"After all, what does it matter, Pedro? That's the quickest way of walking the plank. We didn't mean to drown him-but we're rid of his meddling!"

CHAPTER VIII-TOM DISCOVERS THE HEIR

Tom Halstead wasn't drowned-not quite. The wicked seldom find safety in believing that their evil work has come out in the way that will most benefit them. We shall presently see what _did_ happen to Tom.

Although he tried to pretend that he was not affected by the tragedy that he believed had just been enacted, Senor Alvarez, when he returned to his seat by the wheel, did not at once call for speed ahead. Instead he rolled a fresh cigarette with trembling fingers, spilling so much of the tobacco that he had to make a fresh start. When, at last, he had the thing lighted and had taken a couple of whiffs, he turned to the black man to ask:

"After all, Pedro, what difference can it make if the meddling boy chose the ocean to our company? Am I not a gentleman of Honduras, Don Emilio Alvarez? Am I not descended from Spanish grandees? Why should I bother my head because one of the American riff-raff has gone overboard!"

"Dat's a fac', boss. Why should yo' bother yo' haid?" responded Pedro, though he did not say it very heartily.

Don Emilio smoked for some moments in silence. Then the sight of a cabin sloop rounding a point of land to the northeast of them claimed his attention.

"Pedro," he called, pointing, "that sloop carries the red jack fluttering from her bowsprit tip. That, then, is our boat."

"Fo' shuah, boss. An' I done hope dat Cap'n Jonas French done got some good news ob de kind dat we wanter heah."

"Give us some speed and we'll soon be alongside the sloop."

The launch was soon going along at her usual speed of some six miles an hour, veering in sh.o.r.e somewhat to cross the course of the sloop. As they came to close quarters a voice from the other boat called:

"The news is all right, Alvarez."

It was the voice of the florid-faced one, yet he, too, had changed almost as much as had the gentleman from Honduras. Captain French's cheeks were no longer deep red in color. His skin had more of a bronze hue. As such changes do not occur naturally within a few days, it was evident that the captain must have employed some dye with much skill.

Even the tint of his hair was changed.

"I have something to discuss with you, my friend," replied Don Emilio.

"I will come aboard for a while. Throw off your mainsheet and lie to, so that I can come alongside."

Pedro slowed down the speed considerably. Don Emilio, with a skill that spoke of some practice, ran the launch around to leeward and up under the sloop's quarter. The two craft touched lightly and at that instant Alvarez stepped aboard the sloop. Pedro, with his hand on the starboard wheel rope, eased gently away from the sailing sloop.

"Now run into the cove, Pedro," called back Don Emilio. "Wait there until I come to you, unless danger threatens. If you see signs of trouble, act in whatever way you may need to act."

"I'se understand yo', boss," replied the black man.

As Captain Jonas French hauled in his mainsheet and the sloop's sail filled, Pedro made obliquely for sh.o.r.e. Having no need of speed, he made less demand on the engine than he had been doing.

Some time later Pedro ran halfway into a little cove that dented the mainland of Ma.s.sachusetts. Stopping the speed he stepped forward and cast over an anchor, reeling in the slack and making fast. This done, the darky drew out an old pipe, filled it and lighted it, settling back for a lazy smoke.

And Tom Halstead? He was doing his best not to pant and betray himself, but his had been a rough experience. None but a boy as much at home in the water as on land could have stood the strain of this performance.

When Tom went overboard, striking the water, the cold shock had aroused all his faculties. He went over the starboard gunwale and, finding himself going, had had the sense to dive as deeply as he could. He pa.s.sed under the hull, coming out at port. Then he turned, keeping still under water until one of his hands touched the port side of the hull.

Just as this happened Halstead's other hand struck a line trailing in the water. Then the boy was forced to come up for air. As he did so he heard the voices of the pair aboard over at the starboard gunwale. That gave Tom a safe chance to give the trailing rope a pull. It held, showing that it was made fast on board.

Necessity makes one think fast. To Tom the discovery of this rope was a most unexpected bit of good fortune. As soon as he had time to get his breath, he tied a loop in it securely. Through this he could thrust one or both arms, at need.

The trailing overboard of a line in this fashion was a piece of disorderly ship's housekeeping of which an American skipper would hardly be guilty. But the sailors of the Latin races are less particular. That line might have been over the gunwale for hours or even days, but a man like Alvarez would give little heed to it.

When the launch went on her way again Tom had his right arm hooked well through the loop. He floated, his feet astern along the side, though in no danger from rudder or propeller. His head, out of water, was hidden by the bulging lines of the launch's side hull. He was not likely to be discovered unless one of the occupants of the launch leaned well out and looked down.

"If only they'd run a little slower this would be about as easy as lying in a soft bed," chuckled the young motor boat captain gleefully. He had grinned broadly at Don Emilio's seeming unconcern over his fate.

"I reckon where they go I'm going too," Halstead told himself with great satisfaction. His clothing, filled with water, would have been uncomfortable, even dangerous, had he attempted to swim far, but as it was the launch's engine was doing all the work. Tom simply allowed his rather buoyant body to be towed. None the less the speed of the towing, so greatly in excess of a swimmer's speed, began to tell upon his endurance. Later that cabin sloop was briefly in the boy's sight.

Halstead was forced to lower his head all he could in the water, but Captain French, having no reason to scan the launch's water line, did not happen to detect the strange "tow." As the two boats went alongside it was the launch's starboard bow that touched, so that Tom, at port, was in no danger of being seen from the other craft.

Nor was the young motor boat captain again in sight after the two craft parted. Pedro's slower speed, making for the cove, came as a huge relief to the "boy overboard."

While the anchor was being dropped, Halstead had opportunity to see how wild and deserted a bit of nature the surroundings were. There was not a house or other sign of human habitation anywhere in sight.

While Pedro sat up forward, smoking, a voice sounded that thrilled Captain Tom Halstead with instant wonder.

"Hullo, Pedro! What a nap I must have had."

"Yo' shuahly did sleep fast, chile."

"I'm coming out, now."

"Ef yo' do, young boss, be kyahful," warned the black man.

"Oh, there's no one around here to see me," contended that other voice, and now it sounded as though the owner were in the bow of the craft.

"Ef Ah done thought Ah could trust yo' Ah'd tuhn in in dat forrad cubby mahself," declared the negro. "Ah's powahful drowsy."

"Go ahead, Pedro," agreed the other speaker. "You needn't be afraid of me. I'll keep a bright lookout."

There was the sound of the negro stowing himself away in the forward cubby, much roomier than the one Tom had tried at the stern.

Halstead had heard the conversation with a feeling at first as though his brain were whirling inside his head. The long dousing in the water was beginning to make itself felt in a chill, but it was not wholly this that made the young skipper shake.

"That's Ted Dunstan's voice," he told himself, trembling. "He's on board this very craft. I've found the missing Dunstan heir."

Soon Pedro's snores could be heard. Then Tom Halstead hauled himself up along the rope until he could just peer over the gunwale. His last doubt vanished; he could no longer question his ears, for now his glance fastened upon the living heir of the Dunstans!

CHAPTER IX-TED HURLS A THUNDERBOLT

The youngest of the Dunstans was sitting where Pedro had been seated only a short time before. Ted held a book in his hands, his gaze fixed on one of the pages.

"He's playing crafty," thought Tom. "He's waiting until he's sure that black man is sound, sound asleep. Then he'll make his dash for freedom.

Oh, if he only knew how close a friend is!"