"I--I don't remember," he gasped out.

Consternation showed on every face. Already the air was getting worse and worse.

The ensign bent over the bound man, who was now crying weakly.

"You must remember, man. You must, I say!" he snapped, in tones that cut like the crack of a whip. "Think! think! our lives depend upon it!"

"If I knew, I would tell you," murmured the man; "but I don't. I don't remember."

A stillness like death itself settled on the occupants of the cabin.

Barton had accomplished his insane purpose only too well, it seemed.

CHAPTER XXVI.

WHICH WILL WIN?

Rob's idea was a simple enough one. With his knife he would cut bundles of branches and then bind them to the sides of the boat with the rope.

This would at least keep the crazy craft afloat and offer him a means of reaching the sh.o.r.e.

He set to work at once with great enthusiasm, and by dusk his strange-looking boat was ready to be launched. By placing round branches under it for rollers and using another branch as a lever, he soon succeeded in getting it into the water. But it was hard work, and he paused to eat some of his canned beef before going any further.

To his huge delight the boat, though lopsided and half full of water, was buoyed up by the branches, and he had no doubt that he could navigate her with the oars. As soon as he had finished his unappetizing meal, Rob clambered on board his "ark," as he mentally called her, and thrust the oars into the rowlocks. The boat was very heavy, and owing to her waterlogged condition pulled very hard. Worse still, Rob encountered a current that carried him toward the other island, the one he had left that morning; and even worse, a fact he presently perceived, his craft was being carried around a point, on the opposite side of which he could see the glow of a fire against the night sky; for by this time it was dark. Rob was heartily glad that this was the case, for he knew that the fire must be that of the rascals who had abducted him, and in the darkness he might slip by them unnoticed.

Luckily the current set a bit from the sh.o.r.e at this point, and although the boy could hear the three rascals carousing around their fire over a keg of spirits, and singing and shouting at the top of their voices, they could not see him, partly because of their condition, and partly because of the firelight.

Past the camp, with its carousing inmates, the boy was carried, and suddenly his boat was b.u.mped against something. Rob looked around. At first he thought he had struck a rock. Instead he saw before him the green motor boat.

Like a flash an inspiration came to him. He clambered on board, and not till he was fairly on deck did he recollect that he had neglected to tie his ark to the side.

He looked over the stern rail. In the dim light he could see his clumsy craft drifting off, bobbing up and down on the tide.

"Well, I've burned my bridges behind me now," he exclaimed to himself.

"If I can't carry this thing through, I'll be cold meat by morning."

Just at that moment came a shout from the outlaws carousing on the beach.

Keener-eyed than his companions, Berghoff had spied a dark form on the motor boat, silhouetted against the thickly sprinkled stars.

"There's someone stealing our boat. After him, boys!" Rob heard the fellow roar.

Then he ducked as a volley of bullets came whizzing over his head. His next move was to clamber forward, keeping as low as possible till he reached the anchor chain.

There was no time to haul in, for the men had already run down the beach and launched their small boat.

Rob merely knocked out a shackle pin and let the whole thing go. This done, he scrambled back and descended to the engine room.

"If I can't make this old tea-kettle go, I'm a gone c.o.o.n," he admitted to himself with grim humor, as he switched on gasoline and spark, and turned the fly wheel over. Outside the shouts were coming closer every instant, and the motor showed no signs of intending to start.

It was Donald, the Wolf Scout, who saved the day for the prisoners of the submarine.

As Barton rolled about whimpering and cursing by turns, he spied a bright object protruding from the man's pocket.

"Is--is that the lever?" he asked, in tones that trembled with excitement.

Mr. Barr darted on the object and pulled it out with a shout of triumph.

"Once more the Boy Scouts have saved the day!" he cried. "It is the lever, sure enough!"

Close as the atmosphere of the cabin had by this time become, they all found breath enough to give three ringing cheers. In the conning tower Merritt, at the wheel, heard them, and guessed what they meant.

Fifteen minutes later the submarine was shooting upward to the surface toward the blessed air. With what speed the hatch was opened when they reached the surface and could inhale the pure ozone once more, may be imagined. As soon as they had somewhat recovered a red light was shown from the stern, and presently the _Viper_ came chugging up.

"Well, where in the world have you been?" asked Tubby.

"Where _under_ the world, you mean," laughed Merritt; "but for a time it was no laughing matter, I a.s.sure you."

He then gave his fellow Scout a description of all they had undergone.

When the excitement was over, word was given to get under way once more, and with the submarine leading, and the _Viper_ following the red light, they held their courses toward the south.

It was dawn when they found themselves off a maze of small islands and islets. Donald had the wheel, and was gazing ahead as the submarine, at reduced speed, threaded her way among the shoals and sand bars.

All at once he saw something coming toward them that made his pulses beat far above normal.

It was a green motor boat, with a single military mast and a high cabin.

He lost no time in notifying everybody, and the submarine decks were soon crowded.

"Better get below, boys," warned the ensign; "that is undoubtedly the rascals' boat. In fact, Merritt says he recognizes it. They are desperate fellows, and when they see we have them cornered, they will put up a fight. If they run, I mean to pursue them to the bitter end."

Reluctantly the boys went below, while the ensign and Mr. Barr stood on the foredeck, revolvers in hand.

But although whoever was on the green boat must have seen them, the craft came right on.

"Why, they actually mean to fight," gasped Mr. Barr.

"They're nervy fellows, all right," commented the ensign; "we may have a tougher time of it than we think, Barr."

He turned and warned Tubby to take his boat back out of range. On and on came the green boat without making a sign of any kind, hostile or otherwise.

"What can they be up to?" wondered the ensign in tones of blank amazement.

Scarcely twenty feet intervened between the two boats now, when suddenly a boyish figure, bareheaded and clad in a Boy Scout uniform, leaped to the rail of the green craft.