The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific

“Jerushah sent you?” the millionaire was fairly amazed now. “He is then alive?”

“Yes, but he is a prisoner and very sick. Through natives he heard of the arrival of your expedition and sent me even at this hour to bring you to him.”

“That is a strange story, my man,” said Mr. Jukes suspiciously. “I might say it is almost incredible.”

“I’ll admit it does sound strange,” said the other, “but strange things happen in this part of the world. I might add that the other Mr. Jukes wants to see you alone. Something about a pearl, I believe.”

Jack gave a tug at Mr. Jukes’ sleeve. The lad had been peering about him through the dark trees and had seen something the others had not. If his eyes had not deceived him, and Jack did not believe they had, several forms were moving about in the gloom beneath the interlaced branches.

“Mr. Jukes,” he whispered, “I don’t believe this man. I think we are in some sort of a trap. Why didn’t he come to the house with this cock-and-bull story?”

Mr. Jukes hesitated. It was strange that this man of great affairs, before whom board meetings quailed, and who ruled almost supreme among the great money kings of New York, appeared to be lost now that he was out of his little world and among the great elemental things of the untraveled jungle.

“I’m sure I don’t know, Ready,” he replied.

“Ask him,” suggested Jack, with his hand on his revolver. He felt that a crisis of some sort was at hand, but it was too late to retreat now.

Mr. Jukes, with some of his old pomposity, put the question. The bearded man’s reply was brief and to the point.

“That is beside the question,” he snapped. “Are you coming with me?”

Before any reply could be made the bearded man’s eye caught the glint of Jack’s weapon. Instantly a shrill whistle sounded. From the trees leaped a dozen or more men.

“Howly saints! A trap!” yelled Muldoon.

“A trap!” echoed Jack. He raised his pistol to cover the black-bearded man. But before he had it leveled both he and Mr. Jukes were thrown from their feet by a combined attack and in a twinkling both the millionaire and the boy were helpless.

“Run for the house, Muldoon. Warn the others. Come after us as quick as you can.”

“Hold your horses there,” roared the black-bearded man, who, as our readers will have guessed, was ‘Bully’ Broom himself, with his band of renegade followers. He tried to block the boatswain’s path as Muldoon darted off.

Biff, the old seaman’s knotted fist shot out and caught the redoubtable ‘Bully’ between his eyes. He staggered but did not fall.

“Take that, you murtherin’ spalpeen,” shouted Muldoon, as he darted off among the trees and was speedily lost to sight. Three or four of the band pursued him, but ‘Bully’ Broom called them back.

“We’ve got the fellows we want,” he said; “bind and gag them and if they show fight don’t be too gentle with them.”

CHAPTER XXVI. – PRISONERS OF ‘BULLY’ BROOM

Jack fought desperately, but as he was helpless, and in return for his struggles received only a rain of brutal blows, he deemed it wiser to remain quiet. Soon both he and the millionaire had their hands tied behind their backs and gags of dirty grass were thrust, none too gently, into their mouths.

“Now march, and behave yourselves or you’ll be shot,” snarled ‘Bully’ Broom, whose temper had not been improved by the blow Muldoon’s strong fist had given him.

As it would have been folly to have resisted, situated as they were, the two prisoners did as they were told. Jack wondered where they were being taken and why they had been attacked. Even his acute mind did not connect their captors with ‘Bully’ Broom and his gang. The boy thought they had fallen into the hands of one of those bands of free-booters, known to frequent parts of the bush, holding up helpless travelers.

He felt sorry for Mr. Jukes, though. The millionaire was stout and accustomed to his ease. After his tiring day this night march must have been cruel exertion to him. But if he lagged, the man of millions received a vicious jab in the back with the stock of a rifle.

Even in this trouble, Jack could not help reflecting on the strange turn of the wheel of fortune that had brought Jacob Jukes, man of millions, into the heart of a lonely jungle, a shirt-sleeved, perspiring prisoner, in the hands of a band of men of undoubtedly desperate character. He wondered, too, if the millionaire himself was not contrasting this cruel march through the forest with his magnificent town and country houses, his automobiles, his lavishly furnished offices and his elaborate entertainments. If he were doing so, Jack surmised that his thoughts must be bitter. In thinking thus, Jack contrived largely to keep his mind off his own misfortunes.

