven*.  Nesik intended to lose the
*Swallow* some way.  The cyclone helped him out."

Daley drew out a long-bladed knife.  He
began abusing Nesik and the Hankers.  He
slashed the air in a frantic manner.

"I'll kill them for this, I'll kill them!" he
raved.  "Men, you'll help me?  Why," he
exclaimed suddenly, "then the gold must be on
the *Raven*, stuck on the rock, eh?"

"Hardly," answered Dave.  "No, Nesik
intended losing the *Swallow*, sailing for South
America, getting rid of you fellows cheap, and
then he and the Hankers and Gerstein would
make a grand division of the spoils.  Their
plans miscarried.  The *Raven* got wrecked.
Don't you see they got you all ashore quick as
they could?  Without doubt those mysterious
days of scouting in the longboat, as you call it,
were devoted to getting the gold ashore to
some safe and secret hiding-place."

"Then we'll have our share," shouted Daley.
"Mates, for shore; for shore, mates, to find
those measly robbers, to pounce on them and
make them give up what belongs to us.  Ha,
more," declared Daley.  "We'll kill them off;
well take it all."

"Why, Mr. Daley," quietly suggested Dave,
"it appears to me you are forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"That treasure belongs to my father and myself."

Daley looked sheepish, then surly.

"If you should get hold of it what could you
do with it?" pursued Dave.  "You can't spend
it on the Windjammers' Island.  You can
never get it away from there except in a
stanch vessel, such as may not come along for
years.  I should think," added Dave, "after
all the trouble you have seen grow out of the
Hankers stealing what was not their own, you
would take a new tack."

"How, a new tack?" demanded Daley,
surlily surveying Dave from under his bushy,
bent brows.

"Be square and honest.  The *Raven* people
have deceived you.  I have a proposition to
make you.  Put this whole matter in my
hands, promise to help me work it out as I
think best, and I'll guarantee you two things."

"What are they?" demanded Daley.

"First, that I will soon locate the hiding-place
of the treasure--which you never may."

"That's so," mumbled one of Daley's
companions, "everything has been queered that we
tried to do so far."

"Secondly," added Dave, "when that treasure
is found, I promise, if you come in with me,
to give each of you a liberal share of it."





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.. _`A PERILOUS CRUISE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center medium

   A PERILOUS CRUISE

.. vspace:: 2

The sailor Daley sat down quietly in the
bow of the yawl, his face beaming.

"Do you mean that, Fearless?" he said.

"I certainly do," answered Dave.

"You want us to side with you?"

"I have said so, Mr. Daley, haven't I?" asked
Dave pleasantly.

"Make it a bargain, Daley," advised one of
his companions eagerly.  "He's a smart lad,
and his talk is square, although we have
treated him low and shabby."

"Never mind that," said Dave lightly.
"You were in bad company, that's all.  Make
it business, up and down.  My father and I
came here to get a fortune which we had
rightfully inherited.  The Hankers have tried to
steal it.  We shall get that fortune yet.  Isn't
it better for you people to be in on the winning
side?"

"Fearless," said Daley, "there's my hand.
It's a compact, is it?"

"True and faithful," answered Dave, and
they shook hands all around.  "Now let me
tell you that the *Swallow* is in fine trim, is
cruising around these waters somewhere.  She
is bound, of course, to land on the
Windjammers' Island.  Get these boats there if you
know how to do it, and we'll soon get into some
kind of action that is bound to bring us up
against Captain Broadbeam and the others,
who will be true friends to you if you'll only
do the right thing."

Dave felt that he had gained a decided
victory in making these men his allies.  Without
their help he could not reach land.  They
could guide him to the land camp of Captain
Nesik.  The four of them could resist attacks
of the natives if they ran across them, where
one might fail.

Dave reasoned that if the men changed their
minds later and attempted any treachery, it
would be at a time when he and his friends
were prepared to meet and thwart it.

Dave had confidence in the belief that in
some way he would find the *Swallow* or the
*Swallow* would find him.

His previous stirring adventures, among the
Windjammers and with the *Raven* crowd, had
brought hardship and endurance that made
him now hopeful and courageous and quick to
see a way to meet a situation and conquer it.

In fact, Dave's career had made considerable
of a man of him.  It had taught him
self-reliance, and he was pleased to notice how
readily the three castaways recognized him as
a leader.

They acted like new men under the spur of
new hopes.  They evidently believed in Dave.
It was some time, however, before Daley would
consent to forego his thirstings for revenge
against Nesik and the Hankers.

"Don't you go for to spoil everything by
thinking up a rumpus," advised one of the
sailor's companions.  "Young Fearless means
what he says.  Let's rest on that, say I, and
follow his orders."

"I have none to give at present," said Dave.
"When I do, I am sure we will work in
harmony all right.  Mr. Daley, you are the
pilot.  Can we reach the Windjammers'
Island in any way?"

"I know the point of the compass all right,"
asserted Daley.  "The course may be a little
blind until this mist rises, but--to your oars,
men, and strike due west.  That way," and
Daley indicated the direction.  "Get aboard,
Fearless.  It's most comfortable in the stern."

"Shall we tow the smaller boat?" inquired
the young diver.

"What's the use?  We don't need it, and it
would only hamper us.  There you are, neat
and tidy."

They cast the smaller boat adrift.  Dave
settled down comfortably in the stern of the
larger yawl.

"My!" he soliloquized, "when I think of my
forlorn chances when I went overboard from
the *Swallow* last night and this comfort and
security, I'm a very thankful boy."

Dave had not had a wink of sleep for over
thirty-six hours.  He began to doze.  Daley,
noticing this, ceased his chatter with his
companions.  Dave was soon fast asleep.

He roused up with a vivid start some hours
later.  He had slept so profoundly, owing to a
natural weariness and exhaustion after his
arduous experiences, that he had not even been
disturbed by a howling tempest that had come up.

The mist had dispersed, and it was night.
A furious gale was blowing, and the frail yawl
was riding on high waves.

Daley had crawled along the boat.  He was
shaking Dave vigorously by the arm.  At the
same time, bringing his lips close to Dave's
ear, he shouted loudly a word that aroused
Dave like an electric shock:

"Land!"

"What--where?" cried Dave, starting up.

"Steady, mate," warned Daley, holding
Dave back in the seat.  "Get your peepers wide
open and all your senses woke up.  Drop the
oars," he yelled to his companions, "they're
only in the way.  Let her swing.  It's drift or
drown now, sure."

Dave sat for a moment grasping the sides of
the yawl, and realizing that they were being
driven along at a fearful rate of speed.  Daley
and his companions, too, were holding on for life.

"You said land," Dave shouted, trying to
raise his voice above the roar of the tempest.

"Yes," answered Daley.  "Now then, when
we top a wave, look sharp--there!"

Daley pointed, and Dave fixed his glance
steadily in the direction indicated.

"I see nothing," he said as they went up,
down, and up again.  "What did you mean?"

"A light--there it is."

"I see it," cried Dave.

"It must be a fire alongshore somewhere,
probably the Windjammers' Island," declared Daley.

Dave continued to look.  He studied the
light each time he was afforded an
opportunity.  This was only when they climbed
some mighty wave, and only for a few seconds.

"You are wrong, Mr. Daley," said Dave finally.

"Wrong about what?  It's a light, I tell you."

"Yes, but not a shore light."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do.  It moves as we move, only more
steadily.  It is some vessel," declared Dave.
"I wouldn't wonder if it was the *Swallow*."

The mere conjecture excited Daley greatly.
The men worked at the oars again.  This,
however, proved lost energy.  When it
resulted in one of the oars being torn from the
grasp of its holder, and cast adrift into the
sea, Daley uttered a heart-rending groan.

One of his mates, however, suggested
something--this was to use his coat as a kind of
sail.  He and the other oarsman attempted this.

"We're going in the direction of the light,
sure," cried Daley jubilantly.

"We're going down!" shouted the man who
had suggested the impromptu sail.

Dave saw that all was over.  Whether the
use of the sail hastened the situation, or the
little craft would have been overturned
anyway by the gigantic wind that suddenly struck
it, he had no time to conjecture.

In an instant the yawl was raised by a
mighty force.  It flopped over flat, spilling out
all hands.

Dave saw his companions hurled from his
sight like disappearing phantoms.  His hand
was held by the wrist in a rope loop he had
clung to for protection since waking up.

Dave went over with the boat, under with it,
and was unable to disentangle his wrist.  His
arm seemed broken.  He was whipped about
in a frightful manner.

Twice his head struck the keel of the
scudding yawl, twice he was submerged, choked
and blinded.

A third contact with the yawl landed a hard
blow right across the temple, and Dave
Fearless lost consciousness.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`LANDED`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium

   LANDED

.. vspace:: 2

Dave must have gone through a fearful
experience during the next hour.  Its details he
never knew.  Familiar with the chances and
accidents of the seafaring situation from
childhood, however, when he opened his eyes
again he could figure out how kind his natural
element had been to him.

He lay on a sandy shore.  When his senses
first came back a positive thrill permeated his
frame.

A joyful cry arose to his lips.  It was
irrepressible.  He was bruised, battered, soaked
through, but the realization that he had
landed, that he once more rested on firm hard
soil, overcame every sensation of discomfort
and pain.

"Landed," murmured Dave, in great delight,
and that was the only idea he could take
into his confused mind for the moment.

He opened his eyes.  It was clear starlight.
He lay on a sandy beach.  The waves lapped
him to the knees.  Beside him was the yawl,
stove in at one side.  He was still attached to
it by the wrist held firmly in the rope loop.

The yawl had proved a loyal convoy.  As
the tempest swept it along, Dave must have
been held at least a part of the time out of the
water.  This had saved his life.  Perhaps, he
thought, he might at times also have lain
across the upturned keel of the yawl.

At all events he was saved.  There was not
a bone in his body that did not ache.  His
wrist was swollen greatly and the arm was
numb to the shoulder.

"I'm badly battered," reflected Dave.  "I
must get my arm loose some way."

The youth groped in his pocket with his free
hand.  It was a laborious task getting into
the soaked garment.  When he got his pocket
knife out, Dave had to open it with his teeth.

He managed to cut the rope that imprisoned
him, and fell away from the yawl with a
feeling of great relief.  Then he lay on the ground
flat on his back, and for some moments tried
to think of nothing but absolute rest and comfort.

Dave struggled to an upright position
finally.  He was amazed at his weakness and
helplessness.  Twice his feet refused to hold
him up, and he fell down.  His injured arm
was perfectly numb and flabby at his side.

"This won't do at all," he thought, arousing
himself.  "I'm awful thirsty, too.  Well, I
may be able to crawl."

Dave attempted to go up the beach.  About
a hundred feet away, through breaks in a belt
of green trees, he could catch the sparkle of
water running over the rocks.

The moon had come up during all these
various efforts to get into action.  Dave could
see his way clearly.  He made in the direction
of the water.

After slowly and painfully progressing for
perhaps a hundred feet Dave found that his
blood had begun to circulate.  He pulled
himself to his feet by means of some high bushes
he had reached by this time.

Each moment his control increased over the
numbed joints and muscles.

"This is better," said he, with satisfaction,
as after some stumbling steps, with the aid of
a dead tree branch, he was able to limp
upright though slowly.

Dave reached the water, a mere rill gushing
down the shore bluff over some rocks.  It was
clear and sparkling, and he took a deep
draught of the life-giving element that
invigorated him greatly.

"Hungry," thought Dave next.  "Thanks to
Stoodles--good!"

Right at his side Dave discovered a bush
full of pods.  When on the Windjammers'
Island with Stoodles, the latter had shown
him this very bush.  Upon it grew pods full
of kernels that tasted like cocoa.  Dave ate
plentifully, though it was not a very satisfying meal.

"Now then," he spoke.  "Oh, how could I
have forgotten them!" he cried with sudden
self-reproachfulness.

It was quite natural in his forlorn, confused
condition that Dave should first of all have
thought only of himself.  Still, his deep
anxiety, poignantly aroused now as he thought
of Daley and the others who had been in the
yawl with him, showed his heart to be in the
right place.

He hurried down to the beach again, in his
solicitude for his late companions forgetting
how crippled he was, and had several falls.

"It's no use," said Dave sadly, after over an
hour's search along the lonely shore.  "They
must have perished, Daley and the others."

The conviction saddened the youth for a
long time.  He sat down thinking over things
for nearly an hour.

"I don't know where I am," he said, rising
to his feet, "and I must trust to luck as to
what is best next to do.  This must be the
Windjammers' Island.  I think I could tell if
I could get to some high point overlooking it
or a part of it."

Dave looked doubtfully up beyond the shore
cliffs where the higher hills showed.  It
looked to be a pretty hard task to scale those
heights in his present battered-up condition.

"I'm going to try it, anyhow," decided Dave,
and he did.

"I can't go any farther--at least not just
now," said Dave, an hour later.

He sank down on a moss-covered rock
overlooking a kind of valley.  Its other side,
however, was higher up than the point where
he was.

"I think another hundred feet will bring me
to where I can get a good view," thought
the young diver; "that is in daylight, and
daylight will soon be here."

The pods, which tasted like cocoa, had been
filling to Dave, but not exactly satisfying.

"It's like a fellow eating candy when he
needs beefsteak," he mused.  "I shall have to
hunt up something more substantial later on."

From his previous acquaintance with the
island Dave knew that there were many kinds
of shellfish to be found, besides berries and
other fruits, for the searching.  He was not
one bit afraid that he would have to starve.

"I must watch out for the natives, too," he
continued.  "I must devise some kind of a
weapon of defense."

