The Motor Rangers' Wireless Station

“But in that case he may run into grave danger,” protested Joe excitedly. “That fellow wouldn’t stop at a trifle. What are we going to do about it, Nat?”

“There’s only one thing to be done now,” declared Nat.

“And that is?”

“Raise Santa Barbara, notify the authorities of the place where we suspect Minory may be found, and let them take after him. If Ding-dong has gone to the right place, they may arrive in time to get him out of trouble. If he’s gone somewhere else, why, I don’t see that there’s anything we can do but hope for the best.”

“That’s about all,” said Joe, as he turned to his instruments. At that moment the door was flung open and in came Nate with a burst of rain and wind at his back.

“That feller off the point is no fisherman,” he declared positively. “I think that it’s up to us to keep our weather eyes open to-night.”

“For what?” asked Joe, as he tapped out the Santa Barbara call.

“For trouble,” was the brief reply. “Got any shootin’ irons on the island?”

“Only an old revolver,” said Nat. “We’ve never needed them.”

“S’pose you’ve heard about the cowpuncher,” said Nate dryly. “He had never needed a revolver for forty years, but when he did need it, he needed it durn bad!”

“And you think that is our position?” asked Nat.

“I ain’t saying,” was the response; “but that schooner’s got other business off this island than riding out this ten-cent blow.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

WHAT JOE DID

Joe raised Santa Barbara and flashed out the news which he wanted transmitted to the local authorities. In a short time a word of thanks came back and positive assurance that they would set out without delay for the Dolliver ranch. Nat and Joe felt somewhat relieved at this. They knew only too well Ding-dong’s proclivities for getting into trouble, and if he was off after Minory by himself he had done a peculiarly fool-hardy thing.

“We’ve done all we can, anyhow,” said Nat, “and now the best thing to turn our minds to, is that schooner. I think there is not much doubt now that she is here to do harm to us.”

“All the indications point that way,” agreed Joe.

Twice during the afternoon Nate tramped down to the point to see if the schooner was still hove to, and both times he returned with the report that she was still in the same position, although the rain flaws were blowing over the ocean so thickly that at times it was hard to make her out.

Not until the evening meal had been despatched was anything said about laying out the work for the night. It was Nat who broached the subject.

“Joe,” he said, “it has just occurred to me that something may be known of this schooner in Santa Barbara. Suppose you connect with the operator there and see if you can get hold of old Captain Merryweather. He’s a sort of port official and should know if this schooner left there recently.”

“That’s a good idea,” indorsed Joe; “but in the meanwhile what will you be doing, for I see that you have some plan in your head?”

“Well, this is the way I’ve figured it out,” said Nat. “If the folks on that schooner mean to make a landing to-night, depend upon it they’ll come ashore in the cove.”

“Not a doubt of it,” struck in Nate.

“With the sea that is running, there’s not another place on the island where they could land. Within the cove, however, is quiet water and an easy sloping beach to run a boat ashore.”

“Then you think the schooner is still there, Nat?” asked Joe.

“Not a doubt of it in my mind. However, I mean to make sure in a very short time. Nate, I want you to go down to the point and see what you can make out of the suspicious craft. I’ll go down to the cove and turn the skiff over to make a shelter. You can report back to me there. Joe will remain by the wireless till he gets some reply to his message to Captain Merryweather. Then he’ll join us there, too, unless something new and unexpected has turned up by that time.”

Joe would much rather have accompanied Nat, but he said nothing and turned cheerfully to his duty. Like Ding-dong, he had grown accustomed to look upon Nat as a leader, and he obeyed unhesitatingly his orders. Nat and Nate trudged out into the storm and Joe seated himself at the apparatus to carry out his appointed task.

The operator was able to inform him that the authorities had already set out for the Dolliver ranch, and that he would keep him posted as to further developments. Joe then transmitted his message to Captain Merryweather. This done, he disconnected and sat down to await a reply.

Above him he could hear the wind screaming and screeching through the aerials and the steady downpour of the rain on the roof. It seemed hours, and was, in reality, about an hour and a half, before he got a reply to his message.

“Captain Merryweather has learned that a small schooner put into Santa Barbara last night,” was the dispatch. “She must have left some time before dawn. A dockman reports that he saw three strange men being rowed out to her in a dory a short time before she sailed. That is all he can find out.”

