"Maybe I finish heem, Monsieur," questioned Broussard, with knee still planted on my chest. "Then he not talk, hey?"

The leader laughed, with a wave of the hand. "You take the fellow far too seriously. Let him up. I 'll find a way to close his mouth if it ever be necessary. Besides, he knows nothing to do any harm. A bit groggy, my man. Hold him on his feet, you fellows."

I stood helpless, my arms bound, gripped tightly on either side, gazing full into the villain's face; out of the depth of despair and defeat there had come an animating ray of hope--they were going to take me with them. Even as a prisoner I should be near her. Would yet be able to dig out the truth.

"You take heem along, Monsieur?" It was Broussard's voice. "Zat vat you mean?"

"Certainly--why not? There's plenty of work for another hand on board.

Trust me to break him in. Come, hustle the lad along, boys. I 'll be with you in a minute."

They drove me forward roughly enough, the German marching phlegmatically ahead, still silently puffing at his pipe, and leading the way along a narrow footpath through the weeds. This wound about in such crazy fashion that I lost all sense of both direction and distance, yet finally we emerged into an open s.p.a.ce, from which I saw the chimneys of the old house far away to our left. The path led onward into another weed patch beyond, down a steep ravine, and then before us stretched the lonely waters of the bayou. Hidden under the drooping foliage of the bank was a small boat, a negro peacefully sleeping in the stern, with head pillowed on his arm. Herman awoke him with a German oath, and the way the fellow sprang up, his eyes popping open, was evidence of the treatment he was accustomed to. A hasty application of an oar brought the boat's nose to the bank, and I was thrust in unceremoniously, the three others following, each man shipping an oar into the rowlocks. Herman alone remained on sh.o.r.e, scattering the embers of a small fire, and staring back toward the house. A few moments we waited in silence, then the slender figure of the one who seemed the leading spirit, emerged from out the cane. He glanced at the motionless figures in the boat, spoke a few words to Herman, and then the two joined us, the latter taking the tiller, the former pushing off, and springing alertly into the bow.

Lying between the thwarts, face turned upward, all I could see distinctly was the black oarsman, although occasionally, when he leaned forward, I caught glimpses of the fellow I believed to be the captain of the strange crew. Our boat skirted the sh.o.r.e, keeping close within the concealing shadows, as evidenced by overhanging trees. The only word spoken was a growling command by Herman at the rudder, and the oars were noiseless as though m.u.f.fled. Yet the men rowed with a will, and scarcely twenty minutes elapsed ere we were sc.r.a.ping along the side of a vessel of some size, and then came to a stop at foot of a boarding-ladder.

CHAPTER XXI

ON BOARD THE SEA GULL

The Captain--for so I must call him--went up first, after hailing the deck in French, and receiving some answer. Then, under Herman's orders, I was hustled roughly to my feet, and bundled aboard. My head still reeled dizzily, and the two men gripping my arms, hurried me over the rail so swiftly my first impressions were extremely vague. I knew the sides of the vessel were painted a dull gray, as nearly an invisible color as could be conceived; I recall the sharp sheer of her bow, the clearness of her lines, and the low sweep of her rail. Less than a 1,000 tons burden, I thought, and then, as my eyes swept aloft, and along the decks, I knew her for either a private yacht, or tropic fruit steamer.

"First stateroom, second cabin," said a new voice, sharply. "Lively now."

"Shall we unloose the ropes, sir?"

"Yes; fasten the door, and leave a guard. Stow away the boat, Broussard. Everything ready, Captain."

I went down a broad stairway, shining bra.s.s rails on either side, which led to a s.p.a.cious after-cabin. A table extended its full length, already set for a meal, and a round-faced negro, in white serving jacket, grinned at me, as the men pressed me between them into a narrow pa.s.sage leading forward. A moment later I was unceremoniously thrust into a small apartment on the right, the ropes about my wrists loosened, and the door shut and locked behind me. For perhaps five minutes I lay where I had been so unceremoniously dropped, weakened by loss of blood, and dazed by the rapidity of events. I found it hard to adjust my faculties to this new situation. I knew what had occurred, but into whose hands I had fallen, and what was the purpose of this outrage, was beyond my comprehension. One thing, however, was sufficiently clear--these men were playing for big stakes, and would hesitate at nothing to accomplish their purpose. They had already killed without remorse, and that I still survived was itself a mere accident. Yet the very fact that I lived yielded me fresh confidence, a fatalistic belief that my life had thus been spared for a specific purpose. It might yet be my privilege to foil these villains, and rescue Mrs. Henley. It was my belief she was also on board this vessel. I had no reason to a.s.sume this, except the wording of Broussard's report which I had overheard. But she was a prisoner, and this vessel would be the most likely place for her to be confined. I sat up, my flesh burning, and stared about. The light shining through the single closed port was dim, convincing me the sun had already set, yet I could perceive the few furnishings of that interior. These consisted merely of a double berth, a blanket spread over the lower mattress, and a four-legged stool. Hooks, empty, decorated the walls, and a small lamp dangled from the overhead beam. As I got to my feet I could feel a faint throb of the engine, and realized we were moving slowly through the water. The gla.s.s of the porthole was thick, but clear. I knelt on the berth, and looked out, dimly perceiving the sh.o.r.e-line slipping past, with an ever-broadening stretch of water intervening. Then I sat down helplessly on the stool, and waited for something to occur. Escape was impossible; I could only hope for some movement on the part of my captors.