Dave thought over these things, lying
restfully on the rock.  He had about decided to
resume his journey, calculating how long it
would take him to reach a certain point on
which his eyes were fixed.

"Hello!" he exclaimed suddenly, sitting
bolt-upright.

What had attracted Dave's attention was a
light.  It had appeared suddenly on a ledge,
almost at the top of the hill he was bent on
climbing.

It was no fixed light, but a broad swaying
jet of fire.  Whoever held it was evidently
swinging a lighted wisp of straw or something
of that sort.

"I wonder what that means," mused Dave.
"I wonder who it can be.  Probably a native.
But, native or otherwise, there is method in
the way that light is moving.  Yes, it
certainly is a signal."

Such Dave decided it surely to be after
watching the light for some minutes.

It described circular and other figures.  It
seemed directed at a point somewhere down
the valley.

"I would like to know what is going on up
there," said Dave, rousing up.  "It would
give me an inkling as to whom I have to deal
with and where I really am."

After a further rest of a few minutes the
young diver resumed the ascent of the hill.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A REMARKABLE SCENE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium

   A REMARKABLE SCENE

.. vspace:: 2

"Well, this is queer."

Dave Fearless looked curious and acted
as if startled.  By the time he had got near to
the ledge where he had seen the mysterious
signal, daylight had come.

Long since that illumination had been
discontinued.  Dave had paused with due
caution as he approached its cause.  He had
lurked behind a big rock fronting the shelf of
stone.

No other sound or presence was indicated,
and after a spell of watchfulness Dave decided
to approach closer.  It was as he peered
around the edge of a cavelike opening fronting
the ravine that he uttered the words:

"Well, this is queer."

The cave extended back into the hill a long
way.  Dave could decide this by the shadows
cast by a light that burned about fifteen feet
from its opening.  A rude earthen pot of
native construction was filled with some kind
of oil.  A wick, made out of some fibrous
plant, burned within it.

This light illuminated a long broad piece of
matting laid across the floor of the cave.  As
Dave examined the various articles spread out
on this mat, he was filled with amazement.

There were all kinds of dishes, such as Dave
had seen in the homes of the Windjammers.
These were made of thin bark and
decorated with figures of flowers and birds
outlined in berry stains.

"The wonder of it all, though," said Dave;
"food, and such food--all kinds."

In the dishes were berries and other fruits,
a kind of tapioca bread also.  Then there were
meats, all cooked and cold, and some fish the
same.  There were also two quite tastefully
made bowls filled with a clear white liquid
that Dave took to be cocoanut milk.

Dave watched for a long time.  The display
tempted his appetite prodigiously.

"Of course there's a proprietor for all this
elegant layout," said Dave.  "What's the
occasion of it?  Where is he?"

Dave sent a piece of stone rattling noisily
into the cave, then a second.  He waited and
listened.

"I don't believe there is anyone in there,"
he decided.  "I can't resist it.  I don't know
who this feast is spread for, but I want a
share of it."

Dave stepped forward boldly now.  His
audacity was increased as he made out a spear
standing against a rock.  Dave took the
precaution to arm himself with this.  Then he
came still nearer to the food.

Whoever had prepared the feast was, in
Dave's estimation, a most admirable cook.
The various articles he sampled tasted most
appetizing.

"Fine as home cooking," said Dave, with
satisfaction, stepping back from the mat.
"One man wouldn't have all that stuff for
breakfast, though.  Is it some native
ceremonial like Stoodles has told me about?  Or
does the man expect friends?  That's it,"  Dave
reasoned it out.  "Maybe he has gone
to meet them.  I had better make myself scarce."

Dave was now satisfied that he was really
on the Windjammers' Island.  The articles in
the cave were in a measure familiar to him.
Then, too, a glance from the cliffs as he had
ascended them had shown a distant coastline,
suggesting precisely the spot where Captain
Broadbeam, himself, and the others had been
marooned.

Dave resolved to appropriate the weapon he
had taken up.  He started to leave the cave
and retrace his steps to the beach.  At the
entrance he paused abruptly and started back.

"Too late," he exclaimed; "someone is coming."

Dave had almost run out upon two men.  A
curious circumstance prevented them seeing
him.  They were approaching from the
direction opposite to that from which he himself
had come in reaching the cave.

Both were natives.  The minute Dave saw
them he instantly recognized them as
belonging to the Windjammers' tribe of which his
friend Pat Stoodles had once been king.

One of them was a thin, mean-looking
fellow, scrawny and wild-eyed.  He was creeping
on hands and knees along the path.  His pose
and manner suggested the utmost humility.

The other was a man gayly decked out.  He
wore a richly embroidered skin across his
shoulders and a necklace of gaudy shells.  He
had a kind of mace in his hand.  The lordly
manner in which he carried his head indicated
extreme pride and importance.

"Why," said Dave, backing into the gloomy
depths of the cave, "that is the same dress the
man wore who was the great priest of the tribe
when I was on the Windjammers' Island the
first time."

There seemed to be no doubt but that Dave
was back on the old stamping-ground of Pat
Stoodles.  He was not at all sorry for this.
It was the destination of the *Swallow*.
Perhaps the steamer had already reached it.

"Things are working easier for me than I
had any right to expect," reflected Dave, "only
I must keep out of the clutches of any of the
natives till I locate my friends."

Dave got behind an obscure rock.  From
there he peered intently at the two men who
now entered the cave; the one crawling on his
hands and knees, the other maintaining still
his lofty bearing of superiority.

Reaching the mat, the guide arose to his
feet.  He showed the greatest humility and
respect in all that he did.

He made a gesture to have his visitor sit
down to the feast.  The latter shook his head
in great disdain.

Then the evident resident of the cave
groaned and wept and rolled all over on the
ground as if in the deepest despair.  In a
mournful sing-song voice he seemed to make
an appeal to his august visitor to grant some
prayer.

The priest finally stamped his foot and
spoke some quick words.  The other arose.
The priest, fixing a menacing eye upon him,
advanced, and putting out a hand, tried to
pull aside the garment which the man wore on
the upper part of his body.

The poor wretch seemed frantic.  He clung
close to the garment, seeming especially
anxious not to expose his back or shoulders.

The priest, however, managed to tear the
front of the garment open.  Then Dave half
understood the situation from something he
remembered to have heard Stoodles tell about
on a previous occasion.

A peculiar mark, a circle inclosing a cross,
was visible on the chest of the suppliant.

"I know what that means," mused Dave.
"They brand their criminals, drive them away,
and if they ever approach the tribe again, they
burn them alive.  That is the outcast brand.
Stoodles told me so when he was on this island
with me."

The refugee cowered with shame.  Then he
kicked aside some of the dishes of the feast
which his august visitor had spurned.

"I'm glad of that," thought Dave.  "Now
he won't be likely to notice that I have been
trespassing."

The outcast went to a sort of shelf in the
cave.  He came back, poising a small earthen
crock in his hand.

He began a quick talk to the priest in a
louder, more assured tone.  The latter
suddenly changed his manner.  His eyes
sparkled.  He looked eager and excited.

The outcast seemed to be giving a most
glowing description of the contents of the
little crock.  Dave tried to follow his meaning.

"He is saying," translated Dave to himself,
"that he has great quantities of whatever the
crock contains--lots of it, heaps of it--I see.
Now he has interested the priest.  He is
offering to buy his citizenship back into the tribe,
that looks sure.  Ah, he is showing what he
has in the crock.  Gracious!"

Dave forgot all prudence.  He was so
interested that he slipped out from hiding to gaze
at the contents of the crock, now poured out
rapidly by the outcast upon the food mat.

Fortunately the two men were equally
engrossed.  What the outcast had poured out of
the crock were half a hundred or more pure
gold coins!





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE OUTCAST'S SECRET`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium

   THE OUTCAST'S SECRET

.. vspace:: 2

The young ocean diver had a right to be
astonished and interested.  The first moment
his eyes landed on the coins the outcast had
exhibited, he felt sure they were part of the
ocean treasure.

They were similar in size to the bulk of the
pieces brought up from the ocean bed in the
diving bell.  They looked the same at a
distance.  Besides, where on this rarely visited
island would the native get such a hoard
except from the treasure heap?

The priest gathered up a lot of the coins.
They manifestly pleased him.  He laughed
with glee and clinked them musically together
in his hands.

Then he seemed to ask the outcast a great
many questions.  He stamped his feet as the
latter appeared to evade direct answers.

"It's plain," said the anxiously watchful
Dave, "those coins came from our stolen store.
This native knows where it is."

Dave thought this a great discovery.  From
the way the outcast pointed Dave decided the
bulk of the treasure was at a distance somewhere.

"I don't believe he has told the priest
where," Dave surmised.  "He seems bargaining
to have the outcast edict removed, then he
will pay a much greater amount.  That's the
way all this jabbering looks.  Ah, they have
come to an agreement."

The priest had become very gracious now.
He pointed, too, in his rapid talk as if
agreeing to return to the royal village and acted as
if some proposal was to be made to the native king.

"I hope I can get out of here before they
bring any more people," thought Dave.  "I
can't do it just now, though, that is sure."

The priest went away.  The outcast began
to array himself in new apparel.  He grinned
and chuckled and acted as if delighted.  Dave
figured out that he had bought his pardon.

Clearing the mat the native sat down in its
center, first surrounding himself with a
variety of native weapons.

"He is going to receive his company in
state," decided Dare.  "I simply couldn't get
past him without being seen.  He is heavily
armed, too.  Well, I'll have to wait patiently
and watch out for my chance to escape."

One hour went by, two hours.  Dave did
not dare to stir from the covert in the cave
where he crouched.  Once the idea was
suggested to his mind of overcoming the native
who possessed a secret of such importance to
him.  The next moment, however, he saw how
foolish this would be.  Even if he succeeded,
what could he do with the man, on his hands
alone, not knowing the whereabouts of his
friends, and his captive speaking a language
he could not understand?

Dave was thinking over all these things
when there came a sudden climax to the
situation.

Without warning a dozen armed natives
dashed past him with echoing yells.

It was patent to Dave that these men,
apprized by the priest, had been instructed to
steal into the cave by another entrance than
the front one known to them and seize the outcast.

It looked as if the law of the island would
not allow the king to treat on any terms
whatever with an outcast.  All the poor fellow's
negotiations, therefore, seemed to have gone
for naught.  He must have realized treachery.
He must have guessed that he would now be
taken to the king as a captive, his secret
tortured out of him, and the voice of the populace
might demand that he be burned alive.

At all events he acted with acute alarm.
He was on his feet in an instant.  Dave saw
him clear the entrance to the cave in a flash.
The men who had burst so quickly upon the
scene dashed out after him.

Dave could not help running to the entrance
of the cave to see how things turned out.  The
fugitive had gone west away from the coast.
Dave saw him far outdistance his pursuers.
Darts and spears were hurled after him, but
they all missed him.  He finally disappeared
into a grove, and distance shut out his
pursuers as well.

Dave seized his spear and started promptly
in the direction of the sea.  In his brief
survey from the heights he had made out the high
plateau which he and Stoodles and Bob Vilett
had once crossed in joining their friends on
the other side of the island.

"It's due north, and it looks to be only about
ten miles distant," calculated Dave.  "I know
that from the plateau we could see all over the
island.  If I could reach it, and the *Swallow*
has arrived, I certainly could make her out.
Yes, I must try to get to the plateau."

Dave used due haste in descending the cliff
by the route he had come.  He had the idea in
his mind of trying to mend up the yawl on the
beach.  Then he would wait for dark and skirt
the coast in the direction of the plateau.

He was glad when he got down to the shore
bluffs.  He planned how he would fix the
hole in the side of the yawl and make some oars.

"I will make an inspection of the boat," he
thought, going towards it across the beach.
"I did not notice it particularly, and maybe it
isn't much damaged."

The yawl lay keel upwards, as it had
landed with him and as he had left it earlier
in the morning.

As he got nearer he saw that several boards
were badly sprung.  They were, however, all
above the waterline.

"I think I can manage to make it seaworthy
for a little cruise," said Dave.  "Wonder if
she is damaged inside."

Dave stooped, put his hand under the side
of the yawl, and gave the boat a tremendous
lift and a push.

Over she went, but to disclose a fact that
gave Dave a decided shock.

Three natives had lain in hiding under the
yawl.  They arose simultaneously.  Three
spears were leveled at Dave, and he knew he
was a prisoner.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A DAY OF ADVENTURES`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center medium

   A DAY OF ADVENTURES

.. vspace:: 2

The three spears held Dave in a circle.
The spearsmen advanced them nearer and
nearer till they hemmed Dave in dangerously.
He had placed his own weapon on the ground
while attending to the boat, so he was entirely
unarmed.

Dave could do nothing but quietly await the
further action of his captors.  They regarded
him fiercely.  Then there was a confab among them.

Two of them finally dropped their spears,
leaving their companion to guard Dave.  They
went to the nearest bushes and secured some
stringy vines of great strength.

They tied Dave's arms behind him.  One of
the men pointed west, in which direction the
priest had gone.  It seemed that the native
village was located west.

A second of the trio dissented from the
proposition made.  He pointed down the shore
a bit and talked volubly.  Then the two went
away, giving some directions to Dave's guard.

The latter, prodding Dave with the spear,
made him go towards the shore bluffs.  He
forced him up an incline.  There he secured a
thick flexible vine, passed it through Dave's
arms, and tied the other end around a tree.

He then threw himself on the ground and
reclined there lazily.