A journey of some hours, at the close of which Mr. Jukes began to give every outward sign of deep physical exhaustion, brought them to a clearing, once cultivated, but now neglected, overlooking the river. Here, on a bluff about fifty feet above the water, in years gone by, a trading company had maintained a post. It had been built in the days when the natives were troublesome in that section and it was a strong structure like a fort. It was almost overgrown with rank tropical vines, but evidently the way to it was not unknown to the men conducting Mr. Jukes and Jack.

Lanterns were lit and when the two captives had been ushered in both were made fast to the logs that formed the walls of the place. Jack glanced at Mr. Jukes. The millionaire was assuredly a pitiable-looking object. His fine white shirt was torn almost to ribbons by thorny vines encountered along the path, his carefully groomed appearance had given way to a general disreputableness that would have gained him recognition by any tramp as a member of the fraternity, his face was almost purple, from his enforced exertions and the gag in his mouth.

“Gracious, he looks as if he might have apoplexy at any minute,” thought Jack, who, although he was in as bad a plight, characteristically did not spend any sympathy on himself. Perhaps the members of the band that had captured them noticed what Jack had, and feared fatal consequences, for Mr. Jukes’ gag was soon removed and so was Jack’s.

When this had been done, and before Mr. Jukes could recover his breath enough to speak, the rascals withdrew to the other end of the building, which was like a long mess hall and may indeed have been used at some time as such.

“What does this outrage mean?” demanded Jack, as the black-bearded man strolled off last of all, after looking them over with a cynical smile.

“You would like to know, eh, Jack Ready?”

“So you know my name?” exclaimed Jack in some surprise.

“Yes, and that of your companions who will join you here before long. We hope to have the pleasure of your company for quite a long time.”

“You abominable ruffian,” cried Jack, overcome by indignation, “you will pay dearly for this some time,” but at the same time the boy did not believe that the rest had been caught napping and captured. They were a strong party and, led by Muldoon, he knew they would put up a stiff fight.

“I wish you had taken my warning, Mr. Jukes,” Jack could not help saying, as soon as they were left alone.

“You wish it no more fervently than I do, my boy,” was the despondent reply. “Wall Street and New York seem like a dream to me. Only this horror is real.”

“I would like to know what it all means,” said Jack. “These men can’t be just common robbers; they appear to have a regular hang-out here.”

“I can’t help thinking that I’ve seen some of these ruffians loitering about Bomobori,” said Mr. Jukes.

“That struck me, too. At any rate they must be the party Thurman wirelessed to me about as leaving just behind us. They’ve followed our trail pretty closely, too. We should have been more on our guard.”

Slowly the hours wore by till daylight began to show in the narrow windows of the old barracks. The positions of both prisoners were most uncomfortable. The strain on their arms from the tightly tied cords was almost unbearable.

“And to think I used to complain of discomfort if my chauffeur allowed my car to bump over a rut,” groaned Mr. Jukes, with a comical pathos that would have made Jack smile had they been in any other situation.

All the men had left the place, but they could hear the murmur of their voices outside. A smell of wood smoke drifted in and then the tantalising odors of frying bacon and the aroma of coffee combined to remind both prisoners that, in spite of their sufferings, they were both hungry and thirsty.

“I wonder if we are going to get any breakfast?” asked Jack, after a silence broken only by Mr. Jukes’ pathetic groans.

“I’d risk a month of dyspepsia for a plate of beans and bacon right now,” wailed the unhappy millionaire.

“Yes,” thought Jack. “There are decidedly situations where all the millions in the world wouldn’t do you much good, and this, apparently, is one of them.”

At last footsteps were heard approaching from the opposite end of the ramshackle building.

“Somebody at last,” cried Jack.

He had hardly spoken when ‘Bully’ Broom stood before them, followed by – Donald Judson.

CHAPTER XXVII. – AT THE OLD FORT

Jack found it difficult to credit his eyesight as he gazed at the boy who formerly had made so much trouble for them and the gigantic ruffian who stood beside him.