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

Tom’s first, throbbing thought was that theyhad tracked him here. He did not stir, but thegrim lines around his mouth deepened. Letthem try to get him then. They would have toclimb the tree to get at him and he meant tomake use of his hands and feet in defendinghimself.

“I can give them all they want for a while,”he told himself between his teeth. In fact, in hisexcitement he all but made his remark halfaloud.

“Well, he’s got away from us, all right,”growled the florid-faced one in a tone of mingleddisappointment and rage.

“We shall at least know him well after this,”sighed the swarthy one in a sinister tone.

“And I hope you’ll have your wish,” flaredlistening Tom indignantly, “though I’ll try tocontrol the time and place of meeting.”

“I’d rather have lost a thousand dollars thanthat boy,” went on the larger man gruffly.

“A thousand?” sneered the other. “Diablo!I’d give five thousand to have him in our handsthis moment.”

“And I believe I’d give more,” echoed Tomsilently, “to keep out of your clutches – if I hadthe money.”

Then, drawing closely together, the pair conversedin whispers. Again Tom groaned overhis hearing which, keen as it was, could get nothingconnected from the low tones of the pair onthe ground. Whatever they were saying, theseplotters must be terribly in earnest over something.In his eagerness Tom bent too far forward.His foot slipped. Frantically he clutchedat a branch overhead to save himself fromplunging to the ground. Of course the movemade some noise.

“Diablo! What was that? And so close, too!” demanded the smaller man.

“What?” demanded the larger man.

“That noise! Some one must be prowlingabout here,” continued the swarthy one in awhisper just loud enough to reach Tom’s ears.

As he spoke the Spaniard’s head turned insuch a way as to show that he was looking upinto the tree in which Tom stood. It was becominga truly bad quarter of an hour for theboy.

“I heard nothing,” said the other one gruffly.“Leastways, nothing more than some night animalstirring, maybe.”

“Let’s make a search of these trees,” proposedthe Spaniard.

Tom shivered. Danger was again comingmuch too close to please him.

“Come along,” rejoined the florid-faced oneimpatiently. “We’re wasting too much time, listening to the whisperings of the wind. Comealong, Alvarez.”

After a brief objection the one addressed asAlvarez turned and stepped off with his friend.They had not gone far when Tom Halsteadslipped down the tree trunk. Alarmed as hehad been when danger threatened most, he nowknew that he must follow them.

“For they may lead me straight to Ted Dunstan,”he thought eagerly.

Naturally he did not think it wise to get tooclose to the pair. Captured again, Tom Halsteadknew that he was not likely to be able tobe of any further service to his employer. Besides,in escaping and leaving his coat in thehands of the enemy he now remembered how hiswhite shirt might betray him if he got too closeto them.

“It’s a wonder they didn’t see all this whitewhen I was up in the tree,” he muttered, as hestole along in pursuit. “The leaves must havecovered me mighty well.”

For perhaps five minutes Halstead keptsteadily behind the pair, guiding himself by thedistant sound of their steps, for they did notkeep to any path. Then suddenly the boyhalted. The noise of footsteps ahead had diedout. Tom stood, silent, expectant, but no soundcame to his ears in the next two or three minutes.Then a disagreeable conclusion forceditself on the young skipper’s mind.

“Gracious! They’ve slipped away from meor else they’re at the end of their tramp.”

Again Halstead stole forward on tiptoe. But, though he spent nearly the next half-hour inexploring, he found nothing to reward hissearch. He came at last to a road which hejudged to be the same one along which he hadstarted with the Spaniard. Taking his coursefrom the stars, seaman fashion, Halstead keptalong. Within ten minutes he was upon a roadthat looked like a highway.

“Say, but how good that sounds!” he thrilled, suddenly halting. He had the presence of mindnext to slip behind the trunk of a big tree.

A horse was moving lazily along the road.There was the sound of wheels, too, thoughabove all rose a cheery whistling, as thoughthe owner of that pair of lips were the happiestmortal alive. It was a good, contented whistling.It had about it, too, the ring of honesty.The cheery sound made Tom Halstead feel faithat once in the owner of that whistle.

Then there came into sight a plain, much-wornopen buggy, drawn by a sleek-looking grayhorse. Seated in the vehicle was a youngsterof about Tom’s own age, who looked much likea farmer’s boy. He had no coat on, his suspendersbeing much in evidence. On his headhe wore a nondescript, broad-brimmed strawhat of the kind used by haymakers. At least itlooked as though it might once have been thatsort of a hat, but its shape was gone. Fromwhere Halstead stood not much of a glimpsecould be had of the boy’s face.

“Good evening, friend,” Tom hailed, steppingout from behind the tree.

“Evening! Who-o-oa!” The other boyreined up, peering down through the semidarkness.“Want a lift?”

“Just what, if it happens that you’re headedtoward the town of Nantucket,” Tom replied.

“That’s just where I’m headed. But holdon – gracious! I came within an ace of forgetting.I’ve got to turn back and drive to Sanderson’sfor a basket of eggs. Won’t take me long, though. Pile in.”

Tom gladly accepted the invitation. After hislate experiences it seemed good to be againwith some one who appeared to be wholesomeand friendly. The other boy turned about, layingthe whip lightly over the horse.

“Look as if you were off of some yacht,”commented the other boy, noting Halstead’sblue trousers and cap.

“I’m the skipper at present on Mr. Dunstan’s‘Meteor,’” Tom explained.

“Say, that’s the man whose son disappearedto-day,” exclaimed the other boy.

“Then you’ve heard about it?”

“Yep; it’s all over the island now, I guess.Constables been going everywhere and asking aheap of questions. Have they found youngTed?”

“I’m afraid not,” sighed Tom.

“Too bad. But who could have wanted himto disappear?”

“That’s a long story,” Tom answered discreetly.“But say, where are you going?”

For the young driver was turning off theroad to go to the very farmhouse to which thepier seemed to belong.

“To Sanderson’s, as I told you,” replied theother boy.

“Does that pier down at the water front belongto him?”

“Yep, though I guess he don’t have muchuse for it.”

“What sort of man is Sanderson?”

“Good enough sort, I guess.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He farms some, but I guess that don’tamount to a lot,” replied the young driver. “Ihear he’s going into some new kind ofbusiness this fall. Some kind of a factory he’sgoing to build on the place. I know he’s beenhaving a lot of cases of machinery come overon the boat from Wood’s Hole lately.”

“Machinery?” echoed Halstead. Somehow, from the first, that word struck a strange notewithin him.

“There’s Sanderson, now,” continued theyoung driver, pointing toward the house withhis whip.