From where he was Dave could look down
the beach.  He comprehended that the savages
had come across the yawl and had probably
seen his footmarks.  They had calculated he
would return and had hidden under the boat.
Now, judging from the actions of the two
natives down the beach, they were hunting for
other footmarks.

At least it looked so to Dave.  They seemed
to locate some disturbance in the sand like a
trail.  They followed it up this course, which
took them finally out of view of Dave.

Dave's guard reclined at the edge of the
bluff, looking out at the sea.  His spear lay
beside him.

"I wish he would go to sleep," thought Dave.
"With time given I'd bargain to get free from
these flimsy bonds, if I had to gnaw through
this big vine with my teeth."

The native, however, had no idea of going to
sleep.  He turned regularly about every two
minutes to look at his captive.

Suddenly Dave saw the man start to rise
up as if in great alarm.  A look of horror
was in his gleaming eyes.  With a yell he
toppled backwards.  The amazed Dave saw
him roll down the bluff incline.  The native
turned over and over, his head struck a great
rock in the way with a fearful click.  The
blood flew from the wound and deluged the
native's face and he lay like one dead, his body
suspended over a bent sapling.

"Why," exclaimed the startled Dave, "what
made him do that?  Mercy!"

A lithe, sinuous form cut the air, coming
from the thick shrubbery just back of Dave.
It landed where the native had sat.  Dave
understood now.  It was a panther.

His blood ran cold as the animal, disappointed
of its expected prey, turned quickly,
facing him.  From former experiences on the
island Dave knew that he confronted a foe
dangerous and bloodthirsty in the extreme.

The native panther was feared by the
natives greatly.  It was a small animal, but
ferocious to a degree and enormously strong
in forefeet and teeth.

Dave, bound, unarmed, felt himself
completely at the mercy of the animal.  He
shrank back, naturally, as it began to describe
a semicircle.  It crept low to the ground,
uttering a harsh, hissing snarl.  Its eyes were
fixed intently on its intended victim.

Dave watched the fatal circle narrow.  The
panther came to a pause, a crouch.  It shot
up from the ground.

Dave had prepared for this first onset.  He
realized, however, that, helpless as he was, his
agility could not eventually save him.

The youth made a leap as the panther
sprang at him.  Through a remarkable
circumstance Dave's rush drew the big vine out.
The panther met it coming up, was caught
across the breast, and was sent hurtling back
violently.

It fell to the ground, Dave ran at it.  He
ventured boldly, for the chances of escape were
desperate.  Dave delivered one kick at the
prostrate animal.  His foot partly landed in
its gaping mouth.

"It's incredible!" cried Dave.

He was lost in wonderment.  That resolute
kick had worked marvels.  As Dave looked at
the ground he saw several teeth there and a
trail of blood.  Their owner had rolled back
and had gone over the bluff as the native Had
gone, uttering several frightful snarls.

"Will it come back again?" panted Dave.
"A surprising adventure--I can hardly realize
it.  Yes, it is returning--no, human voices.
Men, mates!" shouted Dave, "this way, this way!"

With anxious heart elate Dave had caught
the voice of more than one person.  Then a
word in English, and he recognized the voice
of Daley.

"Hello, where are you?" responded Daley's
tones, their owner beating his way through
the dense foliage.

"Young Fearless!  We've found him," he
cried, staring hard.  "Turned up again, eh, lad?"

"I'm mighty glad you have," said Dave
rapidly.  "What, the three of you, and safe
and sound?" he added, as two others joined
their leader.

"We were looking for you," announced
Daley.  "Here, one of you has a pocket knife.
Cut the lad loose."

"You were looking for me?" repeated Dave
wonderingly.

"To be sure," nodded Daley.  "We washed
ashore last night all safe and trim, as you see."

"Yes, but not near here, for I looked for a
trace of you," said Dave.

"No, it must have been a good ten miles to
the south, lad.  We made this way, and saw
those natives get under that boat.  We were
unarmed and hid.  When those two up the
beach left you in charge of the fellow here, we
rounded into the bluffs and searched for you.
Where is the fellow, anyhow?"

Dave narrated what had taken place.
Daley looked pretty serious.

"We're in a nest of them, it seems," he
remarked, taking up the spear belonging to
Dave's guard.  "Come on, mates; let's make a
tight run for it while the coast is still clear
of them."

Daley's plan was a simple one and Dave
allowed it to prevail.  It was to get north as
fast and far as they could before they were
discovered by more natives.

"They're thick back of the coast, just
hereabouts," said Daley.  "We heard their yells
several times in our jaunt down shore, and
saw several of them.  Keep in the cover of the
bluff, and let us try to round that cape
yonder.  From what I remember here before, the
cyclone pretty well cleaned out the north end
of the island."

"That is true," said Dave, "and the natives
probably shun it on that account."

Their progress was very satisfactory.  The
cape that Daley had alluded to was reached
about two hours later.

It presented a sheer high wall to the sea and
gave a fine view of the island for miles around.
It was wooded to within about fifty feet of the
edge.

They were all terribly tired out and badly
torn with thorns and brambles.  As they came
out into clear space, Daley and his companions
threw themselves down on the ground, nearly
exhausted.

Dave, starting to follow their example,
paused, uttered a great shout, and ran to the
sheer edge of the cliff.

"Hello, there--what's doing, mate?"
challenged Daley, in some wonder.

"See! see! see!" cried Dave, pointing down
at the sea with shining eyes--"the *Swallow*!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`ON BOARD THE "SWALLOW"`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XX


.. class:: center medium

   ON BOARD THE "SWALLOW"

.. vspace:: 2

"Captain Broadbeam, come here, please."

"Why, lad, what's the matter?"

Bob Vilett had spoken in a way that might
well have excited the surprise of the
commander of the steamer.

For over ten minutes Bob had stood at the
side, gazing through a spyglass landwards.
Now of a sudden the glass dropped in his
nerveless hand.  Bob began to tremble, and
he had called to the friendly captain like one
in distress.

"Those natives up to some more high jinks?"
said Broadbeam, coming up to Bob.

"No, no, captain!  Look--look!  Quick, captain!"

"Toplights and gaffsails, what's this now?"
demanded Broadbeam, as Bob extended the
glass, looking pale and agitated.

.. _`169`:

"Look at the high cape cliff, captain," urged
Bob.  "See if I'm mistaken."

"Dave Fearless!" fairly roared the old sea
veteran the minute he put the glass to his eyes.

"You are sure, captain?" cried Bob, in great
excitement.

The captain had been staggered at his
surprising first view through the spyglass.  Now
he looked again.

"Dave!  Ah, a glad sight," he went on.
"Some men with him--look like sailors.
Fearless!  Amos Fearless!  Where is he?  Old
friend, your son is alive!"

Those of the crew in sight and hearing
stared quite wonderingly at their captain.
They had rarely seen him so moved as when he
ran towards the cabin, shouting the name of
his friend.

"What is that?" said the old diver, coming
up the cabin stairs.

"Dave is alive."

"My son alive," cried Amos Fearless,
turning white, and in a momentary weakness
holding to a rail for support.

"Yes, he is--ashore there."

"Oh, are you sure?"

"Go look for yourself.  Hurrah!"

Captain Broadbeam was beside himself with
genuine gladness.

He clamped his big paw of a hand across his
old friend's arm and fairly dragged him across
the deck.

"Yes, it's Dave," cried the happy father,
taking a look through the spyglass.  Then he
handed it back to Bob Vilett.  The old diver
turned his face away.  It was wet with tears
of thankfulness and joy.

Captain Broadbeam moved about the deck
too excited to stand still.

"I felt it in my bones!  Didn't I say it all
along?" he spoke.  "Didn't I stick to it that a
lad born to the sea would find a way out of it?
Below there, Adams," he hailed to the engineer,
"how's she working?"

"Bad, sir; mortal bad," reported the engineer.

There was something serious the matter
with the *Swallow*.  There had been since the
night previous.

Dave Fearless had not been missed from the
ship until that morning.  Then they had
searched everywhere for him.  It became
patent after an investigation that he had been
swept overboard.

There was little chance to look for him.
The storm that had given Dave and his
refugee friends, Daley and the others, such a
terrible experience, had dealt the stanch little
steamer a severe blow.

There had been times during the tempest
when the *Swallow* was thrown about like an
eggshell in the grasp of a giant.  She was
cast on her beam-ends more than once.

The steamer outrode the storm just in time.
She could not have stood another hour of that
terrible tossing about and wrenching.

With a grave face Adams had called
Captain Broadbeam down into the engine room to
see the damage that had been done.

The engine was fairly out of commission.
One driving rod was bent badly, some of the
minor mechanism was clear out of gear.

"It's land and a quiet harbor mighty quick,
sir," reported the experienced engineer, "or
trouble if another storm strikes us on the open sea."

"You are right, Adams," said the captain,
after due investigation.  "We must make
land somehow, somewhere.  The *Swallow* is
badly crippled."

"You see, sir," observed Adams, "I have
rigged up a temporary makeshift for a
driving rod.  It may give out at any moment
under strain.  If we can work our way easy like
and crawl to harborage, in a few days with
some blacksmithing we might forge or rig up
some new parts."

It was just after this that land was
discovered, and Stoodles came into a general
consultation as an authority that they were surely
approaching the Windjammers' Island.

Their former experience in these same
waters was of value now.  Adams advised
that they get close to the shore and line it,
looking for a temporary harbor.

Bob Vilett had a valuable suggestion to
make.  He was in a pretty gloomy mood over
the unknown fate of his chum, for whom they
had spent two hours with all the small boats out.

Bob, however, had to stick to his duty.  It
nearly broke his heart to witness the prostration
of the old diver, but as he thought of
something, he went to the captain.

"When we were here before, captain," he
said, "you remember the natural harbor where
we found the old derelict vessel?"

"Why," said Broadbeam, "the very thing.
Thanks for the suggestion, lad.  If we can
reach that spot we are safe from any bother
from the natives here and from any storm that
may come up.  Tell Adams."

The *Swallow* had been discovered by the
natives about an hour later.  These came to
the beach in several places.  They made a
great ado.  Whole processions came into view.
At one place they brought down a covered
platform borne by four men.  Upon this
platform was a great earthen pot filled with some
smoking material.

"What are they up to, Pat?" the captain
asked Stoodles.

"Begorra, it's the ould magic spell of their
high-priests to send us bad luck," answered
the Irishman.

The various incantations of the natives
went on nearly under the eyes of those on
board of the *Swallow* for some time.  Then
the visitations to the beach ceased.  It was
now about half an hour later that Bob Vilett
had discovered Dave Fearless on the cape cliff
where the young diver and his three
companions had just arrived.

While Mr. Fearless was gazing anxiously
ashore and Bob was tracing every movement
of his distant chum through the spyglass,
Captain Broadbeam was giving quick orders to
his men.

A boat was to go ashore at once and a signal
given from the deck of the *Swallow* that Dave
would understand.

"Don't delay, my friends," the excited
Stoodles kept urging the sailors.  "Let us get
into action before my former subjects come
into sight again."

All was ready, boat, men, and weapons, to
start to the succor of Dave, when Bob Vilett
uttered a shout of dismay.

"Oh, captain," he cried, running up to the
commander of the *Swallow*, "it's too late."

"How's this?  What do you mean?"
demanded the captain.

He snatched the glass from Bob's hand and
took a look himself.  Then he uttered a hollow
groan.

Dave and the others were still visible on the
cliff, but over a hundred natives had suddenly
swarmed about them.

As he looked, the captain saw these surround
Dave and the others.  They were seized,
bound, and carried off into the forest before
his very eyes.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE ISLAND HARBOR`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center medium

   THE ISLAND HARBOR

.. vspace:: 2

The great joy that the friends of Dave
Fearless had experienced, at discovering him
almost in reach, now gave way to great anxiety
as he seemed lost to them again.

Bob Vilett was summoned to the engine
room by his superior.  Amos Fearless went
back to the cabin, looking dejected and sad.

Captain Broadbeam fumed secretly.  He
paced the deck rapidly, going through
considerable mental perturbation.

Pat Stoodles saw the expedition ashore
abandoned.

He knew the captain's fiery moods and kept
out of the way for a spell.  When the *Swallow*
turned her head directly north he approached
Broadbeam.

"It's on your way you'd be going, captain
dear?" mildly observed Stoodles.

"Don't you see I am?" challenged Broadbeam petulantly.

"It's disturbed ye are, I see," said the
plausible Irishman.  "Ochone, ye may well
be.  Wirra-wirra! that fine broth of a boy,
Dave Fearless, abandoned to his fate.
Deserted by his friends."

"Who's abandoning him, who's deserting
him?" flamed out the captain.

"That's it.  I was asking your honor," said
Stoodles innocently.  "Of course ye have
plans to assist the lad.  I know the island.
Wasn't I their king once on a time?  Make me
your confidant, captain dear.  What's your plans?"

"I'll show those bloodthirsty villains soon,"
declared Broadbeam, shaking his ponderous
fist at the island.  "I'm going around to
anchor in the cove at the northwest end of the
island."

"I see," nodded Stoodles thoughtfully.  "A
foine spot.  And then, captain?"

"Every man aboard armed to the teeth, and
let those savages look out.  My duty is first to
my ship.  When I have her safe at anchorage
it's Dave Fearless, first, last, and all the time."

"Captain," observed Stoodles enthusiastically,
"you're a jewel!"

Stoodles went apart by himself, smiling and
apparently intensely satisfied.  He seemed
planning something all the rest of the time it
took to go about one-third around the island.

The sheltered cove into which the *Swallow*
finally ran was located at a remote and
unfrequented part of the island.

