Li Shoon's Nine Lives/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX.
SEEKING THE TRAIL IN "OLD MEX."
THE trio had retired to the after cabin, using the portholes once more. A messenger had been stationed to hasten any order to the watch officer in the wheelhouse.
Line after line of the other craft came into sight, every new glimpse confirming the suspicion that the stranger was the Sumatran yacht.
"If our suspicions are right," announced Carrick, in a steady voice, "no man now on this boat has more than a half an hour of life left."
"I've said me prayers already," retorted Rourke, "so I have a free hand for me duties. But I'm sorry for the boys undher me."
Fleming said nothing, though he puffed his pipe with a slight acceleration of speed.
"Maybe we're three fools," hinted Mike Rourke, two minutes later. "Av me memory is wor-rkin', the Sumathran boat had her deck rails painted white. This craft has shinin' brass rails."
"That much disguise would be quite within the bounds of Li's strategy," Carrick answered. "Don't be too sanguine just yet, captain."
"A wireless question to the craft astern might settle the question," proposed Fleming.
"And that wireless would be picked up by the Budzibu if she's anywhere within a hundred miles or so," Carrick retorted, shaking his head. "The Vulcan had especial orders to use no wireless for fear it might be picked up by the enemy.
A mile nearer came the pursuing craft, then shook out a line of signal flags from the foremast.
"We're a pack av fools, I believe," uttered Rourke. "That craft wants to know av we're the Terence, an' av we are, she suggests that we lay to for the transfer av two passengers."
"It must be the Vulcan, then!" cried Fleming.
"Whether it is, or not, we may as well go out on deck," decided Carrick. "Even if it is Li Shoon's private navy, we'd go to the bottom soon, anyway."
Acting on his own judgment, Rourke ran to the wheelhouse, where he gave orders for half speed, next a full stop. Onward swept the yacht in their wake, veering to port as she came close, and stopping her own engines within hailing distance. The name plate on her wheelhouse had been obscured.
"Ahoy, Terence!" came a megaphoned voice from the yacht's bridge. "This is the Vulcan! Have you passengers for us?"
"Two av thim," answered Rourke gleefully. "An' mighty glad we are to know that ye're the Vulcan."
From the yacht a boat was lowered, manned by a mate and four men. Rourke was now busy in picking out other details in which this yacht differed from the Sumatran craft.
"Aven at that, though," declared Captain Mike, "the two boats are so much alike I'd swear they were built in the same yard at the same time."
"Come into the cabin a moment, captain," Carrick requested. Having the skipper behind a closed door, the Hound produced a bulging roll of bank notes.
"You'll find here, captain, the stipulated hire for the number of hours; also a hundred dollars for each of the mates and the chief engineer, and fifty dollars for each other member of the crew. They are to receive the money with the distinct understanding that not one of them lisps a syllable of what has taken place on this trip before sixty days from this time."
"They'll keep silent, I'll go bail," replied Rourke, "though I'm sorry ye thought me min had to be paid to hould their tongues."
"And here is a souvenir of two hundred for yourself, captain," Carrick went on, adding more bills to the pile.
At first Rourke stoutly resisted, but Carrick could be a diplomat, and in the end prevailed.
By this time the boat was alongside. Carrick and Fleming slipped over the side. Amid cheers from the tug's crew the boat slipped away. A few minutes later the Hound and the chemist signaled Rourke from the starboard rail of the Vulcan.
"'Twas their own boat, thin," muttered Rourke. "Good luck to thim—the best. Misther Scanlon, the course is straight back to San Diego."
Amid a din of whistles the two craft parted company, the Vulcan skimming speedily south.
Carrick had, indeed, found himself among friends. Captain Mulford was a bluff, hearty skipper. His two mates, Gray and Kerrigan, were keen-looking young men. The Vulcan, a narrow-built craft of some eight hundred tons, was sure to roll in any kind of heavy sea, but her social and sleeping cabins were provided with every kind of comfort and many luxuries. Officers and crew were nattily uniformed after the naval pattern.
"This boat is in the United States naval reserve," Mulford declared proudly. "We try to keep up the best traditions on this craft. But there is one bit of information you may be able to give me, Mr. Carrick. Though my crew is large, and though I never carried more than two mates before, just as we were ready to sail the agent sent aboard a third mate and five more seamen. Mr. Olney is the new third mate's name. I believe he's sleeping now. He can sleep all the time for that matter, for the instructions that came with this Olney chap were that he was not to stand watch, but was to observe and learn all he wished to learn. Did ever a skipper have a queerer mate sent to him?"
