The Rover Boys Down East: or, The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune

“Why – er – the way the lady acted. She seemed to be more scared than crazy. But they kept her down in the cabin, so I didn’t see much of her.”

“When did you land the crowd on the island?”

“About nine o’clock this morning.”

“Were you going back there later?”

“No, they said it wouldn’t be necessary.”

Dick walked to the rail of the schooner and beckoned to the captain of the steam tug.

“This captain says he landed the crowd on Chesoque Island,” he called out. “Do you know where that is?”

“I know where she is,” put in Larry Dixon, as Captain Wells hesitated in thought. “The lobster catchers used to have a hangout there.”

“Where is it?” asked Captain Wells, and the old tar described its location as well as he could.

“Reckon I could pick it up, from what the man says,” said the captain of the tug, to Dick.

“All right then,” answered the eldest Rover. He turned again to the captain of the schooner. “Now listen to me. I know you and I know your boat. If you have told me the exact truth, well and good. If you haven’t – well, you’ll have to take the consequences, that’s all.”

“I didn’t abduct nobody. I only did a job and got paid for it,” muttered the captain.

“Where are you bound?”

“Portland.”

“And after that?”

“Going to – er – take a load of lumber down to Newark, New Jersey.”

“Very well – then we’ll know where to locate you. Come on!” added Dick to his brothers.

“You can rely on me,” said the captain, and spoke quite respectfully. “I’ll tell all I know, and so will my men.”

“Hello, Jack!” cried Larry Dixon to a sailor on the schooner, and the fellow addressed waved his hand.

“I’ll talk to that man a minute,” said Dick, to the captain. The latter wished to demur, but Dick gave him no chance. The fellow was told to go aboard the tug, and there Larry Dixon asked him to tell his story. The sailor had little, however, to add to what his captain had said, excepting that the landing at Chesoque Island had been made in something of a hurry.

“Here’s a dollar for you,” said Dick, on parting. “Whenever the schooner makes a landing anywhere, you send me word where she is,” and he gave the tar his home address and also the address of a hotel in Portland.

“Don’t try to get me into trouble and I’ll tell you everything I know!” shouted the captain of the schooner, as the steam tug went on its way.

“I’ll remember you!” answered Dick, somewhat grimly. He did not know whether he could trust the captain or not.

Leaving the entrance to Portland Harbor, the tug steamed up into the waters of Casco Bay, that beautiful spot with its scores of verdant and rocky islands. As it was the height of the summer season they passed many pleasure boats, big and little. Once they passed an island where a big picnic was in progress and they heard the music from a band quite distinctly. They also passed Peak’s Island where there was a big, round-topped structure, which the captain of the tug said was a famous summer theater.

“A fellow could certainly have a dandy time here, cruising around among the islands,” was Tom’s comment.

From Larry Dixon the boys learned that Chesoque Island was away from most of the others, lying far out in the Bay. It was a rocky place, and there was a story that once a band of smugglers had used it for a rendezvous. It was also said to be inhabited by numerous snakes.

“Excuse me, but I don’t want to run up against any snakes,” said Sam, shuddering.

“Neither do I,” added Tom.

“No snakes shall stop me from trying to locate Mrs. Stanhope,” said Dick. “More than likely the story about snakes has little foundation to it.”

“Like the story about the snakes back of Putnam Hall,” said Tom. “Old Farmer Landell said there were thousands of ’em, and he and his son killed exactly five, and only little ones at that.”

Presently a distant shore loomed up and after an examination Larry Dixon declared it was the island for which they were seeking.

“Are you sure?” questioned Dick. “This is very important, and we don’t want to make any mistake.”

“I know the spot,” answered the old tar. “See that old building? The lobster catchers used to use that. And see that rock? There is where the old John Spurr struck, in a storm one winter.”

“Well, I don’t want to strike anything,” said Captain Wells, and ordered the engineer to reduce speed. Then, with great caution, they approached what had once been a good dock, but one which was now practically in ruins.

“Hello, there’s a motor boat!” cried Sam, as they came closer. Then all looked and saw that a gaudily-painted motor boat was tied up on one side of the old dock.

“Say, that looks like the motor boat Koswell, Larkspur and that stranger had!” ejaculated Dick.

“It is the same!” shouted Tom. “There is the name, Magnet. Now what do you think of that!”

“What do I think?” said Dick. “I think they must be here.”

“With Sobber and the others?”

“I don’t know about that. I didn’t think they knew Sobber.”

As the steam tug drew up on the other side of the dilapidated dock, those on board saw three persons rush from the old building nearby. They were Koswell, Larkspur and the fellow who had been running the motor boat.

“Say, I won’t have this!” roared Koswell. “You get out of here, and be quick about it!”

“Can’t we stop ’em from landing?” asked Larkspur. He was plainly scared.

“You can’t land here!” called out the young man who had run the Magnet. “This is private property. I forbid you coming in.”

“Private property?” called out Captain Wells.

“That is what I said.” And now the young man turned to his companions and a whispered, but animated conversation ensued.

“Who are you?” asked Dick.

“I am Alfred Darkingham. This island belongs to my uncle, John Darkingham. He gave us permission to come camping here, and said we needn’t let anybody else come ashore. I forbid your making a landing.”

“That’s the way to talk, Alf!” cried Koswell, in a low, but earnest voice. “Make ’em stay away.”

“Yes! Yes! don’t let ’em come ashore!” added Larkspur.