It was here that on a former occasion a
derelict had lain shut in, undiscovered for a long
time, by great forests and guarded by steep
cliffs towards the sea.

The ravages of a great cyclone were visible
here and there as the *Swallow* neared its port.
The steamer ran under a network of vines that
hung like a curtain across the front of this
singular cove.

The first thing done, once a permanent
mooring was made, was to carry a portable
forge ashore.  Adams, the engineer, selected
two of the crew who had some knowledge of
blacksmithing.

"We'll have the *Swallow* in taut trim inside
of three days, captain," Adams promised.

"Good," nodded the commander.  "I leave
it to you.  Now then, to adopt some plan to
reach Dave Fearless."

The boatswain came up and touched his cap
respectfully.

"What is it, Drake?" inquired Broadbeam.

"That man, Gerstein."

"Well, what about him?"

"Uneasy, sir.  I've been watching him
closely.  I found a package of food and a knife
and a pistol hidden under his bunk this morning."

"You did, eh?" muttered the captain
thoughtfully.  "Preparing to bolt, you think?"

"I know it."

"Won't do," advised Broadbeam tersely.
"Lock him up."

"In irons, captain?"

"No, the hold storeroom is safe and sound.
Put him there.  We mustn't let the man
escape until we know what he knows."

Captain Broadbeam had a long talk with
Amos Fearless.  He decided that early the
next morning they would make up a strong
party, well armed, and march on the native
town of the Windjammers.

"Come in here, my friends," said the
captain to Pat Stoodles and Bob Vilett, at the end
of his talk with Mr. Fearless.

He then told them of his decision.  Stoodles
did not say much.  Bob was pleased and
eager to start on the foray.

"I hope we shall be in time," sighed Dave's
father anxiously.  "Those natives may even
now have killed their captives."

"You're wrong there, Mr. Fearless,"
declared Stoodles, with confidence.  "Listen, sir.
Wasn't I once king of that fine lot of natives?
Don't I know their ways?  Very well, my
friends, if you will look at the moon to-night
you will find it on the lasht quarther.  The
Windjammers never kill a prisoner except
from a new moon up to a full moon."

"Is that true, Pat?" asked Captain Broadbeam.

"True to the letther, sir--who knows
betther than I, who have had experience?  Yes,
sir, they won't harm the lad or his comrades
for over a week at the least, unless in a fight
or an accident.  Those natives who came out
on the big rock had come there to cast another
spell on the ship.  Dave couldn't get away
seawards without dropping into the sea.  He
couldn't fight half the tribe.  He's given in
quietly, as we saw, sir.  They'll shut him up;
that's all for the present.  We'll get him out;
that's all for the future.  Now, captain dear,
I've got something of a favor to ask of you."

"All right, Pat, what is it?"

"Don't march down on the Windjammers.
I've said nothing against your plans until the
right moment."

"Well?" asked Broadbeam.

"I've a betther plan than your own to offer.
Listen, sir--the most you can muster is half
a dozen able men."

"A dozen, fully."

"And leave the ship unguarded?  All right,
captain, call it a dozen.  What then?  You
march on a thousand natives.  No, no, sir,"
said Stoodles, shaking his head solemnly,
"they would wipe you off the face of the earth,
first move.  Don't be foolish, sir.  Let me thry."

"Try what?"

"To rescue me young friend, Dave Fearless.
Captain, you remember how I hocused them
and came it over them when you were here before?"

"Yes, Pat, I have a very vivid memory of
some of your whimsical doings," answered the
captain, smiling.

"Then one favor, captain: loan me Bob
Vilett and a few traps I need.  Give me two
days to bring back Dave Fearless."

Amos Fearless looked anxious, the captain
undecided.

"Do it, captain," urged Bob Vilett eagerly.
"I have great faith in Mr. Stoodles."

The captain reflected seriously for a
moment or two.  He glanced at the old diver.
The latter nodded.  Anything that might
affect his son's welfare appealed to him
strongly.

"Do it, then," said Captain Broadbeam,
"only, remember, you two take your own risks."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE HOUSE OF TEARS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXII


.. class:: center medium

   THE HOUSE OF TEARS

.. vspace:: 2

"Hooray!" said Pat Stoodles, as soon as
they were out of the presence of Captain
Broadbeam and the diver.

"All right now, eh?" insinuated Bob curiously.

"Shure I am.  Now, my friend, I've done
you the honor of selecting you to go with me.
You're willing?"

"Try me," cried Bob stanchly.

"The first thing," said Stoodles, "is to see
Doctor Barrell."

"What!  You're not thinking of taking him
with us?" cried Bob.

"Not at all," responded Stoodles, "but I do
want to take with me something he has got."

"And what's that, Pat?" asked Bob.

"His phonnygraph."

"Aha, I see," cried Bob, grinning.  "The
time you visited your subjects before you
worked on their superstitious fears by rubbing
phosphorus on your face.  This time----"

"I'm reckoning on giving them a spaach, lad.
Lave that end to me.  What I want you to do
is to make another of those paper balloons you
sent up into the air the Fourth of July out
at sea."

"Sure," said Bob; "a dozen, if you like."

"No, make two, for one might get disabled.
Have you any of the fireworks left?"

"No, but I can make almost any kind of a
sizzer with powder and fuses the purser will
let me have."

"All right," approved Stoodles.  "I may
want to send up a balloon at the proper
moment.  If I do, I want it to send out lots of
sparks when it gets aloft."

"You leave all that to me, Mr. Stoodles,"
said Bob.  "I'll guarantee a perfect job."

"It's all for Dave's sake, lad, so I know you
will," declared Stoodles.

The eccentric but loyal Irishman now went
to the stateroom occupied by Doctor Barrell.

"Docther," he said, entering the presence of
the old scientist, "I'd be telling you something."

Doctor Barrell was very busy examining
some seaweed specimens he had fished up in
the cove, but he graciously received the visitor,
who was quite a favorite with him.

"Speak right out, Mr. Stoodles," he said.

Pat narrated his plans in behalf of Dave
Fearless.  Doctor Barrell was interested.

"And how can I help you?" he inquired,
when Stoodles had finished talking.

"Docther dear, it's the loan of your phonnygraph
I'd be wanting."

Doctor Barrell looked serious.  He had a
remarkably fine phonograph outfit, receiver
and transmitter attachments, and all up to date.

This he greatly valued, for he was
accustomed to talk his scientific deductions into
a receiver, preserving the records for future
reference when he got back to the United States.

"Tell me about what you want to reach,
Mr. Stoodles," said the kindly old fellow, "and I'll
see if I can fix you out properly."

Stoodles explained his scheme.  After that
he was shut up with the doctor for several
hours.  When he rejoined Bob his face was beaming.

"It's all right, lad," he reported.  "Ah, but
a wise old fellow is Docther Barrell.  It'll be
amazing what we are going to do to the natives."

It was just before dusk that evening when
Stoodles and Bob left the *Swallow*.  They
each carried a good-sized parcel.  The captain
had seen to it that they were furnished with
small-arms.

The ship's yawl took them out of the cove
and landed them about five miles down shore,
the boatswain in charge.

"It's understood, then," said Drake, "that
we be here again with the boat at six, twelve,
and six to-morrow?"

"If we're alive and well," answered
Stoodles, "you'll find us on hand on one of
those three occasions."

"That has saved us a long, hard tramp,"
said Bob, shouldering his load as they started
inland.

"Two-thirds of the journey, lad, if the
native town is where I think it is," answered
Stoodles.  "Now, everything depends on
getting to the town and into it without being
seen."

"Yes," assented Bob, "and it may prove a
hard task."

"Not if you do exactly as I say," declared
Stoodles.  "Just follow me.  I know all the
short cuts."

The journey was not a pleasant one.  There
was no beaten path to follow.  They had to
breast their way at places through whole acres
of thorny bushes.  At other places they had
some steep rocks to climb.

They rested frequently.  It was about two
hours later when Stoodles pressed through the
last canes of a great brake with an expression
of intense satisfaction.

"The hardest part of our tramp is over and
done with, lad," he announced.

"That's good news," said Bob, who was
pretty tired.

"Now you rest here till I get up into a tree
and take a peep in a certain direction."

Stoodles selected a high, lonely tree near at
hand, and was soon up among its loftiest
branches.  He came down speedily.

"It's all right, Bob," he stated.  "A mile
more and we will be at the edge of the town."

"The new town?" asked Bob.  "The old one
was destroyed by the cyclone, you know."

"Yes, the new town.  It's not far away.  I
can tell by the lights."

It was now, as they reached a moderately
level plateau, that they found paths evidently
used regularly by the natives.

One of these lay right through a large field
of flowers that resembled poppies.  These
appeared to be under cultivation.

"What's the flower garden for?" asked Bob.

"These are the royal flowers, lad," explained
the Irishman.  "They use them for royal
celebrations and funerals.  Bad cess to it!  If
we should be found here by the natives."

"Why?" inquired Bob.

"Taboo.  No one is allowed here except the
women who give their life to tending to the
flowers, unless by direct permission of the
native king."

"Well," observed Bob quizzically, "you had
ought to be able to get a free pass, seeing that
you was king once."

Stoodles chuckled as if some pleasant idea
was suggested to his mind.

"I'll be king again," he observed.  "I've got
to be.  'Tis only for an hour maybe, but Dave
Fearless and I want to make that ten thousand
dollars."

"What ten thousand dollars?" asked Bob
eagerly, as Stoodles paused in some confusion.

"You'd better ask Dave that," suggested
Stoodles.

"Oh, I know what you are hinting at," said
Bob.  "It's some schemes concerning those
two boxes Dave got at Minotaur Island."

"Ah, is it now?" said Stoodles, with an
expression of vacancy on his face.

"I am sure it is," persisted Bob, "and I
know what is in those boxes."

"Hear him!  Well, well!" commented Stoodles.

"It's a little printing outfit.  Pat, what are
you and Dave going to mix up these natives
with a printing outfit for?  Won't you tell me?"

"Lad," pronounced Stoodles solemnly, "that
is a dark and deadly saycret for the present."

Bob had to be satisfied with this.  He
followed his guide in silence.  Stoodles halted.

"Do you see that old building yonder?" he
asked of his companion.

"Yes," nodded Bob, curiously regarding a
rude broad hut occupying an elevated space
just beyond the flower field.

"Well, take my bundle.  That's it.  Now
don't sthir till I come out.  Crouch down
among these bushes.  I've got to get into that
building to make my plans good."

"What is it, anyhow?" inquired Bob.

"They call it the House of Tears," was the
rather singular reply of Stoodles.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`READY FOR ACTION`:

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   CHAPTER XXIII


.. class:: center medium

   READY FOR ACTION

.. vspace:: 2

"I wonder what he has gone in there for?"
thought Bob Vilett, as Stoodles disappeared
in the direction of the House of Tears.

Bob had not long to wait.  Stoodles came
back as silently as he had gone.

"Aisy, lad!" he warned.  "There's people about."

"I don't see any."

"In the pagoda yonder.  There's a dozen or
more mourners, all widows."

"Oh, I understand why it is called the
House of Tears now," said Bob.

"I was in on them with a stumble.  By good
luck the lights were low for one thing, and
they were all given up to their groaning and
mourning.  Well, I got these two, anyhow."

"Two what?" interrogated Bob.  "Oh, I
see," he added, as he made out two curious
garments in the hands of his companion.

Spreading one out at a time, Stoodles
showed Bob what they were.

"Any royal mourner," he explained, "wears
one of these constantly for a full month after
the death of a relative.  They are taboo all
that time.  They must not be hindered.  They
are free to go where they choose."

"Good," commented Bob, "they'll help us
out, then, won't they?"

"Yes.  Get into this one, lad; it's the
shortest," said Stoodles.

The garment was of one piece, covering a
person from head to foot.  Its top was a cap
with holes for the eyes only.

When the two friends were arrayed in the
garments they presented queer figures.  Each
carried his bundle under its ample folds.

The next half-hour was an interesting one
for Bob.  He simply followed Stoodles.
Somehow he could not help but have
confidence in the whimsical old fellow.  For one
thing, Stoodles certainly knew his ground well
from experience.  Besides that, he had been
successful in carrying his point when he had
before visited the native town when they
were marooned on the island by the *Raven* crowd.

It was now past midnight.  As they progressed
Bob could see that they were nearing
a lot of habitations.

For the most part the native village
made up of squalid-looking huts.

Here and there, however, were some more
pretentious structures.  So far they had not
met a single person.

"The palace, the home of the king, that
same," said Stoodles, as they paused near the
largest building they had yet seen.

"What's the programme?" asked Bob.

"You see that little pagoda attached behind?"

Bob nodded affirmatively.

"That is the council temple.  I must get in
there."

"It looks easy," said Bob.  "Those sides of
matting are not hard to break through."

"No, but the place is guarded day and
night by as many as six natives," explained
Stoodles.  "They sleep all around the curtained
daïs that holds the royal throne.  Lad,
I must get to that throne."

"All right," said Bob.  "And what am I to do?"

"Listen very carefully.  You see that big
rock in the center of the square yonder?"

"With a great bowl-like thing at the top of
it?" asked Bob.

"Yes.  That is the public tribune, or place
where the king's messengers make announcements
to the people.  That big bowl is filled
with a perfumed water once a year, and the
people pass under it while the high priest of
the tribe throws a few drops over each of them."

"Go ahead," said Bob, "this is kind of interesting."

"Now then," pursued Stoodles, "I have
planned out just what I want to have you do.
Don't make any miss, lad."