"I cannot give you any information about Olney," replied Carrick gravely, and appeared to dismiss the matter from his mind. As~ soon as Fleming found a chance he whispered to his friend:
"Donald, do you suppose that Olney and his men represent any kind of treachery that is to be sprung later?"
"Drop the idea," counseled the Hound. "The agent through whom the charter was made is not the kind to be imposed upon. Whatever Olney's mission aboard may be, rest assured that it's an honorable one, and that the shipping agent knew what he was doing."
"I don't see a sign of a gun on board, either," Fleming continued. "If the Budzibu carries 'em, and we get at close quarters, what then?"
"In any event, Fleming, I believe that the Vulcan will prove able to take care of herself."
Further confidential conversation was cut short by the steward's call to table, where Captain Mulford joined them. The Vulcan's skipper was anxious to have his further sailing instructions in full.
"How far will your wireless reach?" asked Carrick.
"All the way to Vancouver, if need be," was the proud response.
"Then be good enough to have this signal flashed," requested Carrick, writing on a notebook page the letters: "B-B-B-F-H-G-P."
"And then" insinuated Mulford.
"That will be all," declared the Master Hound.
"That signal is being watched for in San Francisco," Carrick confided, in an undertone, as Captain Mulford turned to hand the message, with orders, to one of the table stewards, who ran out with the slip of paper. "It will tell all that I wish to say, and will start our campaign."
After luncheon Third Officer Olney appeared on deck, and was presented to the passengers by Second Officer Kerrigan. Fleming tried hard to make up his mind whether he liked Olney, who had an extremely sleepy look. The chemist could not disabuse himself of the idea that Mr. Olney was not nearly as sleepy as he looked.
The afternoon passed without incident. Fleming, noticed that two men were kept in the crow's nest and that both were vigilant in examining every visible part of the sea to the circled horizon. The Vulcan, at nearly full speed, was out of sight of the Mexican coast, the course being as nearly due south as the outlines of the invisible coast permitted. Yet, with all her speed, the yacht, burning oil under her boilers, did not leave a trail of smoke behind. There was little rattle of machinery, but a good deal of rolling in the rather brisk sea.
For three days the Vulcan continued in a generally southerly direction. In that time more than a dozen northbound and four southbound steamships were passed. Each was asked, by signal, whether another yacht, much resembling the Vulcan, had been sighted.
At first there was no news. Then some vague news came. The fourth of the southbound steamers flew several signaled messages in response to the questions that Carrick caused Captain Mulford to ask. Then both craft lay to. A boat was lowered, and, at the Hound's request, Third Officer Olney was put in charge. Carrick descended the side gangway, stepping into the boat. Fleming, not having been invited, remained on the Vulcan's spar deck, smoking his pipe placidly.
In three-quarters of an hour Carrick could be seen coming down over the steamship's side.
"We're too far south," he reported to Captain Mulford, on coming on board. "Put in to Mattanegua Bay, which you ought to reach in the hours of dark to-morrow evening. Do not approach until well after dark, and I will have further instructions ready an hour south of Mattanegua."
On an altered course sailed the Vulcan, but Fleming felt well pleased. He was satisfied that the Hound was working on definite knowledge.
At nine o'clock the next evening Captain Mulford called Donald Carrick to the bridge for a conference. The coast of Mexico was now just vaguely in sight off the starboard quarter. At reduced speed the yacht proceeded. At a quarter of ten, when she lay to, the Vulcan was not more than half a mile from the shore. Low, sloping hills rose from the beach. Seen through the night glasses, these slopes were covered with short, dense growths of what looked like scrub oak.
No sooner had the Vulcan lain to than a boat was lowered, Kerrigan being this time in charge.
"Look to your weapon," muttered Carrick. "Take two extra magazine loads with you and a full box of cartridges."
"I have them on me," Fleming answered.
"Then we'll get into the boat."
While they were being pulled toward the shore, Carrick continued to talk in an undertone.
"Never much of a port, Mattanegua Bay is now closed to commerce," he said. "The town around the bay is headquarters for some two thousand Mexican rebel troops. Calvoras, their commander, is a typical Mexican rebel—arrogant, cruel, unreasoning, and densely ignorant, but he is a power among his men. The Budzibu was seen to enter the bay, and doubtless is still there. Our task on shore is to find out all we can about the Budzibu and Li Shoon, without running into the rebels or bandits—call them which you prefer. We are landing three miles below the bay."