“Three men; that sounds like old Captain Israel and his two sons,” mused Joe, as he cut off. “The schooner may either belong to them or to some of their friends; it’s hard telling, but at any rate Captain Merryweather’s information sounds important. I’ll hurry down to Nat with it.”

He extinguished the light and slipped out into the storm. He half ran, half stumbled to the cove, filled with the importance of his mission. But somewhat to his alarm, there was no Nat and no Nate there. Joe began to feel seriously uneasy. It was not like Nat to fail to be at the place he had appointed for a meeting, more particularly as Joe knew his chum would be waiting for a reply to the Santa Barbara message with some anxiety.

However, there was nothing for it but to wait, and Joe, with what resignation he could muster, sat down in the dark under the shelter of the dory, while about him the storm raged and howled. Under the upturned boat he was snug and dry, and if he could have lighted a fire of driftwood he would have been quite warm. But he knew that was out of the question. To do such a thing would be to betray at once that they were on the watch.

Presently there came the sound of hurrying footsteps on the sand. Joe’s heart gave a quick leap, but the next instant he was reassured. It was Nat and Nate.

“Where have you been?” asked Joe anxiously. “You gave me a fine scare when I came down here and found you gone. I thought old Israel must have kidnapped you again.”

“I’ve been down to the point with Nate,” rejoined Nat. “The schooner has just got under way. From her tactics we both believe that she is heading round for the cove.”

“Wow! It looks like trouble then.”

“I’m afraid so. No vessel would lie to in an open roadstead all day and then run into a sheltered cove at night unless she wished the cover of darkness for her work, whatever it is.”

“Humph, I haven’t much doubt what that work is,” grunted Nate laconically.

“Heard from Santa Barbara?” inquired Nat of Joe, as he and Nate joined him under the boat.

“Yes; that’s what brought me down here. A small schooner answering the description of the one that lay at anchor all day off the island left the port last night after taking on three men.”

“Three men; that surely sounds like old Israel and his two precious sons.”

“That is what I thought. It clinches the matter in my mind.”

“Coupled with the actions of the schooner, I’ve reached the same conclusion,” said Nat.

“How long will it take the schooner to get around here, do you think?” asked Joe presently.

“Oh, quite a while yet,” responded Nate. “She’s got to beat up against the wind and take several tacks to make it.”

“To my mind that fact again puts this up to Harley,” said Nat. “He knows this island like a book, Nate says, and could get into the cove at any hour of the day or night. A stranger would never take a chance on running in in the dark.”

“Particularly on a night like this,” said Joe, as a long, shuddering blast of wind swept over the upturned boat.

Nat crept out from the shelter and made his way toward the cove. He was back in a short time with information that thrilled them all.

“The schooner is coming into the cove,” he announced in a tense voice.

“Now the show is a-goin’ to begin to commence,” muttered Nate under his breath. “Better get that gun of yours, Nat. Joe and I will do the best we can with our fists and oars in case there’s a scrimmage.”

CHAPTER XXV.

LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

The wind was dropping, and against the scurrying clouds, behind which shone a pale and sickly moon, they could see outlined a pyramid of canvas – the schooner!

“Don’t talk more than you have to,” said Nat, who had secured his firearm and brought oars for Joe and Nate. “If they come ashore, just follow them without exposing yourselves to view. There’s a chance that they may, after all, be honest fishermen, and we don’t want to attack the wrong men.”

“That chance is a pretty long one, I’m after thinking,” said Nate under his breath.

“We’ll see how they come to anchor,” he said presently. “If they let go their mudhook with a rush and a rattle, it may be that they are all right. But if they sneak in and let it go easy so as not to alarm anybody, why, then, it’ll look as if we’ve had ’em sized up right.”

The watchers crawled out and made their way through the spiky grass along one arm of the cove. They gained a point where it was possible even in the darkness to see the tall spars of the schooner and the black bulk of her canvas as, noiselessly as a phantom craft, she glided into the cove. Suddenly her “way” was checked and she came to a stop with all her canvas still standing.

“They’ve let go the anchor with all the sails set,” murmured Nate, “and they dropped that mudhook like a cat stalking mice. I reckon they’re honest fishermen – not. That’s a regular smuggler’s trick, that is, all right.”

“Why don’t they lower the sails?” was Joe’s not unnatural question.