"I'll make no miss--you just instruct me,"
said Bob.

"You are to climb up into that bowl.  It's
perfectly dry now.  It's deep enough to hold
you and all your traps.  In just an hour you
fire off a revolver, its full round of charges.
Get your balloon ready.  I'll hand you up the
phonnygraph.  Start it up--that's all."

"But what's going to come of it all?"

"You will soon see that."

"And what am I to do when the performance
is over?" demanded Bob.

"I'll see that you are properly taken care
of," declared Stoodles.

"All right," said Bob.  "I suppose you know
what you are about, but it's a pretty elaborate
programme you are laying out."

"Oh, I know how to hocus these superstitious
people, that's all," said Stoodles lightly.
"I've done it before, you know."

Stoodles took Bob over to the public
tribune.  Everybody in the village seemed to be
asleep.  They were apparently unnoticed and
undisturbed as they got the bundles up into
the great bowl.

Bob climbed in after.  Stoodles gave him a
few last words of direction.  Then he started
off to carry out his own part of the programme.

The side of the great earthen bowl in which
Bob now found himself was perforated all
around the scalloped outer edges.  Bob kept
Stoodles in sight as long as he could by
peering through one of these.

"He has gone in the direction of the royal
council room," thought Bob.  "This is a queer
go.  I wonder how it will turn out?  In an
hour, he said--all right."

Bob looked at his watch, flashing a match
for the purpose.  Then he arranged the
various paraphernalia that were to take part in
Pat Stoodles' programme.

He got the phonograph placed to suit him
and ready for action at a moment's notice.
Bob also prepared one of the small paper
balloons so he could light the alcohol sponge on
the wire on its bottom without igniting the
tissue paper.  A perforated asbestos globe he
had himself designed, enabled him to do this
with facility.

The native village slept.  No sound broke
the silence of the mystic midnight hour.

Bob again consulted his watch.  The hour
prescribed by Stoodles had passed.

"Everything must have worked smoothly
with Pat," thought the young engineer.  "I'm
due to start the ball rolling all right.  Here
goes!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`IN THE ROYAL PALACE`:

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   CHAPTER XXIV


.. class:: center medium

   IN THE ROYAL PALACE

.. vspace:: 2

Bang, bang, bang, bang!

Such a vivid, unfamiliar racket had
seemingly never before disturbed the native town
of the Island Windjammers.

The whole settlement seemed to wake up at
once.  Bob Vilett was fairly startled at the
result of his sharp rapid fusillade.

He had a heap to do, however, and he had
no time to observe what was going on outside.

The balloon called first for Bob's attention.
The shots alone had not directed the excited
natives to the public tribune.  The balloon,
rising majestically, centered all eyes on that
central meeting-place.

A hush of awe hung over the crowd.  Bob
started up the phonograph.

He did not know what the little machine
was saying.  He could only surmise that it
was grinding out a speech from Stoodles.
Loud and sonorous rang forth the tones of the
fertile-minded Milesian.

Bob, venturing to peer from the bowl that
encased him, was truly amazed.

Most of the crowd that had gathered stood
perfectly still.  Some of the more superstitious,
at a sight of the strange balloon, had
fallen prostrate in terror.

The speech now coming forth from the
phonograph had a wonderful effect.  It
seemed to transfix the people.  There was not
a murmur, a stir, until the last word had
issued from the phonograph.  Then babel broke
loose, the spot was deserted by magic.  Men
shouted, yelled, ran over each other in a
pell-mell dash in the direction of the king's
palace.

Bob tried hard to guess out the situation.
He could only reason that the speech in the
old familiar tones of their former king, coming
from an unseen, mysterious source, had duly
impressed the people.  The shots, the balloon
now dropping a vivid trail of sparks far aloft,
had added to the general effect.

"I suppose I'm due to wait here until
further orders," ruminated Bob.  "I'd like to
know what is going on in the palace, though."

Bob got restive thinking about this.  The
commotion and excitement around the palace
were momentarily increasing.

"I can be of no further use here," thought
Bob.  "I don't see how Stoodles is going to
get me out of here without giving the natives
a hint as to my agency in sending up the
fireworks and playing the phonograph.  I'm
going to get out of this; yes, I am."

Bob was an impatient, persistent sort of a
fellow.  Having made up his mind to leave
his hiding-place, he promptly succeeded in
getting out of the bowl and down onto the
ground.

"I'm safe in this outlandish garment Pat
gave me," reasoned Bob, securing his belongings
under its folds.  "I'm going to join the
procession and see what is going on."

Bob pressed on the outskirts of the howling,
excited mob that surrounded the palace.  Then
he edged his way in among them.

He found out that the robe he wore was
indeed "taboo."  People made way for him.
Thus proceeding, Bob got finally right up to
the little pagoda that Stoodles had designated
to him as the royal council room.

Its entrance was choked and crowded with
natives trying to enter.

Bob kept working his way farther and
farther along.  At last he squeezed past two
great greasy sentinels and saw Pat Stoodles.

The Milesian sat on a heap of skins next to
a throne raised on a daïs.  Upon the throne
itself sat a dusky native.  Bob decided, from his
manner and the deference with which he was
treated by the others, that he must be the king.

All around were savages, more or less
decorated in a way not common with the simple
natives.

These persons, Bob knew, must comprise the
nobility and the high-priests of the tribe.

Stoodles was speaking volubly, and seemed
to take his honors and the situation in an easy,
familiar way.

Of course Bob could not understand the
native tongue, but he quickly saw that in some
way the shrewd Milesian had got things on a
most friendly basis with the tribe and its
leaders.

"I wish I could get nearer and attract his
attention," thought Bob.  "I want him to
know I have left the public square.  I'll
venture it.  Pat!"

The next moment Bob Vilett was sorry he
had spoken.  He had not realized that to utter
a word unbidden in the royal council room
without royal permission was to court the
severest public censure.

Four guards grabbed him up in a moment.
All those around the royal daïs looked
towards the present center of commotion in
amazement.

Bob struggled in the grasp of his fierce
captors, but was hampered by the bundles he
carried.  Suddenly one of the guards discovered
he had shoes on.  They tore away the garment
encircling him.  Some hurried words were
called out to the king.  In stern tones that
monarch responded.

Bob could tell from the menacing manner of
the guards that he was being borne away to
punishment.

"Stoodles!  Pat Stoodles!" he shouted at
the top of his voice.

"Aha!" he heard Stoodles exclaim, and then
the Milesian added words in the native language.

The guards looked amazed.  They received
a new order from the king.  Bob was carried
to the foot of the daïs.

"Make a bow," suggested Stoodles, and Bob
did so.  Stoodles no longer wore the
mourning garb.  That on Bob was riddled.

"It's all roight.  I was soon coming after
you," said Stoodles.  "Everything is fixed."

"How fixed?" inquired the wondering Bob.

"Don't you see," insinuated the smiling
Stoodles, with a gracious wave of his hand,
"nothing is too good for me or my friends?"

"How did you work it?" asked Bob, feeling
perfectly safe and easy now.

"That phonnygraph recited a great spaach
of mine.  It told the people that they would
find their old king, myself, seated on the throne
here.  Why, lad, when they did find me I could
have ousted the new king in a minute.  I was
magnanimous, though.  I only asked some
information.  I told him he could keep his
throne in peace."

The king and his counselors stared at the
twain as they conversed, but did not interrupt.

"Whisht, lad!" continued Stoodles, with a
chuckle.  "They've given me some great information."

"What is it?" asked Bob.

"The *Raven* crowd are alive.  I have found
out where they are."

"Good!" said Bob.

"I have threatened all kinds of fire gods and
cyclone demons unless they set Dave Fearless
free."

"Will they?" asked Bob eagerly.

"Shure they will.  He'll be here safe and
sound in a few minutes.  There's the guards
they sent for him now."

Some natives bearing spears came hurrying
into the room.  There arose a great excited
jabber.  Stoodles rose up in manifest disappointment.

"What about Dave?" persisted Bob.

"Ochone!" cried Pat Stoodles.  "Dave has
spoiled everything!"

"Spoiled everything?" repeated Bob.

"Yes; Dave has escaped."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE CAPTIVES`:

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   CHAPTER XXV


.. class:: center medium

   THE CAPTIVES

.. vspace:: 2

"Mr. Daley, you are a brave man."

"Glad of the compliment, Dave Fearless.  I
hope I deserve it."

"You certainly do," asserted Dave warmly.
"But where are Jones and Lewis?"

Daley, who had flushed with pleasure at the
handsome compliment bestowed by the young
friend he was learning to like and respect,
scowled and muttered angrily at this allusion
to the companions who had been captured with
them by the natives on the cape bluff.

"They're cowards, that's what they are,"
cried Daley angrily, "the miserable villains."

"Well, I hope they got away safely,
anyhow," said Dave simply.

"They don't deserve it," growled Daley.
"Now then, lad, so far so good.  But what
next?"

"That's so," remarked Dave Fearless.
"What next, indeed?"

It was the second day after their capture.
Dave and Daley were in a queer environment,
to explain which it is necessary to go back to
the hour when they were discovered on the
cape bluff by the natives.

Their great joy at the discovery of the
*Swallow* so near at hand off the island coast, had
been quickly shadowed.

As Dave's anxious friends had seen through
the spyglass from the deck of the steamer, the
arrival of a large body of natives had put an
end to the freedom of the young ocean diver
and his companions.  All four were
surrounded and bound.

While some of the savages went on with
their fetich ceremonies on the bluff to cast
an evil spell on the *Swallow*, the others
marched the captives to the native town.

There they were placed in a wretched hut,
without any roof.  The hut filled a cavity in
the ground.  About a dozen natives squatted
on the surrounding level, and were thus
enabled to keep the captives constantly in sight.

The rest of that day and the next passed in
this irksome confinement.  The prisoners were
given food and water, but the great vigilance
of their guards was not relaxed.

There was not the least opportunity
afforded to escape.

When night came again, Daley and the
others went to sleep.  They had become
disheartened.  Dave, however, never gave up.
Escape was constantly in his mind.  His
chance came at midnight.

Dave did not know it then, but Stoodles
and Bob Vilett were responsible for the
opportunity afforded.

Of a sudden, Dave caught the sounds of
great commotion in the center of the native
village, from which their prison place was
quite remote.

Some men came running by, shouting loudly
to the guards.  Dave was amazed to see the
last two of these spring to their feet in great
excitement.  They babbled like frightened
monkeys.  Then, with frantic yells, they
dashed away towards the village.

It took Dave Fearless less than a minute
to arouse his sleeping companions.  It took
less than another minute to show them that
a golden opportunity for escape was presented.

It had not been a question of getting rid of
their bonds at any time.  These had grown
loose from their twisting about during the
day.  It was the work of but a moment to cast
them to the ground.

"There is not a single guard left," said Dave.
"Something great and exciting is evidently
happening at the native village.  Work fast,
men.  We must get out of the enclosure some
way quick as we can.  Then a dash for the
timber yonder."

Daley braced himself against the side wall
of the enclosure.  Dave mounted to his
shoulders.  As soon as he got safely over on the
solid ground, Dave secured some poles.
These he slanted down into the prison
place.  The others scrambled up them with
agility and had soon joined him.

"What's that?" demanded Daley suddenly.
"There it is again.  No, gone.  Something like
a big fireball.  The trees shut it out.  Now
then, Fearless, lead the way."

Daley had caught a momentary glimpse of
the balloon Bob Vilett had sent aloft.  Had
Dave seen this, it might have suggested the
near proximity of friends from the *Swallow*
and have changed his plans.

As it was, he, like his companions, had only
one thought in view--to get to a safe distance
before the guards might return, discover their
absence, and arouse the tribe to a general pursuit.

The refugees were most fortunate in their
movements for the next few hours.  Dave had
struck out due west.  They soon passed all
signs of habitations.

It was two o'clock in the morning when they
halted.  The others lay down on the ground.
Dave rested a few minutes.  Then he arose and
walked a short distance from the spot.

He was intent on studying their surroundings
and learning what prospect lay beyond a
sharp rise just in their course to the west.

The moon shone brightly, but by spells
clouds occasionally crossed the sky.  Dave
had to wait for these fitful illuminations to
pick his course.

Near to the top of the rise Dave halted,
studied a slight glare, and then started on
again with caution.

"A fire," he said.  "Yes, I can smell smoke.
Natives around a camp-fire?  I guess that
much.  I must hurry back to the others and
make back tracks double-quick."

Dave hastened along fast and recklessly.
The sure proximity of enemies had startled him.

"What's this?" he gasped suddenly, lost his
footing, took a header, and plunged into
complete darkness.





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.. _`A THRILLING ADVENTURE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXVI


.. class:: center medium

   A THRILLING ADVENTURE

.. vspace:: 2

Dave had fallen down a hole covered with
a thin network of branches and leaves.  He
knew it to be a trap, a pitfall, as he began his
descent.  There was a strong rancid smell
about the spot, and the earth and the branches
were thickly covered with grease.

Dave went shooting, feet first, down a
smooth slant.  He landed with a shock.  Then
he rebounded, lost his balance, and fell flat.

With a thrill he struck something moving,
something that grunted, and tore away from
him.  It seemed covered with sharp, ugly
bristles that had penetrated his hands like
thorns.

Dave sprang to his feet in alarm.  Fierce
echoing grunts filled the place, a pit of
considerable size.  He quickly drew out a match
and flared it.

"A wild boar," said Dave, and as he took
in his situation he was swept off his feet with
a new shock.

