"That reminds me," Tom put in. "The Fortuna lies on the beach unless she's worked herself loose, and it may be some job to get her off."

"Suppose you stay here and mount guard over the prisoner," suggested Jack, "while we go back and look after the vessel. We'll return when we've gotten everything ship shape and Bristol fashion."

"Suits me fine!" declared Tom. "And I hope this angelic prisoner tries to escape while you're gone! That would be fine!"

"Tom, you're bloodthirsty, I believe!" laughed Jack indulgently. "I know the provocation is severe, but remember that you're a Boy Scout."

"You wouldn't leave me on this island, would you?" inquired Wyckoff when the boys had departed for the boat. "That would be cruel."

"But you marooned Frank here, didn't you?" asked Tom angrily. "Why would it be any worse for you than for him? Tell me that."

"I told the men to leave him provisions and matches. I have no matches nor provisions. I cannot make a fire with sticks, as he did," replied the prisoner in an humble and whining tone intended to placate.

"Well," Tom considered, "we might leave you some matches and some grub.

You could find plenty of wood hereabouts, couldn't you?"

"There's plenty of wood here if one could work it up," replied Wyckoff.

"The storms have washed ash.o.r.e thousands of pieces of planks and timbers of all sorts. Why, once I came out to one of the islands and found a fine boat washed ash.o.r.e by a storm. It was perfectly sound and tight, too. There's plenty of timber here to make one rich if he could only salvage it and get it to market."

"Then if we leave you a box of matches and some canned goods," Tom argued, "you'd be a lot better off than Frank was."

A shout from the direction of the Fortuna indicated that something was taking place there. Wyckoff glanced hastily in that direction. Tom's first impulse was to look that way, also, but his training stood him in good stead. By a magnificent effort of will he kept his eyes fastened on the prisoner, who stared intently toward the Fortuna as if fascinated by what he saw. Thus they sat for a moment or two. Then Tom regained his composure. Wyckoff glanced out of the corner of his eye narrowly at his guard. Tom laughed.

"You didn't want the provisions badly enough to wait for them, did you, you old fox?" he taunted. "You wanted me to look away for a minute and then you'd have gone looking for provisions alone."

"You do me an injustice, lad," replied Wyckoff meekly.

"All right; I apologize; but the gun is in working order just the same, and don't you forget it. It's still on the job."

Wyckoff's glance was baleful and full of venom as he controlled himself with a visible effort. Hatred seemed to ooze from him as he sat quiet very much against his will.

Another shout from the boat gave with its note of triumph a message that the boys were meeting success in their efforts to get the Fortuna off the beach. Wyckoff looked intently that way.

"Ha!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "They're fetching it! Good boys!"

In spite of his resolve to keep his eyes on the prisoner, Tom's gaze wandered for an instant to the sight viewed by Wyckoff.

That instant seemed to be the object of the outlaw's vigil.

The boys on the Fortuna had, by dint of great exertion, managed to work the yacht from her resting place on the beach where Tom had driven her in his mad race to rescue them a short time previously. Because of the short distance traveled, the momentum of the boat had not been sufficient to drive her far up on the beach, so it was not a difficult matter to get her afloat again. The powerful motors tugged and pulled and at last they were again afloat, but minus their anchor.

Frank offered to dive for it, and, divesting himself of his clothing, went overboard in the clear water of the little bight where the anchor and cable could be seen lying on the bottom.

The shout of triumph voiced by the boys when the Fortuna floated free was echoed when Frank came to the surface after having bent on the line he carried to the end of the chain cable. He was nearly breathless when he reached the surface, but willing hands pulled him over the stern of the rowboat in which the boys had searched for the lost anchor. Soon he recovered his wind.

Peace seemed never to reign for long in the Fortuna. Scarcely had the boys shouted in victory over the recovery of the anchor than they heard a shot from the sh.o.r.e. Harry, from his position on the pilot house, gesticulated and pointed inland in a frenzy.

CHAPTER VIII

JACK STRICKEN BY A BULLET

"What's up now?" cried Jack from the rowboat.

"That villain has shot Tom and is running away across the island!" cried Arnold from his position. "Tom's lying on the sand!"

"Great Double-Barreled Wiggle-Headed Pollywogs!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Harry.

"Excuse my French, but this is too much. If he's killed Tom, I'll resign from the Boy Scouts for a few minutes. I will so!"

"Pull for the sh.o.r.e, boys!" urged Jack. "Get into your clothes, Frank!"

And then, before either of his orders could be obeyed, he seized the oars and pulled the boat with l.u.s.ty strokes toward the beach, intent on capturing the outlaw if possible. Great sobs escaped him as he worked manfully at the oars.

Each boy at that moment was mentally blaming himself for the tragedy he was sure would await their arrival at the scene of the campfire. Each one felt that he should have remained to guard the captive outlaw who was so evidently desperate because of his situation.

But Jack's exertions were unnecessary. Before the rowboat reached the sand, a flash of white had appeared over the bows of the Fortuna, a great splash of water gave evidence of a heavy body launched from the deck, and a commotion betokened a swimmer in action.

"Good old boy!" cried Frank with a sob in his throat.

"That never was Arnold!" cried Harry aghast at the thought of his chum venturing into the water alone on such a quest.

"Not on your life!" Jack protested. "That was our one and only. Old Rowdy is on the job with both feet. He's going ash.o.r.e for business, too.

I believe that dog actually knows things!"

"Heaven help that poor wretch if Rowdy gets to him first!" cried Harry.

"Rowdy has more enthusiasm than caution, and he's apt to get rough. I wouldn't be surprised to find Wyckoff all strung around the island in small pieces when we get there."

In a short time the nose of the rowboat grounded on the beach.

The three boys leaped out and raced quickly to their fallen chum. Tom was struggling to rise from his p.r.o.ne position. Far across the sands the fleeing figure of the outlaw was being rapidly overtaken by the enraged bulldog, who sensed the situation and who apparently was determined to overtake and punish the escaped prisoner.

"Are you hurt, Tom?" queried Jack in a shaking tone.

"I guess so," Tom replied in a dazed manner. "No, I don't think I am,"

he corrected himself. "That is," he continued, "I don't know just what happened. I heard you cry out, and as I turned to look, the explosion took place. What happened, anyway?"

"From the look of your jaw, Wyckoff must have landed a sweeping kick just where the knockout nerve is located," explained Frank.

"Try to shut your teeth," suggested Harry. "If you can shut your teeth all right, nothing serious is to be feared."

Tom made the effort, but winced with pain. A grimace stole over his countenance and his hand went up to the injured jaw.

"That hurts, doesn't it?" solicitously inquired Jack.