“’Cos they don’t want the rattling of the blocks and the cordage to be heard,” rejoined Nate. “Seein’ no lights up above, I suppose they’ve figured that we are all asleep and dreaming. But we ain’t, not by a jugful,” he chuckled.

Then came the sound of oars as they creaked in the rowlocks of a small boat. Joe’s heart beat wildly with excitement, and even Nat felt a thrill, as there no longer remained any doubt that hostile men were about to land on the island. When Hank had told Joe the day before of old Israel’s plans of vengeance, he had not taken them very seriously. Now, however, they faced the fact, and faced it to all intents and purposes unarmed.

“Lie down,” ordered Nat, as the sound of the oarsmen became more distinct; “we don’t want them to see us yet.”

They all threw themselves flat amidst the spiky dune-grass and waited for what was to come. Presently they saw a small boat grounded on the beach, and five men leaped out. They grouped themselves about one figure, which Nat instinctively felt must be that of old Israel himself.

At any rate, he appeared to be giving orders to the others. The group split up. Two of the men started in the direction of the shanty, while three, including the one suspected to be old Israel, set out to the southward.

“Now what in the name of time does that mean?” demanded Nate in an astonished voice.

“It means that our job is just twice as hard,” rejoined Nat. “I can’t make out myself exactly the object of it, but I reckon we shan’t be long in finding out.”

“We’d better follow them,” suggested Nate.

“Yes, we had better. Nate, you take the two men that went toward the hut. Joe and I will trail that group of three.”

“All right, Nat; and say, if you’re in trouble, just fire a shot from that shootin’ iron of yours and I’ll come on the jump.”

“All right, Nate, I won’t forget. We might need you badly in case of a mix-up.”

“You can sure count on me,” the sturdy waterman assured them.

Then they parted, Nate striking off toward the shanty, whither two of the strangers had preceded him, and Nat and Joe taking the trail after the trio, one of which they firmly believed was none other than old Israel himself.

Through the darkness they made the best speed they could after the old smuggler and his two sons, for they now knew by the sound of the voices that had been flung back to them on the wind that their surmise had been correct. It was old Harley himself and his rascally offspring who had landed on Goat Island under the cover of night.

At first their motive in so doing had been plain enough to Nat, or at least he had thought it was. Now, however, he was by no means so certain that the destruction or injury of the wireless was the sole object of their call. This striking off through the dark to the southerly point of the island was inexplicable to the boy, and as they made their way along, sometimes stumbling over rocks and clumps of beach-plum bushes, he confided his bewilderment to Joe.

“I wonder what all this means?” he said. “There’s nothing to the south, so far as I know, but some low cliffs and waste land.”

“I’ve no more idea than you have,” rejoined Joe, equally puzzled. “One thing is sure and certain, though, they are not out for a pleasant stroll.”

“No, they’ve got some definite object in view, and I’m inclined to believe that we don’t figure in it as prominently as we thought we did,” was Nat’s rejoinder.

They paced on in silence, always keeping the three figures in front of them in view, but creeping along as close to the ground as they could and taking advantage of every bit of cover that offered.

“Say, Nat,” exclaimed Joe after a while, “it’s my belief that they are making for those old ruins!”

“You mean the remains of that mission that the early missionaries from Spain built here?” asked Nat, referring to a jumbled pile of adobe ruins which were supposed to mark the site of one of the early religious houses of California.

“That’s what. See, they’re striking off to the right.”

“That is the direction, sure enough, but what would they want there?”

“We can only find out by following them. Hullo, what are they doing now?”

The group ahead had halted not far from the pile of debris and heaped-up stone and wood that marked the remains of the monks’ establishment.

One of them stooped low while the others shielded him from the wind. Then came a sputter of flame as a match was struck, and then the steady glow of a lamp or lantern. With this means of illumination kindled, the party that the boys were breathlessly trailing proceeded once more.

Suddenly Nat stopped short and seized Joe’s arm.

“The lamp, Joe, it’s gone!” he cried, pointing to the midst of the ruins where the lamp had been last seen.

Sure enough, the lantern had suddenly vanished, leaving the boys deeply mystified as to the cause of its sudden disappearance.

“They must have some hiding place among the ruins,” exclaimed Nat excitedly, “That is why old Israel was so mad about our being on the island! What shall we do?”