The momentary illumination had fully
apprized Dave of his environment.  The pit was
a trap, its entrance scented and greased to
attract victims.

A strong home-made rope was attached to a
stake in its center.  Its end was a loop.  This
loop now inclosed the neck of the boar, choking
and imprisoning it.  In fact, the fierce
animal was fairly frantic.

The loop must have been placed in some
way near to decoy food, tightening and
securing its victim at a touch.

Now rushing around, the boar had swept
Dave off his footing with the taut rope at
which it struggled.  It was upon him in an
instant.  Mad with pain and fright it tried to
gore and crush him.

Dave managed to roll and squirm beyond
its reach.  Breathless and bewildered, he
hurriedly drew out his pocket knife, opening its
largest blade.

With blazing eyes the maddened animal
made another rush at Dave.  He went flat.
Its tusk penetrated a double thickness of his
clothing.  It tugged at him, panting, grunting,
squealing.

Snip-snip--Dave was all mixed up in the
rope, almost helplessly at the mercy of the
animal.  He slashed out with the knife, but
struck the rope instead of the boar.

The rope parted.  Dave was dragged over
the pit floor, his clothing firmly held by the
spike-like tusk of the boar.

He had to go along, whether he would or
not.  Dave grasped one bristly ear of the boar.

"Whew!" he uttered, mind and body in such
a turmoil that he could not realize what had
happened till it was all over.

The boar, freed, had made a dash out of the
pit.  It seemed to Dave that it took some
avenue of exit different to the slant down
which he himself had tumbled into the pit.

At all events, he found himself in the open
air, but borne along at a terrific rate of speed.
He could hardly cling to the animal.

He let go his grasp entirely as the boar
scaled a rise and toppled over.  Dave,
however, could not disengage his clothing.  Then
he was conscious of rolling over and over.  The
big animal seemed to fade from view in a swift
flight.  Dave's head struck something and he
lost his senses.

When Dave came back to consciousness,
there was no mistake as to his situation.  A
single glance enlightened him.

A dozen natives were working around a
charcoal fire.  They seemed to be hardening
spear-heads, darts, and other weapons used by
the Windjammers as weapons of war.

Near by was a square hut.  Its door stood
open, the only aperture it contained.  Its top
was flat and sunken, and leaning up against
the sides of this parapet-like inclosure Dave
noticed numberless weapons.

Dave lay flat on the ground, feet and hands
both tied.  The wild boar was nowhere in
evidence.  The natives were going on with their
work.

"Weapon-makers," said Dave.  "They seem
to be finishing up their work, for the fire is
going out."

Finally one of the men--there were four of
them--finished holding a lot of spear-ends in
the fire.  He came and looked at Dave,
discovered his eyes were open, and spoke some
quick words to him.

Dave shook his head to indicate that he did
not understand.  A few minutes later all four
men piled the various articles they had been
burning upon a sort of litter.

They seemed about to carry this into the
hut.  Each took a corner of the litter.

Here something happened.  Dave almost
imagined himself in a dream, as he saw a swift
form burst from some bushes near at hand.

It was Daley.  He was armed with a great
knotted club.  Evidently he had been watching
for just this opportunity to interest
himself in behalf of his young friend and
overpower his captors.

The four natives employed at the litter had
no time or chance to defend themselves.

Whack!  Whack!  In turn two of them
went flat with broken heads.

Whack!  Whack!  Their companions toppled
over, and the litter fell to the ground.

"Up with you," roared the giant sailor, a
cyclone of strength and resolution now.

He grabbed up Dave bodily, ran towards
the hut, dropped Dave, closed the door, barred
it, and stood panting and trembling with
excitement as he proceeded to release his
companion.

It was then that Dave Fearless made that
fervid remark:

"Mr. Daley, you are a brave man!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE POISONED DARTS`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXVII


.. class:: center medium

   THE POISONED DARTS

.. vspace:: 2

It was after a brief, hurried conversation
that Dave and Daley began an inspection of
their surroundings.

"You ask what next?" said Dave, stirring
about to ease his cramped limbs and snapping
a match.  "I think we had first better learn
the condition of the enemy."

"Hey, don't do that, lad!" called out Daley
quickly, as Dave moved as if to open the
barred door and peer out.

"There's no other way of finding out what
we want to know," said Dave.

"Yes, there is!" declared Daley.  "I just saw
a ladder in a corner here.  It leads to the roof,
I think."

"Try it and see," suggested Dave, which
they did.

"All right," announced Daley, as they came
out on a square roof like a platform, "we can
get a famous idea of the rights of things from
here."

Dave surveyed the prospect in great curiosity.
The roof resembled an arsenal.  There
were hundreds and hundreds of all kinds of
spears, pikes, and darts.

Some were made up in bundles, some were
leaning against the rising parapet as if slanted
to catch the sunlight.  In the center of the
roof was a little raised platform.  This held a
lot of spears and darts, the heads resting
in a big flat bowl full of some dark-colored
liquid.

"There they are," announced Dave, glancing
down at the spot where they had last seen his
recent captors.

Daley, too, viewed the quartette.  Two of
them had fully recovered from their injuries.
One was squatted on the ground, holding his
head between his knees and rocking to and fro
and moaning.

The fourth lay flat on the ground, still
insensible, but the two able natives were
rubbing him to restore him to consciousness.

"We're safe enough here," remarked Daley,
with some satisfaction.  "They can't possibly
get in--they won't try."

"No, we seem to have a whole armory at our
disposal," said Dave.  "Stoodles taught me to
use the dart pretty well."

"We could hold those fellows at bay for a
long time."

"Just so," nodded Dave, "provided we are
not starved out.  You know it is folly to think
of staying here if we can possibly get away.
They would soon bring an army to surround
us, and then all chances of escape would be gone."

"I knocked them out once," said Daley.
"We'll try it again if you say so.  It would be
equal chances if those two cowards, Jones and
Lewis, hadn't shown the white feather, after
promising to join me and help me.  The
minute I pointed out the natives here to them,
they cut stick for dear life."

"Well, they must take care of themselves,
after this.  Wait, we won't venture out yet,
Mr. Daley.  See, the fellows have got in trim
to challenge us."

The four natives were now fully recovered
from Daley's vigorous onslaught, it seemed.

They consulted and chattered, with frequent
glances up at the enemy in possession of their
stronghold.

One of them, evidently the leader of the
group, worked himself up into a perfect fever
of excitement and rage.

He approached nearer to the hut and
shouted up a loud rigmarole to Dave and
Daley.  Suddenly wheeling around, he seized
a dart from the heap on the litter.

So rapid and expert was he that even
though the man dodged, it pierced Daley's cap
through and through, showing its tremendous
force by carrying the headgear fully twenty
feet beyond the roof of the hut.

"Aha, two can play at that game, my
friend," said Daley.

He seized a dart and hurled it back at the
men.  They laughed at him derisively as it
struck the ground lightly and harmlessly
beyond them.  Even Dave had to smile at the
sailor's sheer clumsiness.

Now the refugees had to duck down frequently,
for all four of the natives began to
shower the darts at them.

"I will try a hand," suggested Dave at last.
"These on this little platform seem better
made than the others.  Hi-aa-ooa!" yelled
Dave, standing up and poising the dart.  He
used the great war-cry of the tribe that Pat
Stoodles had taught him in a moment of
leisure.

The minute Dave raised the weapon a
frightful uproar arose from the four men.
Their eyes seemed fixed in horror on the
poised dart.  Like lightning they turned.  In
a flash they took to the nearest covert and hid
themselves.

"Well, well!" cried the amused Daley,
"that's a sudden change of front.  Lad, there's
some meaning to that move."

"Why, yes," said Dave thoughtfully; "they
acted as if they were scared to death.  I
wonder why?"

He paused and turned the dart over in his
hand, studying it critically.

"Say, Mr. Daley," he observed, "do you
suppose this is some peculiar kind of a weapon
that they attach taboo or some of their queer
outlandish superstitions to?"

"Drop it!" all of a sudden almost screamed Daley.

He dashed the dart from the hands of his
companion in a most startling way.

"Why, Mr. Daley----" began Dave in astonishment.

"Don't you ever go to feeling the points of
those darts again, boy," said Daley seriously.
"Look here."

He drew Dave nearer to the little platform
in the center of the roof.

"I've guessed it out," said Daley.  "Yes, it
must be so.  See that liquid stuff the dart
heads are resting in--see the rattlesnake heads
in a heap yonder?"

"Why," exclaimed Dave comprehendingly;
"poison!"

"Poison of the most deadly kind, lad!"
declared Daley.  "We've got them now.  They
won't dare to show their heads as long as we
shake one of those poisoned darts at them.
Only be careful how you handle them.  They
are sure, sudden death.  One of the *Raven*
crew was struck with one of them in an attack
the first time we landed here.  He died in an
hour."

The camp-fire burned down gradually.
Their enemies remained under cover.  The
clouds grew heavier, and there was finally no
moonlight or other illumination of the scene.

"It will be daylight soon," remarked Dave,
after a long spell of silence.  "Mr. Daley, we
mustn't stay here."

"Right, mate.  I've been thinking of that
myself."

"See here," said Dave, going to the
remotest corner of the roof away from the front of
the hut.  "There's a tree with some branches
in reach.  Let us take that route.  The trees
are thick, clear over to what looks like some
kind of a corral yonder."

"An excellent idea," voted Daley.  "Well,
try it, lad."

Dave's suggestion was a pronounced success.
They got to the first tree, to a second, to
a third.  Apparently their escape was
unobserved by the natives.

"We're safe enough now," said Daley.  "I
say, lad, look down.  Whatever are those
queer-looking animals?"

"Horses," said Dave, straining his gaze at
a kind of corral, inside of which half a dozen
animals were tethered.

"They don't look United States like,"
observed Daley.

"No; they are called *dadons*.  They are very
rare here, Stoodles told me.  I never saw but
one before."

"Suppose----" began Daley, descending to
the ground.  Then suddenly he exclaimed:
"They're after us!"

From the nearest bushes some darts cut the
air as the two refugees reached the ground.
The next moment, showing that they had been
aware of their movements all along and were
awaiting just this opportunity to attack
them, the four weapon-makers burst into view.

"Run for it!" shouted Daley.

"This way," directed Dave, dashing towards
the corral.  "Out with your knife, Mr. Daley.
Cut the tether of one of those *dadons*.  I'll
do the same.  We may escape those natives yet."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A WILD RIDE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXVIII


.. class:: center medium

   A WILD RIDE

.. vspace:: 2

"All aboard, mate!" shouted Daley.

"Keep together," called out Dave.

"It's going to be a tussle," panted the sailor.
"My, but she's a skittish one."

Daley had mounted one of the *dadons* after
cutting its tether.  Dave had succeeded in
landing himself on the back of another.

The *dadons* were horses in all things except
a peculiarly long mane and a head shaped like
that of a zebra.

The minute Dave got mounted he managed
to form the tether into a kind of a nose loop,
but he could get no control of the animal
under him.  He could simply hold on.

Both *dadons* were wildly averse to being
ridden.  That on which Daley rode made a
blind dash through the corral ropes, and
Dave's animal followed him.

Some darts rained about the fugitives for
a minute or two.

Then disappointed howls alone told of the
natives they had eluded.

"Try to stop," shouted Dave to Daley, who
was in the lead, after they had made a
reckless rush of fully two miles across a great
level stretch of heather.

But Daley did not hear Dave or was
unable to heed him.  He kept straight on.  The
heather ended.  A great range of hills
presented.  As Daley and his steed turned into
these, Dave lost sight of them.

He had given a thought to Jones and Lewis
and felt it his and Daley's duty to look up the
fellows, even if their courage had failed them
at a critical moment.

Dave, however, could not stop the *dadon* he
rode.  The animal was perfectly uncontrollable.
It went like a flash, snorting frightfully,
blindly grazing tree branches that hung over
the rough route, and once or twice Dave was
nearly swept from its back.

He could now only assume that Daley was
somewhere ahead, that sooner or later the
animal the sailor rode, superior to Dave's own
in speed, would tire out and slow down.

"We mustn't become separated," Dave told
himself.  "Ah, there he is."

Dave caught a flashing view of steed and
rider at a break in the hills.  Then they
disappeared.  He held on tightly, hoping his
tarpan would follow its mate.

It was now daylight.  The scenery about
was indescribably wild and grand.  Now they
had reached a broad and level plateau.  There
would be a clear space, then a dense timber
stretch.

This alternation kept up for many a mile.

"Where is Daley?" was the anxious theme
of Dave's thoughts.  "I am going to control
this animal," he decided doughtily, a minute later.

Dave tried to form the loose end of the
tether into some kind of a bridle.  Jolted
about, forced to cling closely at least with one
hand all of the time, however, for fear he
would be thrown off, Dave had to abandon
this experiment.

"The sea!" he cried suddenly, catching a
distant view of it.  "That's all right," said
Dave.  "Whether ahead or behind, Daley will
make for the seashore.  Maybe he's there now.
Whoa!  Whoa!  I've got to jump.  Too late!"

The animal had been dashing down an
incline for some time.  Emerging from a belt of
verdure with startling suddenness, a sheer dip
to the edge of a cliff was visible.

The *dadon* could not stay its course.  It
fairly slipped the length of the dip.  So fast
did the animal go that Dave had not time
to leave its back before its flying hoofs had
struck nothingness.

Forty feet down a dead-water bay showed,
dotted with islands.  The sensation of descent
was one of breathlessness.

The animal struck the water squarely with
its forefeet.  Steed and rider were borne under
completely.

Dave arose, free from the animal at last.