I had little enough to think over, for the few words spoken in the cellar had furnished no clew. My purpose there was known, and these men had considered it worth while to put me out of the way, and to pick up my companion also, yet I could not directly connect this action with Judge Henley's will. We might have merely crossed their path, interfered with their criminal plans. If so, then it was more than likely our release would not be long delayed. Indeed, the man who appeared to be the chief, had already said he would turn the girl free in New Orleans, where she could do them no harm. New Orleans then was, doubtless, the port for which we sailed. My knowledge of distance was vague, yet that could not be a long voyage, nor one involving any great danger. It was clear they meant no personal harm to her, and they would never have brought me on board alive, if they had deemed it necessary to otherwise dispose of me. These considerations were in the main rea.s.suring, and as I turned them over in my mind I drifted into better humor. Besides, my head had ceased to ache, and a little exercise put my numbed limbs into fair condition.

It was fully an hour after the coming of darkness before I was disturbed. Then the door opened, and the entering gleam of a light swinging in the pa.s.sage revealed the grinning negro steward bearing a well-filled tray. This he deposited in the berth, while applying a match to the lamp overhead. I saw no shadow of any guard outside, but the fellow made no effort to close the door, and I did not move, confident he was not alone. As he turned to go, however, curiosity compelled me to question him, his good-natured face provocative of courage.

"Say, George, what boat is this?"

"Mah name is Louis, sah."

"All right, Louis, then; what's the name of this vessel?"

"She am de _Sea Gull_, an' a mighty fin' boat, sah."

"So I judge; what is she, fruiter, or private yacht?"

"I reckon I don't just know," and he grinned.

"Perhaps then you will inform me where we are bound--I suppose you know that?"

"No, sah; de captain he nebber done tol' me, sah, nothing 'bout his personal plans. All he done said wus fer me to hustle sum grub in yere."

"But surely," I Insisted warmly, "you know what voyage you signed on for?"

"Wal, boss, I did n't sign on fer no vige. I 'se de steward, sah, an'

I just naturally goes 'long where ebber de ship does. 'T ain't rightly none o' my business what de white folks 'cides to do. Good Lor', dey don't never ask dis n.i.g.g.e.r nuthin' 'bout dat. All I got ter do is just go 'long with 'em--dat's all."

The shadow of a man blocked the doorway. He was one of those who had been in the small boat, and I noticed a revolver at his waist.

"That's enough, boy. Come, now, out with you," he commanded gruffly.

"Never you mind the door; I 'll attend to that."

He pulled the door to after the retreating form of the negro, and I heard the sharp click of the latch, and then his voice, m.u.f.fled by intervening wood, ordering the steward aft. There was no appearance of any lock on the door; probably there was none, as otherwise it would not have been necessary to post a guard. However, this was clearly no time to experiment and I was hungry enough to forget all else in the appetizing fragrance of the meal waiting. I fell to eagerly, convinced there was a good cook on board, and enjoying every morsel. This did not look as though I was destined to suffer, and merely being confined in these narrow quarters for a few hours was no great hardship.

Probably the girl was receiving very similar treatment, and, as soon as the _Sea Gull_ made whatever port was aimed at, we would both be put ash.o.r.e, and left to proceed as we thought best. Indeed, sitting there alone, under the inspiration of choice food, well cooked, I became quite cheerful, dismissing altogether from my mind any apprehension that this attack upon us had any connection with the inheritance of Philip Henley. These people were lawless enough, without doubt--the murders already committed were evidence of that--but all they desired so far as we were personally concerned, was to get us safely out of the way, where we could no longer interfere with their plans. What those plans might be I could merely conjecture, with little enough to guide my guessing. They might be filibusters, connected with some revolution along the Central American coast, smugglers, or marauders of even less respectability. Their methods were desperate enough for any deeds of crime. Without doubt they utilized this comparatively forsaken lagoon as a hidden rendezvous, and the deserted Henley plantation--from which even the negroes had been frightened away--was an ideal spot for them to meet in, plan their raids, or secrete their spoils. These fellows were doubtless the ghosts which haunted the place, and had given it so uncanny a reputation throughout the neighborhood. They would naturally resent any interference, any change in ownership, or control.