“Follow them,” said Joe determinedly. “We’ve started on this thing, let’s see it through.”

They struck out toward the ruins at a half run. In their excitement, prudence was temporarily thrown to the winds. Soon they were stumbling and barking their shins amidst the ruinous pile. In the dark it was almost impossible to see their way. All at once Nat, who was in the lead, gave a sharp exclamation:

“Get back, Joe! Back, as quick as your legs will let you!”

CHAPTER XXVI.

DING-DONG’S CLUE

Ding-dong Bell, released early from the, to him, irksome task of stock-taking in his father’s store, was making the last adjustments on the new shore wireless station which was to place him in communication with his chums on Goat Island. He hummed away at the work he loved, as busy as a bee and as active as a squirrel. The new station was in the backyard of his home and at some distance from the house, owing to Mrs. Bell’s nervous fears that it would attract lightning.

The boy had tried to explain to her that a properly grounded apparatus presents no such danger, but the good lady would not be convinced; so Ding-dong had been compelled to set up his instruments in an old tool shed, rather than in his own room as he had fondly hoped. He was now rigging up a “wireless alarm-clock,” connecting it with his room so that when anyone called him he could be summoned day or night.

He was stringing the wires for this when, from the road outside, came the sharp “chug-chug-chug” of a motorcycle. It stopped at the back of the shed and a cheery voice hailed:

“Hello, Ding!”

“He-he-hello, yourself, Pepper,” cried Ding-dong, as, hurrying out of the shed at the summons, he came face to face with a lad of about his own age whose head was thatched with a mop of brilliant red hair. He had been nicknamed Red Pepper, shortened to Pepper, and his last name was Rodman.

The newcomer wore motor-cycling togs and was hatless. He had dismounted from a spick-and-span-looking two-cylindered machine which stood leaning against the fence.

“Come on in,” invited Ding-dong cordially.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink of ice-water,” responded Pepper. “I’ve just come back from a long spin in the country and I’m mighty thirsty, I can assure you.”

“I’ll do bub-bub-better than ice-water,” promised Ding-dong hospitably; “how about some lemonade?”

“Oh, yum-yum,” exclaimed young Pepper joyously; “lead me to it.”

“In a jiffy. This way,” said Ding-dong, leading the way into the house, where he soon set before his guest a big glass pitcher full to the brim of the cold and refreshing drink. Pepper did full justice to it, tossing off three glasses.

“My goodness, Pup-Pup-Pepper, but you must be as hot as your nu-nu-nickname,” exclaimed Ding-dong as he watched.

“Well, I was mighty dry, for a fact,” agreed Pepper, smacking his lips; “I feel a lot better now. I’ve ridden all the way in from beyond Powell’s Cove, and it’s a mighty dusty trip.”

“How’d you get that tut-tut-tear in your coat?” asked Ding-dong, regarding a rent in Pepper’s neat khaki motor-cycling coat.

“Why, that happened out at Powell’s Cove,” was the response. “I meant to tell you about it. I was dry as an old crust out there, and I saw a small ranch house standing quite a way back from the road. It was a lonesome-looking sort of a place, but I judged I could get a drink there, so I chugged up to the door.

“It was open, and not seeing anyone about, I went in uninvited. From a room in the back I heard voices, and so I walked in there, too. There were two men sitting at a table. One of them was explaining something to the other, and they had on the table what looked to me like a model of a torpedo, or something of that sort.”

Ding-dong pricked up his ears.

“A mu-mu-model of a tut-tut – ”

“Yes, of a torpedo. Then, too, there were a lot of plans.”

“Her-her-hold on!” cried Ding-dong, his words tripping all over each other in his excitement. “Wer-wer-what did the men lul-lul-look like?”

Pepper looked rather astonished.

“How do you expect me to get on with my story if you keep butting in?” he asked in an aggrieved tone of voice.

“I’ve a per-per-particular reason,” cried Ding-dong.

“Well, one had a big black beard, an ugly-looking customer, and the other – ”

But he got no further.

“Hokey!” yelled Ding-dong, while Pepper looked on in a rather alarmed way, as if he thought his young companion had gone suddenly insane; “it’s Minory for a bet! Minory, the fellow that swiped the wireless torpedo!”

“What, the one you told me about? That invention of the Professor What’s-his-name?”