He floated, catching his breath, and saw the
*dadon* swim towards the shore and go
scampering out of sight along the wooded beach.

"Well," commented Dave, "here's an
adventure.  I'm thankful for whole bones.  I hope
that Daley has fared quite as luckily."

Dave swam ashore.  He sat down by some
bushes and took off his coat, to dry it in the
sun.  Under the bushes was plenty of dead
wood, and he reached out and secured two
pieces to form a sort of clothes-bar.

These he had arranged in due order.  Dave
reached for a third piece.  He seized what he
supposed to be a fragment of old wood.  It
felt soft, yielding, and drew away from his
hand with startling suddenness.

"Eh, why," cried Dave.  "A human foot!"

The object had disappeared, but there was
a rustling under the dense foliage of the bushes.

"I'll have this out," declared Dave, and
jumped to his feet and pulled aside the bushes.

Cowering on the ground, his face showing
alarm and suffering, a pitiful, pleading look
in his eyes, was a dusky native.

"The outcast--the man I saw with the priest
of the tribe two days ago," exclaimed Dave.
"Yes, it's the same man."

Dave was tremendously worked up at this
recognition.  He stood regarding the native
speculatively.  He fully realized that this
meeting might mean a great deal to himself
and his friends.

Had he not seen the person now before him
give a lot of the treasure gold pieces to the
priest of the tribe?

Was he not then as now persuaded that the
outcast knew where the rest of the treasure
was secreted?

"Why," said Dave, "this man holds the key
to the whole situation.  Now then, my friend,
you and I must understand one another."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`FOUND!`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIX


.. class:: center medium

   FOUND!

.. vspace:: 2

Dave Fearless pulled farther away the
bushes that still half-screened the native.  The
man sat up, and spoke some words feebly.
Dave shook his head.  The man sank back
dejectedly, knowing now that Dave could not
understand him.

Dave saw that the man was hurt and helpless.
He tried to find out how.  The outcast's
face expressed some relief as Dave gently
lifted one arm and then the other.  Then the
outcast pointed to one lower limb.

Dave moved this.  The man winced.  Dave's
face grew serious.

"His left leg is broken," said Dave.  "Too bad!"

Dave found that the man's kneebone was
completely shattered.  He seemed to have had
a terrible fall.  As Dave proceeded with his
ministrations gently, the man pointed to the
cliff.

"Fell over there, eh?" translated Dave,
nodding as the man went on with expressive
gestures.  "Pursued by many, many.  Yes, I see.
You want to go farther?  That way?  The
island out there?  My man, I don't think you
will stand much moving."

Dave spent an hour bathing the injured
limb and setting it in splints.  It was a crude
surgical operation and must have pained the
sufferer intensely, but the very fact of kindly
attention and treatment seemed to cheer up
the poor fellow.

"I've certainly got a new and great
responsibility on my hands," thought Dave.  "What
am I going to do now?  If he is recaptured,
he will probably be sacrificed.  If he is left
here alone, he will starve and die of neglect.
Yes," said Dave firmly, "black or white, friend
or foe, the poor fellow relies on my sympathy.
He is going to get it, too, to the fullest
extent.  I won't desert him."

Dave busied himself looking for food.  He
hoped that Daley or the other two men might
show up.  He was near the sea.  The *Swallow*
might happen by.

"Well, you're a persistent sort of a fellow,"
commented Dave, as the outcast for the twentieth
time or more pointed to the island he had
first indicated in the same pleading way.
"What do you want to go there for?"

The outcast put his finger in the sand and
traced a boat there.

"Ah, some kind of a craft on that island,"
guessed Dave.  "Do you mean that?  All right,
I'll investigate."

Dave disrobed and swam to the island the
man had pointed out.

He went all over it, and finally, among a
thick clump of reeds, he came across a canoe.
"Good!" cried Dave, feeling that he had been
well rewarded for his care to the sufferer.
"Why, it's a splendid little craft, paddles and
all.  The man must have brought it here and
hidden it.  He made for this spot when pursued."

When Dave got back to his patient with the
canoe, the latter could not conceal his
satisfaction and delight.

He motioned Dave to drag the canoe close
up to him, which Dave did.  He reached over
into the bow and pulled out a bag made of skin.

This he handed to Dave with a free, hearty
gesture, indicating that it was a gift.

Dave opened the bag.  His pulses beat
pretty high.  His hopes grew immensely.

"More of the gold--the same gold, part of
the treasure!" he exclaimed, with glowing
eyes.  "I was surely right.  This man knows
all about the treasure."

Dave looked at the outcast speculatively.
He wondered how he could make him indicate
more.  He, too, began tracing in the sand.  It
was an intricate and laborious task.  At the
end of an hour Dave looked triumphant.

"It's plain as day!" he cried, preparing the
canoe for a voyage.  "The man indicates that
this gold is a mere sample of what he can
produce.  It is hidden on an island west.  He
pokes dots in the outline he draws, as if it is
full of caves.  He is angry at the treachery of
the Windjammers.  He will have nothing
further to do with them.  If I will cure him
up, he will take me to the treasure.  If I will
stay his friend and carry him away from his
enemies, he will give up all the gold--all of
it.  Oh! a famous bargain.  Well, I simply
must find the *Swallow* now."

Dave got afloat.  He put some soft grasses
in the bottom of the canoe and made the
invalid comfortable.

They got out to sea, and the youth progressed
with some skill, for it was not his first
experience with the paddles.

During the ensuing ten hours Dave did not
see any craft afloat or person ashore.  He kept
going north.

"Somewhere along the coast I am bound to
run across the *Swallow*," he confidently told
himself.

Dave was utterly worn out as dusk began
to come down over land and sea.  He did not
cease his paddling, however, tired as he was.
Some distance away he had made out a familiar landmark.

The shades of night were falling as Dave
drove the canoe past the natural curtain of
vines that hid the cave for which he was making.

"Oh, see!"

He dropped the paddles and sat like one
transfixed.  A glorious picture was outlined
by a cheerful camp-fire ashore.

It showed animated figures preparing an
evening meal--comfort, good cheer, homelikeness.

But most of all, the radiant flare showed
the stanch dear old steamer, the *Swallow*, in
a safe harbor and in friendly hands.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`DISASTER`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXX


.. class:: center medium

   DISASTER

.. vspace:: 2

It would be impossible to do full justice to
the joy and excitement occasioned by the
return of Dave Fearless to the *Swallow*.

Dave had come up to the steamer
unperceived.  He knew how to get to the old
familiar deck without being discovered.

His first rush was for the dear old father,
seated on a stool watching the cheerful scene
ashore, but all the time thinking of his missing son.

There was an affectionate greeting between
these two who thought so much of one
another.  Then Captain Broadbeam nearly
wrung Dave's hand lame, trying to express
his delight at seeing him once more safe and
sound aboard the *Swallow*.

"Mr. Stoodles away--and Bob, too?"
exclaimed Dave disappointedly, a little later, as
he was told of the happenings with his friends
since he had last seen them.  "That is
unfortunate.  I hope they will soon return safely.
In fact, it is almost indispensable that
Mr. Stoodles see the poor native I brought aboard
with me."

"He'll have to see him soon, then," said
Doctor Barrell, shaking his head seriously.
"The man is in pretty bad condition, Dave.
I doubt if I can pull him through."

"He is the possessor of a great secret," said
Dave.  "Let me tell you about it."

"I hope Stoodles comes back in time to talk
with the outcast," said Amos Fearless
anxiously, after Dave had told his story.

The next morning there was some disturbing
news to report by the boatswain.  Gerstein
had escaped during the night, taking the best
equipped of the small yawls with him.

Then there were two days of solicitous nursing
of the outcast and anxious waiting for the
return of Stoodles and Bob.

One morning a loud cheer brought the
coterie at the captain's table in great haste and
excitement on deck.

Stoodles and Bob had arrived by the overland route.

There was a vast babel of talk and welcome
lasting over an hour, while all matters were
mutually explained.

"I'm so solid with the present government
of the Windjammers," boasted Pat proudly,
"that I could command legions and phalanxes
at my instant beck and call."

"That is good, Mr. Stoodles," smiled Dave.
"So you had them out looking everywhere for
me, did you?"

"Yes, and I promised them that a fearful
visitation of fire--some of Bob's foine
fireworks--would disrupt the nation if within
three days you were not found."

"Well, Stoodles," said Captain Broadbeam,
"we may need the help of the natives when we
get farther along.  For the present, however,
there is only one thing to do.  Get into shape
to go for that treasure.  The *Swallow* is all
fixed up.  We are in perfect sailing trim.  We
know that Nesik and his crowd are still alive,
but we need have no fear of them without a
ship to harbor them.  Another thing--Gerstein's
escape is unfortunate.  He may get to
his friends and warn them.  In the morning
we will start to hunt up the treasure."

"Gerstein may get there first," suggested Dave.

"Suppose he does.  He's got no ship to carry
the treasure away in.  I see possible fighting
ahead if we run across Nesik and the Hankers,
but we've got the upper hand of them.  Dave,
lad, take Stoodles down to see the native you
brought here.  Try to find out something
definite about the hiding-place of the treasure,
will you, Pat?"

"Shure, I will," declared Stoodles.

"Oh, the man will tell you freely--I know
it from his gestures to me!" declared Dave.
"He was very low last night, though.  Come,
Mr. Stoodles, I will take you to him, let him
know that you are my friend, and the rest will
be easy."

They went to the forecastle.  The boatswain
met them at the door of the little compartment
that marked the hospital of the ship.

"Mr. Stoodles is to see the sick native,
Mr. Drake," said Dave.

The boatswain looked very somber.

"Mr. Stoodles is too late," he pronounced
solemnly.

"Too late?" echoed Dave.

"Yes; the poor fellow died an hour ago."

Dave went back to the cabin with the sad
news.  Stoodles expressed a curiosity to see
the outcast, and the boatswain accompanied
him to the hospital.

When later Dave looked for Pat, the
Milesian sent word by the boatswain that he
was very busy and would see his friend in the
morning.

It was about two hours after midnight that
Dave awoke with a great start.  As he sprang
to the floor from his berth Bob Vilett dashed
into the stateroom.

"Dave, Dave!" he cried.  "It's all up with us."

"Now what----" began Dave.  He was
interrupted by great tramping on the deck and
the sound of pistol-shots.

Dave hurried on his clothes and rushed after
Bob to the deck.

A blow from a marlinspike sent Bob flat and
a rough stranger grabbed Dave as he appeared.

Captain Broadbeam and his crew were
hemmed in near the bow, held at bay by a
dozen armed men.

With a sinking heart Dave realized what
had happened--the brave little *Swallow* was
in the hands of their enemies: Captain Nesik
of the *Raven*, the Hankers, and all that rascally crew.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A LUCKY FIND`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXXI


.. class:: center medium

   A LUCKY FIND

.. vspace:: 2

"Land ahead!" sang out Captain Broadbeam's
terrific voice in foghorn bass.

"We'll never reach it," declared Bob Vilett.

"Begorra, this is the worst yet," observed
Pat Stoodles.

"Steady; be ready to jump if the raft tips,"
said Dave Fearless.

Fog, blackness, rain, and tempest
surrounded the crew of the *Swallow*.  A critical
moment, indeed, had arrived in their experiences.

The capture of the *Swallow* early that
morning had been effected by their enemies
within an hour.  The attack had been a vast
surprise.  No one had anticipated it, no one
was prepared to meet it.

Superior numbers, desperate men heavily
armed, had simply overpowered those on
board of the steamer two at a time.

The bound captives were put ashore.  With
sad hearts they saw the *Swallow* sail out of
the secret cove in the hands of their enemies.
Dave's hardest trial was to listen to the
triumphant taunts of Bart Hankers.  The elder
Hankers gloated over Amos Fearless.

Captain Nesik goaded Captain Broadbeam
to the verge of madness with his mean sneers.

Then they steamed away, the captives got
loose from their bonds, and there they were,
faced with the very worst fortune, it seemed,
where a few hours previous good luck only
had smiled on them.

"I've an idea," said Pat Stoodles at once.

"Well, what is it?" asked Broadbeam.

"Put afther the rascals."

"Of course we will do that," said the
captain, "and mighty smart, too.  Don't give up,
lads," he cried encouragingly to those around
him.  "We've the will, we'll find a way.
Something tells me those thieving buccaneers
haven't the intelligence or grit to hold a good
point when they make it."

"Captain," said Stoodles, with a sudden air
of importance, "if you will all come to the
native village with me, I'll bargain to have you
conveyed where you like in all the royal
canoes of the tribe."

"It would take too much time--it might
complicate matters.  The sight of so many of
us might change the ideas of the natives as
to a friendly welcome," said Broadbeam.

"Why not make a raft, then?" suggested
Doctor Barrell.

"Where to go?" asked Bob Vilett, who
was quite dejected over the bad turn in affairs.

"In search of the threasure, shure," said Pat.

"We don't know where it is," said Bob.
"We might search for forty years and not find
a trace of the treasure."

"Not at all," put in Dave sharply.  "Find
an island full of caves, and we have the
location.  I am sure of that from what the
outcast native imparted to me."

"And I," announced Pat Stoodles suddenly.
"Begorra, I'm the lad who can put my finger
right on the one particular cave where the
threasure is stored."

All hands looked at Stoodles in a sort of
dubious amazement.

"Is that true, Mr. Stoodles?" asked Doctor
Barrell.

"Shure it is."

"How can you know that?" inquired Dave.

"The outcast tould me."

"Told you.  Why, he was dead when you
saw him," said Dave.