Possibly, if they were thieves, as I more than half suspected, they had loot buried nearby, and were anxious to get us out of the way long enough to remove it un.o.bserved. This appealed to me as by far the most probable explanation.

I had cleaned the dishes, and was sitting on the stool, leaning back against the wall, already becoming sleepy, listening to the rhythmic pulsation of the engines at low speed, when the door opened again, and the guard stood revealed before me in the glare of light.

"The old man wants you," he explained brusquely, waving his hand aft as though specifying the direction. "Come on, now."

"What does he want?"

"How the h.e.l.l do I know! But let me tell you, his orders go on this boat."

I preceded him along the narrow pa.s.sage, utterly indifferent to the threat in his manner, but still conscious that one hand gripped the b.u.t.t of his revolver. Without doubt the fellow had orders to be vigilant, and, perhaps, would even welcome some excuse for violence. I gave him none, however, hopeful that the approaching interview might yield new information. The cabin was unoccupied, the table swung up against the beams of the upper deck, the heavy chairs moved back leaving a wide open s.p.a.ce. The furnishings were rich, in excellent taste, the carpet a soft, green Wilton; the hanging lamp quite ornate, while a magnificent upright piano was firmly anch.o.r.ed against the b.u.t.t of the aftermast. It was a yacht-like interior, even to the sheet music on the rack, and a gray striped cat dozing on one of the softly cushioned chairs. Gazing about, I could scarcely realize this was an abode of criminals, or that I was there a captive. It was the sudden grip of my guard which brought the truth relentlessly home.

"This is no movin' picture show," he muttered. "Hustle along thar, in back o' that music box. See--the way I 'm pointin'."

There was but one door, evidence that a single cabin occupied the entire s.p.a.ce astern, and I stopped before it, my companion applying his knuckles to the wood, but without removing his watchful eyes from me.

A m.u.f.fled voice asked who was there, and at the response replied:

"Open the door and show him in, Peters, and remain where you are within call."

I entered, conscious of a strange feeling of hesitancy, pausing involuntarily as I heard the door close, and glancing hastily about. I had expected a scene of luxury, a counterpart of the outer cabin.

Instead, I stood upon a plain, uncarpeted deck, the white walls and ceiling undecorated. On one side was a double tier of berths, lockers were between the ports, and heavy curtains draped the two windows aft.

Opposite the berths was an arm rack, containing a variety of weapons, and the only floor covering was a small rug beneath a desk near the center of the apartment. This latter was littered with papers, among them a map or two, on which courses had been p.r.i.c.ked. Beyond these all the room contained was a small bookcase, crowded with volumes, and a few chairs, only one upholstered. The only person present occupied this, and was seated at the desk, watching me, a cigarette smoking between his fingers. It was the olive-hued man of the cellar, the one I had picked as leader, and his teeth gleamed white in an effort to smile. In spite of his skin and dark eyes, I could not guess at his nationality, but felt an instinctive dislike to him, more deeply rooted than before, now that I comprehended how completely I was in his power.

"Take a seat, Craig," he said, speaking with a faint accent barely perceptible. "The second chair will be found the more comfortable.

Now we can talk easily. May I offer you a cigarette?"

I accepted it more to exhibit my own coolness than from any desire to smoke, but without other response. The man had sent for me for some specific purpose, and I desired to learn what that might be before unmasking my own batteries.

"A smoke generally leaves me in more genial humor," he continued, ignoring my reticence. "Mere habit, of course, but we are all more or less in slavery to the weed. I trust you have been fairly comfortable since coming on board the _Sea Gull_."

"As much so as a prisoner could naturally expect to be," I replied indifferently. "This vessel then is the _Sea Gull_?"

He bowed, with an expressive gesticulation of the hand.

"At present--yes. In days gone by it has been found convenient to call her the _Esmeralda_, the _Seven Sisters_, and the _Becky N_. The name is immaterial, so long as it sounds well, and conforms to the manifest.

However, just now the register reads _Sea Gull_, Henley, master, 850 tons, schooner-rigged yacht."