“The same fellow,” cried Ding-dong. “What a shame the professor has gone East! I’ll wire him at once.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait and see if you haven’t made a mistake?” asked Pepper soberly. “You know it might not be the same at all. Other men than Minory have black whiskers. My pop has, for instance.”

“That’s so,” said Ding-dong in a chastened voice. “But go ahead, Pep, and tell me the rest.”

“All right, I’d have finished by this time if it hadn’t been for you,” said Pepper. “Well, the minute I appeared, both men jumped up and glared at me as if I’d been a mountain lion or something. The black-bearded fellow made a run for me and shouted out to know what I wanted there. I told them I was after a drink of water, but the fellow grabbed me by the arm. I wrenched free, but I tore my coat in doing it. That was the rent you saw.

“You can bet I lost no time in running for the door where I’d left my motorcycle. The black-whiskered chap came after me, but the other one held him back.

“‘Don’t grab him, Miles,’ I heard him say. ‘He’s nothing but a fool kid. You’re so nervous I think you’d be suspicious of a cat’.”

“Mum-Mum-Miles!” shouted Ding-dong Bell. “That was Minory’s first name! Oh, Eureka! We’ve got him! But I beg your pardon, Pep; how did you get away?”

“Well, they told me that if I ever said anything about them, they’d find me out and kill me,” went on Pepper, “and they looked fierce enough to carry out their threat. One of them asked me if I’d seen anything on the table, and of course I said ‘No.’ I guess if I’d admitted seeing that model or anything, I’d have been there yet.”

“I don’t der-der-doubt that a ber-ber-bit,” agreed Ding-dong. “So after that they let you go?”

“Yes, and told me never to come near there again, and not to do any talking if I valued my life. Of course that was just a bluff, but I made out to be scared to death by it.”

“The wisest thing to do,” agreed Ding-dong, and then he began to speak earnestly and rapidly.

“Say, Pepper,” he said, losing as he often did in moments of stress his impediment of speech, “are you game to help me out on a big enterprise?”

“What do you mean?” asked the other.

“Just this. Your motorcycle will carry two, won’t it?”

“Yes, I’ve got an extension seat behind. I take my brother out on it once in a while.”

“Will you ride me out to that ranch house while I reconnoiter?”

“When?”

“To-night.”

“Gee whiz, Ding, it’s a pretty risky thing to do, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not going into the house or anything. I just want to prowl around and see what I can find out. Then if everything is O. K. and Minory’s there, I’ll notify the police and he can be arrested at once.”

“That sounds reasonable,” admitted Pepper, “but say, Ding, don’t go putting your head into a hornet’s nest. I’ve heard you’ve got a kind of habit of doing that.”

“Who says so? I’m as careful as – as an old lady carrying eggs to market!”

“All right then, I’ll do it. I’ll be here at seven o’clock.”

“Good boy. I won’t be able to keep still till that time arrives.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

A LONELY TRAIL

The hours crept by with leaden feet for Ding-dong until the chugging of Pepper’s motorcycle was heard soon after supper. The young wireless operator had tried to communicate with Goat Island in the meantime, but, as we already know, had failed in his attempt. As a last resource, therefore, he had entrusted a message to the operator at Station O.

“All ready?” demanded Pepper, as he came dashing up.

“Been rur-rur-ready ever since you left,” declared Ding-dong; “let’s get off as soon as possible.”

“All right, run along behind, and when I tell you to, swing into the seat,” ordered Pepper.

He started his motor with a whirr and a bang and the speedy machine dashed off down the street, with Ding-dong clinging on behind with all his might. But he enjoyed the ride and waved to several of his young acquaintances as the motorcycle sped through the town and then out upon the country road.

“How far is it out there?” asked Ding-dong of Pepper, as they chugged along at a fast gait.

“Not more than ten or twelve miles, but it is in a lonesome canyon near the sea, and as the ground is very unproductive out that way, there isn’t another ranch within miles. It makes a fine hiding place for a man like you describe this fellow Minory to be.”

“Yes, I’ll ber-ber-bet he thought he could stay there for a year without being found out. It’s a lot less rer-rer-risky for him than to ter-ter-try to take a train, for he knows all the depots and steamers are watched.”

“What puzzles me is how he came to take up his residence there. He’d hardly be likely to stumble on such a place by accident,” said Pepper, “especially as he is an Eastern product.”