The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service

"Yes, she's all right; but she's not as pretty as the blonde operator at Key West."

"Is that the message you were expecting?" inquired Ned blandly, gazing up at Herr Muller.

"What nonsense is dot?" sputtered the other, lapsing into his foreign accent.

"Well, since you ask me," rejoined Ned, "I think it's the operator on one coasting steamer talking to the wireless man on another vessel about a blonde young lady at Key West."

Herr Muller exploded.

"Vot I care aboudt blonde young vimins?" he demanded, pounding the table angrily. "Der message I vant iss a navy message, you onderstond dot?"

"Oh, that's it, is it?" inquired Ned, assuming great innocence. "I thought you wanted every message that came through the air. – Hullo! – Hush! – Here she comes now!"

Suddenly a new note had struck into the wireless channels. The quick, imperious call of a battleship summoning the wireless ears of another sea-fighter.

"M-n! M-n! M-n!"

"It's the Manhattan being called by the flagship," muttered Ned. "Hullo! now they're answering."

"Squadron will rendezvous at Blackhaven Bay. Will await further instructions there," he translated rapidly. But his translation was mental only. To Herr Muller he handed only a string of figures, the cipher the two vessels had been using. Muller hastened off with it to Chance's cabin. The man had now recovered from his swoon and might be able to translate the message.

Ned took instant advantage of the situation.

With quick, nervous fingers he began pounding the sending key. The lithe, white spark crackled and flashed across the terminals. It crackled like a bunch of firecrackers.

"M-n! M-n! M-n!" was what the boy kept pounding out.

Would the Manhattan never answer?

The spark crackled on, but no answering flash came through the air.

"The apparatus is too weak," groaned Ned, despairing at the long silence. But at the same instant his heart gave a great pound. His pulses began to leap. Through space had come an answering message.

Ned lost no time. His fingers began to pound the sending key once more.

"Danger. At Blackhaven– "

Bang!

The interruption was sharp and startling. Splinters flew from under Ned's fingers as the bullet smashed the sending key to smithereens. He turned swiftly. In the doorway stood Merritt, revolver in hand. It was the recreant seaman who had fired the shot and interrupted Ned's warning message.

"So you thought you'd tip us off to the Manhattan, eh?" he snarled. "Well, you never made a bigger mistake in your life. I know something of wireless telegraphy myself."

Ned was conscious of nothing but a hot flame of anger that seemed to bathe him from head to foot in its fury. He flung the helmet from his head and sprang at Merritt like a tiger. Taken utterly by surprise, the fellow was carried clean off his feet by the assault. He crashed backward with Ned on top of him just as Herr Muller rushed out of Chance's cabin, waving the cipher message delightedly.

"The fleet is going to rendezvous at Blackhaven!" he was shouting. "I was right, and – "

He stopped short as he almost stumbled over the struggling forms of Ned and Merritt. In the semi-darkness of the cabin and his excitement he had not noticed them before.

"Donnervetter, vos is diss?" he cried as he took in the situation and speedily sensed the fact that Merritt was getting the worst of the struggle.

He picked up a heavy chair that stood close to his hand. He was swinging it and was about to bring it crashing down on Ned's head when something collided with his chin.

As Herr Muller, seeing a whole constellation of stars, reeled backward, dropping the chair with a bang, he dimly realized that that "something" had been the brawny and freckled fist of one Herc Taylor.

CHAPTER XX

NED, CAST AWAY

But as Herc and Herr Muller crashed floorward together a rush of footsteps came down the companionway stairs. The shot that had destroyed the sending key of the sloop's wireless had been heard on deck. Rescue was at hand for the two scoundrels who had been overborne by the Dreadnought Boys.

Before hands could be laid on Herc, however, the freckle-faced youth had banged his fists twice into Herr Muller's face. He raised his hand for a third blow when a sharp pain shot through him, and he sank back with a groan of helpless pain. Something had flashed in the anarchist's hand for an instant and had buried itself in Herc's side.

"Ned! Ned!" cried the lad in accents of shrill alarm, "the fellow's stabbed me."

With a superhuman effort, Ned flung Merritt's arms from him and dashed across the cabin. Herr Muller had struggled to his feet. He rose just in time to be spun clear across the cabin by the infuriated Dreadnought Boy. Such was the force in Ned's righteously indignant blow, that before the anarchist leader ceased spinning, he crashed clear through a wooden panel.

"Herc, old fellow!" cried Ned, sinking to his knees beside his comrade, "are you badly hurt?"

"I – I – I'm all right, old chap. Save the ships!" mumbled Herc and his eyes closed. The freckled face grew fearfully white.

Before any of the excited crew could lay a hand on him Ned picked up Herc as if he had been a child, and began backing toward one of the cabin doors with him.

"You scoundrels will pay dear for this!" he shouted angrily as he went out.

Paralyzed for the time being by the lightning-like rapidity of events, not one of the men made a move just then. Ned bore Herc into the cabin unmolested. Chance, leaning on one elbow, was lying in the lower bunk. His head was bandaged, but Ned tumbled him out by the scruff of his neck.

"Out of that, you traitor!" he shouted, "and make room for a real man-o'-war's-man."

While Chance, still weak from the effects of his blow, tottered about the cabin, Ned laid Herc on the bunk as gently as a woman might have done with an infant. Herc opened his eyes and smiled up at his shipmate.

"Thanks, old fellow," he breathed, "I – I'm all right. You – "

He lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

Ned ripped his shirt open with a quick movement. With another he tore it into sheds and bandaged the wound in the lad's side. Luckily, in the struggle, Herr Muller's aim had not been good, and the knife thrust was little more than a flesh wound, extending up under Herc's armpit. But the pain was considerable.

Ned had hardly finished his work before the men outside came out of their half-stunned period of inaction. Headed by Merritt, they charged at the cabin. Ned sprang for the door to close and lock it against them, but Chance was too quick for him. The fellow had been leaning back against the bulkhead. As Ned swept forward he extended his foot, and the Dreadnought Boy came to the floor in a heap. In another instant they were all piled on him. Ned struck out furiously.

His blows were driven by steel-plated muscles, but they had little effect on the sprawling mass of humanity piled above him. Before many minutes had passed Ned was a prisoner, tied and bound as securely as Herc had been when he was carried on board.

To his surprise, no violence was attempted by his captors. They worked in grim silence. Ned wondered vaguely what was going to happen to him. In his dazed state he didn't much care. Under Herr Muller's orders the lad was roughly thrust into the wireless room and the door locked upon him.

While this was being done he noted with satisfaction that upon the faces of both Herr Muller and Merritt sundry large, angry-looking swellings were beginning to obtrude themselves like purple plums.

"At any rate, I've spoiled Merritt's beauty for him," thought Ned with a grim satisfaction.

He was left unmolested in his prison place for what seemed hours. Finally, after an interminable period, he began to notice that the rough rolling motion of the sloop had ceased. Had the sea gone down, or were they at anchor in some sheltered haven, he wondered. He was not to be long in doubt.