The Motor Boat Club off Long Island: or, A Daring Marine Game at Racing Speed

“Colby! Here on the run! Trouble!” roared Halstead at the top of his voice.

“What’s that? Who’s there?” came a hail from up the road.

Whizz-zz! Thump! A stone, guided by Rexford’s hand, came through the air, glancing from one of Halstead’s shins.

“Hustle here quick! Follow the voice!” roared Tom.

He ducked his head just in time to avoid a stone propelled at his face by Rexford.

“Rah! rah! Hold on! We’re coming. Trouble, you say? Colby to the mix-up and the happy ending!”

“Come, Rexford! We’ve got to sprint,” advised the unknown.

Up the road the sound of charging feet came nearer. Rexford and his companion sprang into the woods, running as fast as they could go. But Halstead wisely concluded to remain treed until he beheld more than a dozen athletic looking young men under the tree. Then he slid to the ground.

“Did you call ‘trouble’?” demanded one of the newcomers.

“I did,” the young skipper admitted.

“Then hand over the goods! Show us the face of trouble, or take your punishment as a raiser of false hopes!” insisted the leader of the boys.

“And be quick about it. We haven’t seen any trouble in an hour,” proclaimed another of the boisterous crowd.

“Come into these woods with me,” begged Halstead. “Scatter and sprint. There are two men trying to get away – the rascals! If you can find them for me I’ll try to have them held by the police for assault.”

“What do they look like?”

Halstead gave a quick description of Rexford. Of the unknown one the young skipper could say only that he was a dark-haired man of thirty, clad in a gray suit.

The spirit of adventure being upon these young fellows, they scattered, dashing through the woods on a chance of finding anything that might look like a scrimmage. Five minutes of strenuous chasing, however, failed to discover Rexford or his companion, who must have known these woods well. Then the rah-rah boys, hot and disgusted, came back to the road.

“See here, young man,” remarked one of their leaders, severely, “you haven’t been trifling with our young hopes, have you?”

“On my word of honor, no,” Tom replied, earnestly. Then a happy, somewhat vengeful thought struck him.

“See here, fellows,” he went on, “I know pretty near the spot where a roll of five hundred dollars lies in the woods yonder. If you can find it I guess it will be yours, for frolic or dividing, just as you like.”

But that proved an almost dangerous piece of information to offer.

“Five hundred – what?” scowled the leader of the young men.

“We’ve found a crazy boy!” roared another.

“To the asylum with him!”

“No! Drag him along and duck him – that will be enough!”

Whooping, these irresponsible young fellows charged down upon Halstead. But he knew better than to run. Laughing, he stood his ground.

“Oh, well, if you won’t believe me,” he said, with mock resignation, “let it go at that. But what are you going to do?”

“Listen, child!” roared the leader of the crowd. “We are pushing forward for the surprise and capture of East Hampton. Willst go with us, and witness scenes of military glory?”

“I’m gladly with you for going to town,” replied the young skipper.

“Then come along. Preserve the utmost silence and stealth, all ye, my brave men,” ordered the leader, leaping out into the road.

“Rah, rah, rah!” they answered him, roaringly, and turned their faces townward. Tom glad to get out of it all so easily, stepped along with them.

“What was that about trouble, younker?” one of the supposed college boys asked Halstead. “Did you think you saw a shadow among the trees?”

“It was a good deal more than a shadow,” insisted Halstead. “I was attacked by two men.”

Tom’s questioner looked at him searchingly, then replied good-humoredly:

“Oh, well, say no more about it, and I guess the fellows will forget. It gave us a good excuse for a sprint, anyway.”

To Halstead it looked as though these college boys suspected him of some hoax, but were good-naturedly willing to overlook the joke on them. The young skipper was willing to accept the protection of their boisterous, husky companionship on any terms until safely out of the woods and over the bridge once more. As he found himself entering the town again Tom slipped away, unobserved, from the noisy dozen or more. Two or three minutes later he was back at the hotel.

Inquiry showed that Messrs. Delavan and Moddridge had not yet returned. Captain Tom again sought a veranda chair, and, sitting down, awaited their coming.

CHAPTER V

MR. MODDRIDGE’S NERVES CUT LOOSE

UP in Mr. Delavan’s suite of rooms Eben Moddridge paced the floor in great excitement. For Captain Tom Halstead had just finished his story of the night’s queer happening.

Francis Delavan, on the other hand, drew slowly, easily, at his cigar, his outward composure not in the least ruffled.

Yet, at the outset, Moddridge had been the one to doubt the young motor boat skipper’s strange yarn. Delavan, on the other hand, had believed it implicitly. At the end the nervous smaller man was also a believer.

“Frank,” declared Eben Moddridge, “this is a simply atrocious state of affairs. There is a plot against us, and a desperate, well-organized one.”

“Let them plot, then,” smiled Delavan. “It’s all right, since we are warned. Yet, Halstead, I’m just a bit disappointed that you didn’t pretend to fall in with the schemes of your strangers. You would have learned more of what is planned against us.”

“I don’t believe they intended to tell me anything definite, sir,” Captain Tom answered, slowly. “They spoke of a signal, on seeing which I was to pretend that the ‘Rocket’ was disabled and unable to proceed. I have an idea, Mr. Delavan, that all their other instructions would have been as vague, as far as real information is concerned.”

“I dare say you are right, my boy,” nodded the “Rocket’s” owner. “You did best, after all, no doubt. I must confess myself puzzled, though. Your descriptions of the two men don’t fit any possible enemies that I can call to mind.”

“They were most likely agents, acting for someone else, don’t you think, Mr. Delavan?”

“Undoubtedly, captain.”

“Frank,” broke in Eben Moddridge, in a shaking voice, as he halted, looking the picture of nervous breakdown, “you must engage detectives instantly.”

“Nonsense, Eben,” retorted his friend.

“Or at least, two or three strong, daring men who will remain with you, to defend you against any possible attack.”