The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket: or, The Mystery of the Dunstan Heir

Bang! That was the noise from the throatof a big-calibered pistol. It was followed, justas Tom bounded to the deck, pursued by Joe, bythe rapid pounding of a horse’s hoofs and therattle of wheels.

“There they go!” cried Tom, leaping to thepier in his bare feet and racing shoreward overthe boards. But it was too late for the boys toovertake the prowlers, who were now behind afast horse.

“Did they shoot that fine dog?” growled Joe, his voice rumbling with indignation. Bounceranswered the question for himself by running tomeet them, his tail a-wag, guttural grunts ofsatisfaction coming from his throat, while asignal flag of information fluttered from hismouth.

“He took hold of one of ’em,” chuckled Tom.“Good old fellow, you’ve brought us a sampleof their cloth. Good boy! May I have it?”

Tom bent down to stroke the dog, who submittedvery willingly. When Halstead tookhold of the large, irregular fragment of cloththe bull pup grunted once or twice, then let go.

Back all three went to the boat. Tom lighteda lantern, then held the cloth forward.

“Brown, striped trouser goods,” he chuckled.“Joe, whom have we seen with trousers of thispattern?”

“That Spanish-looking chap in the seat aheadon the train,” muttered Dawson grimly.

“Now if Mr. Dunstan doubts that some onewants to put his boat out of commission we’llhave something definite to call to his attention,”uttered Tom excitedly. “Bouncer, you stockylittle darling!”

Joe looked the dog over carefully to makesure that a bullet had not even grazed that reliable, business-like animal.

“If they had touched you, old splendid,”growled Joe, “we’d have had a good clew ortwo for avenging you. But those rascals didn’teven hurt your grit. You’re ready for ’emagain – if they come!”

For some time the boys were too excited tolie down again. When at last they did, theykept their trousers on, ready for any furthersurprise. Bouncer took up his old post on thedeck above, seemingly free from any trace ofexcitement.

It was nearly half-past six in the morningwhen Joe next opened his eyes. In a hurry heroused his chum. Donning bathing trunks andshirts both dropped over the side for a refreshingswim. Then after drying and dressing, Halsteadwent forward into the galley, while Joesnatched a few minutes at the work left overfrom the night.

Breakfast was a hurried affair, for there wasstill much to do about the motor. It was afternine o’clock when Tom stood back, looking oninquiringly while Joe put on the finishingtouches.

“Now I’ll turn on the gasoline and see ifwe can get any news,” proposed Joe. Afew moments later he started the ignitionapparatus and gave the drive wheel a fewturns.

Chug! chug! the engine began slowly. Joe, oil can in hand, looked on with the attention ofa scientist making an experiment. Bit by bit heincreased the speed of the engine, smoothing thework with oil.

“Give us a little time and the old motor’llmote,” observed Dawson quietly.

“Yes,” nodded Tom equally observant.

Had they been more of amateurs at the workthey would have felt elated, for the engine respondedto all increased speeds that were tried.But these two had worked enough about motorsto know that such an engine may come to acreaking stop when everything appears to berunning at the best.

Chug! chug! It was a cheery sound as theminutes went by and the motor did better andbetter.

“I’m almost hopeful that everything is inshape,” declared Dawson at last.

“Good morning, boys!” came a pleasant hailfrom the pier. “I see everything is in fine trim.”

“It looks that way, Mr. Dunstan,” answeredTom, stepping up above and, by way of salute, bringing his hand to the visor of the Club’s uniformcap that he had donned this morning.“But motors are sometimes cranky. We don’tdare begin to brag just yet.”

“This morning’s mail brought me a letterfrom Mr. Prescott,” went on the owner, holdingup an envelope. “He has written me sevenpages about you. It seems that you are greatpets of my friend’s. He tells me that I canplace every confidence in you.”

“Why, that’s mighty nice of Mr. Prescott,”replied Tom quietly. He was greatly pleased, nevertheless, for he could now see that Mr. Dunstan’sopinion of them had gone up severalnotches.

“Well, well,” continued the owner, as heglanced smilingly down into the engine room;“are you going to cast off now and take me overto Nantucket? It’s four days since I’ve seen myhome and that lucky little rascal, Ted.”

Tom didn’t know or inquire who Ted was orwhy that “rascal” was so very fortunate. Insteadhe replied:

“We were thinking of a little trial trip first, sir, just to see how the craft will behave underway.”

“Good enough,” nodded the owner. “ButI’m aboard, so why can’t I go with you?”

“Of course you can, sir.”

Tom ran ashore to cast off while Joe did somelast fussing over the motor. Having cast thestern-line aboard and coiled it, Tom now cameforward, throwing off the bowline, boardingwith it.

“Start her up at very slow speed ahead, Joe,”called down the young captain, taking his placeat the wheel and throwing it over a little.

With the first throbs of the propeller the“Meteor” began to glide away from the pier.Mr. Dunstan had taken his post at Halstead’sright. The water being deep enough, the youngcaptain moved out confidently.

“Just a little more speed, Joe,” Tom called, when the pier end was some two hundred yardsastern.

A little faster and still a little faster the propellershaft turned, until it settled down to goodwork. The “Meteor” was moving at abouttwelve miles an hour.

“Fine!” cried Mr. Dunstan joyously.“We’re all right now.”

“We’re not yet quite out of the – well, I won’tsay woods, but sea woods,” smiled Tom quietly.

“I’m forgetting my duty,” cried Mr.Dunstan in sudden self-reproach. “I mustact a bit as pilot until you know these watersbetter.”

“Why, I studied the chart, sir, nearly all theway from Portland,” replied Tom. “I thinkI am picking up the marks of the course allright.”

“You can’t see Nantucket from here, but canyou point straight to it?” inquired Mr. Dunstan.

“I’m heading straight along the usual coursenow,” Tom replied.

“Right! You are. I guess you know yourway from the chart, though you’ve never seenthese waters before. Keep on. I won’t interfereunless I see you going wrong.”

“Shall I head straight on for the island?”asked Halstead. “Or would you rather keepclose to the mainland until we see how theengine behaves?”

“Keep right on, captain, unless your judgmentforbids.”

Tom, therefore, after a brief talk with hischum through the open hatchway, held to hiscourse, to the south of which lay the big islandof Martha’s Vineyard, now well populated bysummer pleasure seekers.

Notch by notch Joe let out the speed, thoughhe was too careful to be in a hurry about that.He wanted to study his machine until he knewit as he did the alphabet. Every fresh spurtpleased the owner greatly.

“Your Club has some great fellows in it ifyou two are specimens,” said Mr. Dunstan delightedly.“Prescott knew what he was writingwhen he told me to stand by anything youwanted to do.”

By the time when they had the Vineyard fairlysouth of them and the craft was going at morethan a twenty-mile gait, Tom judged that heshould inform the owner of the happening of thenight before. He therefore called Joe up fromthe motor to take the wheel. Then Halstead toldMr. Dunstan what had taken place, exhibitingthe fragment of cloth secured by Bouncer andconnecting this, in theory, with the swarthy manthey had seen aboard the train.

Bouncer, looking up in his master’s face andwhining, seemed anxious to confirm Tom Halstead’snarration.

“Why, there’s something about all this thatwill make it well for us all to keep our eyesopen,” said Mr. Dunstan.