The Boy Aviators' Flight for a Fortune

“Sure enough,” Ben fumbled in his pocket, “here it is; it’s a roughly drawn thing, as you see, but I reckon if the ship was really there it would be an easy matter to locate her bones.”

Harry nodded. He was looking over the map with deep attention. It was, as Ben had said, a crudely drawn affair, and purported to have been sketched by one of the survivors of the wreck, who, of course, did not know that in the returning miner’s cabin there was so much wealth.

“How did young Duval get hold of this?” he asked at last.

“He said that by chance he met a man who was the lone survivor of the disaster. This feller didn’t know who Duval was, and began talking to him about the wreck. Duval, recollecting that his father had carried a sum that amounted to more than $75,000, was naturally interested. He asked the man if he could draw him a sketch of the scene where the steamer sank. The feller said he could, and that thar sketch is what he drawed. At least that’s Duval’s story, and I’m frank to tell you I don’t believe a word of it.”

“But still you haven’t told me what you are doing on this island,” said Harry after an interval.

“That’s so, too, lad. I got so interested in tellin’ my troubles I clean forgot about Barren Island. Well, it’s this way. Arter the crash I felt ashamed to show my face. Oh, all the creditors were paid up – every last one of ’em. But I felt like I was an old failure, and good fer nuthin’, so I remembered all of a sudden about this island that I’d been stranded on a good many years ago. I made inquiries and found that I could live here rent free as long as I liked, with none to interfere, and so I came here. It’s quiet and might be lonesome to some folks, but it suits me well enough, and I was calculatin’ to spend the rest of my days here, till you came along. But I feel different now.”

“How’s that?” asked Harry, not knowing well just what to say to the old man who took his business failure so much to heart.

“Why, I was watching you studyin’ that map. I could see by yer face that you put some stock in Duval’s yarn. Ain’t that so?”

Harry could not but confess that it was. The old man’s story, and the map, had aroused in him the strong desire for adventure that both Boy Aviators possessed to a marked degree. Of course, from what Ben had said, Duval did not appear to be a person on whom much reliance could be placed, but then, again, there was the map, and it at least, even if crude, appeared to have been a genuine effort to mark the spot where the wreck lay. It showed a bayou marked “Black Bayou,” running back from the main stream of the Mississippi. A black dot some distance up this bayou was lettered “Belle of New Orleans,” presumably the name of the steamer on which Duval met his end.

The boy was still pondering over the map when, from seaward, there came a sound that made both Harry Chester and Ben Stubbs spring to their feet.

“It’s a gun!” shouted the old man, as the booming echoes died away; “may be a ship in distress.”

“Hardly, in this weather,” rejoined Harry, in a perplexed tone.

But Ben Stubbs had darted from the shanty and was running for the beached skiff. A minute later Harry was close on his heels, and presently they were pulling around the point, about to run into the surprise of their lives.

CHAPTER VII. – A PUZZLING PROBLEM

It is now time that we returned to the island where we left Pudge Perkins patrolling the beach, and Frank Chester and Billy Barnes wrapped in slumber. Frank had set the alarm clock for midnight, when it had been arranged that he and Billy were to turn out on patrol, and its insistent clamor had only just commenced when he sprang out of his bunk broad awake and prepared to go on duty. Billy stretched and yawned a bit before he, too, tumbled out.

“Gee whillakers!” he exclaimed, as he got into his clothes, “it seems to me that we are making a lot of fuss over nothing, Frank. I don’t believe those fellows will come near the island to-night.”

“Perhaps not; but it’s our duty to be on guard. If anything happened to Dr. Perkins’ invention now it would be almost impossible to repair it in time for the tests he wants to make.”

Talking thus the two lads got into their clothes, drank some coffee, which Frank had prepared while they were dressing, and then set out into the night. They made for the cove from which Harry had started his eventful swim.

“Best wait here till they come round,” said Frank, and he and Billy found places in the sand and made themselves as comfortable as possible till they should hear the footsteps of one of the young sentries. They had not long to wait. Hardly fifteen minutes had elapsed before Frank’s sharp ears caught the sound of some one approaching. A minute later Pudge joined them. His first words were not calculated to make the newcomers feel at ease.

“Where’s Harry?” he demanded.

“Don’t you know?” ejaculated Frank with considerable surprise.

“No. I’ve been making my patrol regularly, and the last three times I’ve been round I haven’t met him.”

Frank’s face could only be dimly seen in the darkness, but all his alarm was plain enough in his next words.

“What can have become of him?”

“Maybe he took the dinghy and decided to look over the motor boat and the hulk,” suggested Billy.

“That’s easy enough to find out,” declared Frank, starting for the place where the dinghy had been beached. A moment later he stumbled over the anchor and, closely following this, by the aid of a lighted match, he made the discovery that the rope had been slashed.

“Harry never took that dinghy,” he exclaimed apprehensively, “there’s been some crooked work here.”

“Thunder and turtles! What do you mean?” gasped Pudge, fully as anxiously.

“That some one has landed here and stolen the dinghy and taken Harry along with them. I can’t think of any other explanation. Harry would never have cut that rope.”

“You mean he’s been carried off?” The question came from Billy Barnes.

“I can’t think of any other explanation. Pudge, did you hear anything that sounded suspicious?”

“Oilskins and onions, no! Not a sound. Let’s fire a pistol and see if we get any answer.”

“That’s a good idea, Pudge – Great Scott!”

“What’s the matter?” demanded Billy Barnes, as Frank broke off short and uttered the above exclamation.

“Look here! Harry’s clothes! Wait till I get a light. There! Now, see all his outer garments and his pistol lying by them.”

“Gatling guns and grass hoppers, if this doesn’t beat all.”

“He can’t have been carried off, then,” burst out Billy, “but if he wasn’t, how did that dinghy rope come to be cut?”

Frank made no answer at the moment. The discovery of Harry’s clothes on the beach had put a dreadful fear into his mind. What if the boy had heard a disturbance on the hulk or on the motor boat and, having swum off to see what was the trouble, had been seized with a cramp and drowned?

But Frank firmly thrust the question from him the next minute. Such thoughts were by far too unnerving to be dwelt on. The others remained silent. They seemed to be waiting for Frank to speak. Presently the words came.

“It’s too dark to see anything out there,” said the boy, in as firm a voice as he could command. “Let’s fire three shots – the signal we agreed upon – and then if Harry is on the hulk or the motor boat he will be sure to answer them.”

The others agreed that this seemed about the best thing to do, and Pudge, taking Harry’s discarded weapon, fired it three times. Then came a long pause, filled with an ominous silence.

“Try again,” said Frank in a strained voice. Once more three sharp reports sounded. But again there was no answer.

“That settles it,” declared Frank solemnly; “something has happened to Harry. We must get out to the hulk and to the motor boat.”

“How? The dinghy’s gone, and – ”

“I’m going to swim for it.”

Already Frank had thrown off his outer garments. On the beach lay a balk of timber which they sometimes used to tie the dinghy to. Frank now ordered his companions to help in rolling this down to the water.

“I’m going to use it as a help in swimming out there,” he said; “the water’s pretty cold, and I don’t want to risk a cramp.”

“Wait till daylight, Frank,” urged Billy; “it won’t be long till dawn now, and – ”

But Frank cut him short abruptly.

“My brother’s out there somewhere,” he said in a sharp, decisive voice, “and I’m going to find out what’s happened to him.”