The Boy Scouts for Uncle Sam

"I don't know just why, old fellow," he said, "but I've got an idea in my head, somehow, that there's some sort of dirty trick being put up to-night."

"What do you mean?"

Merritt asked the question looking into his comrade's eyes as he clasped Rob's extended hand. For some reason he felt a cold shudder run through him. What the danger was that Rob dreaded he did not know, but there was something in the hand-shake that his leader gave him that almost seemed like a farewell clasp.

Before his inquiry was fairly out of Merritt's mouth, Rob had disengaged his palm and slipped silently over the side of the submarine. As the waters closed above him, Merritt almost cried out aloud. The same mysterious sense of a danger, terrible and imminent, had run through his brain like a warning flash. But it was too late to recall his comrade now.

Whatever peril Rob was facing, he was called upon to brave it out alone.

*******

Earlier that evening a small, but fast and high-powered motor boat had glided almost silently out of Bellport, a fishing village on the coast, and, waiting till darkness had descended, made at top speed for the vicinity of the submarine island.

The men who had chartered the craft were two in number. Both were strangers in Bellport, having driven over there that afternoon from the adjacent railway station of Farmington. One was an old man, stoop-shouldered and bleary-eyed. The other was an individual of about thirty, tall, emaciated, and with a wild light dancing in his crafty eyes, which darted back and forth as if constantly on the lookout for something.

Going directly to the Bellport Hotel, they had inquired of Enos Hardcastle, the proprietor, where they could hire a motor boat.

"A fast one?" croaked the old man.

"The faster the better," supplemented his companion, in a queer, rasping voice.

Enos scratched his head.

"Wa'al, motor boat's is scarce around here, though some of ther boys uses 'em in fishing," he said finally.

"Good!" exclaimed the younger of the pair of strangers. "Direct us to the man who has the fastest one."

"That's Lem Higgins; but Lem drives a hard bargain. It'll cost ye – "

"Never mind the cost; never mind the cost," croaked the old man impatiently. "Come, Ivan, let's find this Higgins."

"You go ter ther foot of this street and you'll find Lem down on ther wharf," directed the landlord of the Bellport Hotel, whose curiosity was by this time aroused. There was something odd about the two strangers, almost as odd as the large black bag the younger one carried. This receptacle he held as gingerly as if it contained some article of the most fragile description.

"Beg pardon, strangers," spoke up Enos, "but what might you be after havin' in that bag?"

The slender man turned a pair of blazing orbs on him.

"What business is that of yours?" he snapped out, his queer eyes appearing to emit sparks of malignant fury.

Enos hastened to extend the olive branch.

"Oh, no harm, no harm," he hurriedly exclaimed. "I thought thet you two might be sellin' suthin' the wife 'ud have a use fer, thet's all. Wanted to give you a chancet ter drive a trade."

"I reckon your wife wouldn't care much for what's in this bag," snarled the old man viciously; "and let me give you a bit of advice, my friend: Don't ask questions and you'll be told no lies."

So saying, the two oddly assorted strangers made off down the street, the tall one still carrying the black bag with precise care.

Enos reëntered his hotel, wagging his head sententiously.

"Suthin' queer about them two fellers," he muttered to himself; "ain't sellin' nuthin' an' they don't look as if they was on a pleasure trip. Wa'al, it's none of my business, but if Lem makes a dicker with 'em he'll hev ter come across to me with a commission, an' that's all I care about."

Lem Higgins was sitting on the wharf, swinging his legs and regarding with interest an imminent fight between two dogs of the "yaller" variety, when the old man and his tall companion came up.

"Your name is Lem Higgins?" asked the old man sharply.

"That's what they usually say when they want me," responded Lem. "Do you want me?"

"We want your boat."

Lem's eyes lightened. Fishing had been poor, and perhaps here was a chance to make some easy money. He scrambled to his feet, showing unusual animation.

"You want my boat? You want ter hire her, you mean?"

"Yes. What's your figure?"

The old man was doing all the talking now. His tall companion stood silently by. At his side was the black bag, which he had deposited on the ground with the same curious care that had marked all his dealings with the mysterious article.

Lem ruminated a minute, looked seaward, ejected a small fountain of tobacco juice, and then asked, with his head cocked on one side:

"Where might you be a-goin'?"

"Never mind that, my friend. That is none of your business."

The old man spoke sharply. Lem regarded him blankly.

"None o' my business! Then how in Sam Hill am I a-goin' ter run the boat?"

"You are not going to run it."

"I ain't, eh?"

Lem was all "taken back," as he would have put it. He had been figuring on a good price for the hire of the boat and a further fee for himself as skipper. Certainly neither of the pair before him looked capable of handling a power boat.

"No; if we take your boat we shall run it ourselves."

"You will?"

The astonished Lem gazed at the stooped figure before him. He was almost bereft of words.

"Yes, I will; does that satisfy you?"

"Wa'al, I'll be plumb dummed," choked out the fisherman; "I should think you'd know more about crutches an' arm-chairs than about running gasoline boats."

"Your opinion is not of the slightest interest to me. How much do you want for the boat?"

"Fer how long?"

"From about sunset till daylight to-morrow."