"The outcast tould me," reiterated Pat
solemnly.  "Not another wurred now.  I am
spaking from facts.  Get afloat, make for the
lasht of the three western islands.  Land me.
I'll take you to the threasure blindfold."

They set to work at once to make a raft.
This was not difficult, for plenty of excellent
material was at hand.  It was late afternoon
when they got afloat.  At ten o'clock that
evening, caught in a terrible storm, the
appearance of breakers denoted the nearness of land.

"Jump for your lives!" suddenly rang out
the voice of Captain Broadbeam.

The raft had struck an immense rock and
was splintered to pieces by the contact.  Now
it was a wild swim for shore in the boiling surf.

Captain Broadbeam anxiously and eagerly
counted his men a few minutes later as they
ranged on the beach.

"None lost," he announced gladly.  "Where
are we, Stoodles?"

"I can't exactly tell, your honor, but I
should say on the second western island.  I'll
take a short trip and report, sir."

Stoodles strolled away in one direction;
Dave, ever active, went in another.

In half an hour Stoodles was back to the
little group of refugees with the statement
that they were on the second west island, as
he had guessed before.

"Dave seems to be gone a long time,"
observed Amos Fearless, after an hour had
passed by, during which they all busied
themselves in securing such pieces of the wrecked
raft as came ashore.

Suddenly Dave appeared.  He was out of
breath, he had been running fast.  Something
of suppressed excitement in his manner
showed itself plainly.

"What are you saving all that wreckage
for?" he asked Bob Vilett.

"Why, to make a new raft, of course."

"Don't waste your time," advised Dave,
with a quick, glad laugh.  "Captain, father,
men, follow me!  I've found the *Swallow*."

"What!" shouted Captain Broadbeam, transfixed.

"She is anchored not a mile to the north.
Six men left in charge of her are all stupid
with drink on her deck.  I crept aboard, bound
them all, and the *Swallow* is ours once more."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CONCLUSION`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXXII


.. class:: center medium

   CONCLUSION

.. vspace:: 2

"What are the sticks for, Mr. Stoodles?"
asked Dave Fearless.

"Shure, they're reed torches."

"Oh, we have to have a light, have we?"
asked Bob Vilett.

"Shure, ye have.  It's simmering darkness
we're going into."

"This is the famous cave island, is it?" said
Dave.  "Well, it deserves the name.  Why, it's
a regular honeycomb."

"No sign of Nesik and the others yet," said
Captain Broadbeam.  "I wonder what has
become of them?"

"That's aisy to surmise, captain," declared
Pat Stoodles.  "They left the fellows aboard
the *Swallow* to guzzle and get sthupid while
they took a yawl and came here to remove the
threasure."

"Yes, you must remember," said Dave, "that
their whole plan all along has been to delude
their crew into the belief that the treasure
went down in the *Swallow*.'"

"Wan, two, three, four, five," spoke
Stoodles, patrolling a patch of beach, and looking
up and counting along the immense row of
fissures and openings in the solid rock.  "The
lasht one I indicate is the place we must go into."

"You mean to say," observed Dave, "that
the treasure is hidden in that cave."

"Thanks to you I mane to say it, and sthick
to it, too, my brave lad," cried Pat exuberantly.

"Thanks to me?" repeated Dave blankly.

"Begorra, yes."

"You puzzle me, Mr. Stoodles."

"Arrah, then, out with it: The outcast was
dead when I saw him, but I happened to
notice that his back was tattooed.  It took me
eight hours to make out the marks.  I can
spake the native dialect well enough, but the
script was hard to figure out.  But I did it."

"And what did it tell?" asked Dave interestedly.

"Well, two outcasts had found the gold.  So
as not to forget exactly where it was, one
tattooed a diagram or chart, or whatever you may
call it, on the back of the other.  One of them
died a little later.  That's all, come on."

The wonders of the next two hours, those
who followed the guidance of Pat Stoodles
never forgot.  It was like a visit to
fairy-land.  They penetrated underground
chambers of dazzling magnificence, the torches
illuminating walls and roofs of glittering splendor.

At last, in a depression of a great rock-crystal
stone, they came across a heap of straw.

Pulling it aside, a golden gleam dazzled the
eager eyes of the onlookers.

"It's there!  Oh, it's there!" cried the
enraptured Dave Fearless.

The ocean treasure, again recovered, lay before them.

It had come so easily, so naturally, that
there was something unreal about the whole thing.

The moment could not help but be filled
with the intensest joy and excitement.  Yet in
a plain, practical, business way they went to
work to encase the great mountain of loose
golden coins in sacks which they had brought
with them.

It was nightfall when they had got the
golden hoard all on board of the *Swallow*, and
safely stored in the hold of the stanch little
steamer that had carried them through so
many adventures and perils in safety up to
this supreme moment of their lives.

What of Nesik and his cohorts?  Fifty times
during the evening this theme was earnestly
discussed.

Dave Fearless sat thinking over this and
many other things late that night, enjoying
the cool, refreshing breeze as he lay
comfortably in a hammock.

Suddenly he jumped upright with a shock.
A form dripping with water clambered into
view.  He landed on the deck, staring wildly
about him.

"Someone, quick!" he gasped.  "I'm done
out.  Quick, Fearless!  Start the steamer,
quick!  Danger--explosion!"

"Daley!" shouted Dave.  And then, as the
man fell like a clod at his feet, he ran right
down into the engine room.

Something told Dave that this man was
giving an important friendly warning.

He fairly pulled Bob Adams from his bunk.
He ordered him to start the engines at once.
He ran to the cabin and roused Captain
Broadbeam.

"What's this--the steamer going?" cried
Broadbeam.

"Yes, something is wrong," gasped Dave.
"Come on deck--the mischief!"

A frightful roar rent the air.  The whole
ship shivered.  Just behind him as he came up
on deck Dave saw a mighty flare, a great
lifting of the waters.  Then all was still.

It was not until the following morning,
when Daley recovered consciousness, that they
knew the terrible peril they had escaped
through his friendly intervention.

It seemed that he had managed to get to
the second west island.  He was nearly
starved when he ran across Nesik and the
others.

He decided it was politic to make friends
with them.  The night previous he was the
only trusted one of the crew that Nesik and
the Hankers took in the yawl that went for
the treasure.

"They got the gold," narrated Daley.

"Oh, they did?" muttered Captain Broadbeam,
with a jolly smile.

"I helped them--in bags just as Gerstein
had left it."

"Smart boy, that same Gerstein!" chuckled
Pat Stoodles.

"Then they discovered that you people had
recaptured the *Swallow*," continued Daley.
"All day they hid with the yawl in a little
cave.  They decided you people would be too
watchful to ever afford them a chance to again
get possession of the steamer.  You certainly
would try to find them.  Gerstein submitted a
diabolical plan.  They had some dynamite
used in clearing away a stopped-up passageway
in the cave.  They made up a float, fused
the dynamite, and with a cord guided it down
the beach towards you.  I got away from them."

"And warned us in time, brave mate!" cried
Captain Broadbeam, heartily grasping the
sailor's hand.  "We're your friends for life."

The *Swallow* did not leave the Windjammers'
Island for a week.  During that time
Stoodles made several visits to the natives.
On one of these he and Dave took with them
the two boxes Dave had purchased at Minotaur Island.

They returned feeling pretty good over
something accomplished, and refused to
discuss it with the intensely curious Bob Vilett.

Jones and Lewis were found and taken
aboard of the *Swallow*, which started
homeward-bound at last.

At Mercury Island their prisoners from the
*Raven* were set ashore.  Of Captain Nesik, the
Hankers, and the others not a trace had been found.

Dave and his friends well knew that a
terrible disappointment had faced the plotters
when they came to discover that the bags they
had secured in one of the caves did not
contain the gold.

The native outcasts they were certain had
removed the gold to the place where they
found it, filling the bags with something
heavy and replacing these at the original
hiding-place.

Amos Fearless gave his friends a royal
banquet the day the *Swallow* arrived at San
Francisco.

Each one, down to the humblest sailor,
received a generous share of the ocean treasure
they had suffered so much to secure.

The rest of the gold was shipped by rail to
Quanatack, and Doctor Barren's curiosities
to the Government at Washington.

Captain Broadbeam, Doctor Barrell, Pat
Stoodles, and Bob Vilett were special guests
of Dave and his father in the new beautiful
home they bought on Long Island Sound.

"Dave, when are you ever going to tell us
that secret of yours and Stoodles' about those
two boxes you took from Minotaur Island?"
asked Bob one evening, as they all sat on the
broad veranda of the Fearless home, enjoying
the lovely evening.

"Oh, that is only a side issue now," smiled
Dave, "seeing we got the treasure."

"A great scheme, though," said Stoodles.
"I'll tell it.  Dave simply got the royal
sanction at the Windjammers' Island to establish
a postal service.  We did it up officially
before the whole tribe.  We printed ten thousand
postage stamps."

"And as we control the whole issue," said
Dave, "of course we can charge our own price
for them as rarities."

The old ocean diver and his son were sorry
when their loyal friends had to leave them for
the duties of life that called them to business.

They saw much of one another, however,
from time to time.  Each was splendidly
provided for out of the ocean treasure.  Good
fortune did not spoil any of them, and each
settled down to a practical, useful, and happy life.

.. vspace:: 4

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   THE END

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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 6

.. class:: center large

   The Young Reporter Series

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: center medium

   By HOWARD R. GARIS

.. class:: center small

   12mo. cloth, illustrated and with full colored jacket

Fascinating stories of great mysteries and extreme
perils--the life of a daring young reporter for a
metropolitan daily, written by one who was himself
a reporter for sixteen years.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   THE YOUNG REPORTER AT THE BIG FLOOD
   Or the Perils of News Gathering

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE LAND SWINDLERS
   Or The Queer Adventures in a Great City

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE MISSING MILLIONAIRE
   Or A Strange Disappearance

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE BANK MYSTERY
   Or Stirring Doings in Wall Street

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   THE YOUNG REPORTER AND THE STOLEN BOY
   Or A Chase on the Great Lakes

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   THE YOUNG REPORTER AT THE BATTLE FRONT
   Or a War Correspondent's Double Mission

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large

   Joe Strong Series

.. class:: center small

   12mo, cloth, colored jacket and Illustrated

Vance Barnum is a real treasure when it comes
to telling about how magicians do their weird
tricks, how the circus acrobats pull off their various
stunts, how the "fishman" remains under water
so long, how the mid-air performers loop the loop
and how the slackwire fellow keeps from tumbling.
He has been through it all and he writes freely for
the boys from his vast experience.  They are real
stories bound to hold their audiences breathlessly.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   JOE STRONG, THE BOY WIZARD
   Or Mysteries of Magic Exposed

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   JOE STRONG ON THE TRAPEZE
   Or The Daring Feats of a Young Circus Performer

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   JOE STRONG, THE BOY FISH
   Or Marvellous Doings in a Big Tank

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   JOE STRONG ON THE HIGH WIRE
   Or A Motorcycle of the Air

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   JOE STRONG AND HIS WINGS OF STEEL
   Or A Young Acrobat in the Clouds

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   JOE STRONG AND HIS BOX OF MYSTERY
   Or The Ten Thousand Dollar Prize Trick

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   JOE STRONG, THE BOY FIRE-EATER
   Or The Most Dangerous Performance on Record

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large

   Army Boys Series

.. class:: center medium

   By HOMER RANDALL

.. class:: center small

   12mo, cloth, Illustrated and with colored jacket

Here we have true-to-life pictures of what our
brave soldier boys did, in the training camps,
aboard the transport, and on the battlefields of
France.  How they went over the top and had
thrilling hand-to-hand encounters with the Huns, is
told in a manner to interest all.  Many side lights
are given of how the soldiers enjoyed themselves
during the off hours.  A series which ought to be
on every bookshelf in the land.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   ARMY BOYS IN FRANCE
   Or From Training Camp to Trenches

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   ARMY BOYS IN THE FRENCH TRENCHES
   Or Hand to Hand Fights With the Enemy

.. vspace:: 1

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   ARMY BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
   Or Holding Back the German Drive

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   ARMY BOYS IN THE BIG DRIVE
   Or Smashing Forward to Victory

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   ARMY BOYS MARCHING INTO GERMANY
   Or Over the Rhine with the Stars and Stripes

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   ARMY BOYS ON GERMAN SOIL
   Or Our Doughboys Quelling the Mobs

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large

   Navy Boys Series

.. class:: center medium

   By HALSEY DAVIDSON

.. class:: center small

   12mo, cloth, illustrated and with colored jacket

The true story of the American Jackies of
to-day--clean-cut, brave and always on the alert.  The
boys join the navy, do a lot of training, and are
then assigned to regular service.  They aid in
sinking a number of submarines, help to capture
a notorious German sea raider, and do their share
during the taking over of the enemy's navy.  A
splendid picture of the American navy of to-day.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   NAVY BOYS AFTER A SUBMARINE
   Or Protecting the Giant Convoy

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   NAVY BOYS CHASING A SEA RAIDER
   Or Landing a Million Dollar Prize

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   NAVY BOYS BEHIND THE BIG GUNS
   Or Sinking the German U-Boats

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   NAVY BOYS TO THE RESCUE
   Or Answering the Wireless Call for Help

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   NAVY BOYS AT THE BIG SURRENDER
   Or Rounding Up the German Fleet

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   NAVY BOYS ON SPECIAL SERVICE
   Or Guarding the Floating Treasury

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center white-space-pre-line

   GEORGE SULLY & COMPANY
   Publishers New York

.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::