Chapter IV: Stranded

"Marooned!" yelled Antone Ferreira with a curse. "The mutinous dogs!"

They all stared back in the direction from which they had ascended. True enough, the Miami was slipping steadily out into open water, bound a little to the left of south.

"What price empire now?" murmured Tom Jones to himself.

Cicero Tony Schultz also muttered something under his breath, cursing Nick Fratelli for leaving him in the lurch, when it was he who had first sowed the seeds of mutiny in Nick's brain.

"Come on!" shouted Scarface, and led the way back down over the rocks along the path up which they had come.

Panic-stricken, the others followed him. Never before had they realized what the Miami meant to them. With that boat, they were conquerors voyaging to subjugate new lands. Without the Miami, they were merely six city-bred men, unused to the woods, turned loose to shift for themselves in an unmapped and prehistoric wilderness, forced to learn its amazing ways before matches and ammunition gave out and clothing disintegrated. And even if they learned the ways of the woods in time to save their lives, nothing lay before them except a struggle for bare existence until old age finally conquered them one by one.

No wonder they raced madly, insanely, after the departing Miami. But by the shore, down-hill though it was, the Miami was nowhere in sight. The six men collapsed panting on the top of the cliff which flanked the beach.

When they had rested for a while, they took stock of their provisions and other belongings. From one of his pockets Scarface produced a flash light.

"A lot of good that'll do us down here, where the sun never sets," remarked Tom Jones.

Its owner eyed him sharply.

"Never saw one of these before, did you?" he asked.

"Why, of course I have," laughed the one-time yachtsman.

"Oh, no, you haven't," asserted the other positively. "This is a signal-lamp, invented by our radio-hound, Little Arty. This little thing is a complete sending and receiving set. The case is wrapped with fine wire to serve as a coil antenna. Only half the inside is filled with batteries, and they are of a special kind, extra strong. The rest of the space is tube, and capacity, and a lot of other things I don't know the names of. But I do know how the thing works. When some one presses the button on one of them, the light flashes on the other."

Just then the light started flickering.

"Can you read Morse?" asked Scarface.

"Yes," replied Tom.

"Then listen in," Scarface ordered.

"Arty sending," came the message. "Nick has me trussed up in the cabin, but I got my hands on the light. The Miami went south only a little way. Nick is on a rampage, and there's hell to pay. Come--"

The message broke off abruptly.

"Look!" exclaimed some one, pointing down the beach to the southward.

All eyes followed the gesture, and saw a man trudging toward them, in what appeared to be civilized clothes which clung to his person as though wet. A series of yells of various sorts proceeded from the six on the cliff-top. The figure looked up and began to run toward them, while they in turn clambered down the face of the cliff and ran to meet him.

* * * * *

It was Charley Loy, their slant-eyed cook, sopping wet and very woe-begone. The six crowded around him and demanded an explanation.

"Dlunk," said he when he had caught his breath. "Nick Flatelli, he get into lum lockers. Dlink lotta lum. Get velly dlunk. Muchee whoopee. Thlow me overboard. Me walkee back flum lide."

Tom Jones was shocked at an abrupt thought that came to him. "Theresa is at the mercy of that crowd of drunken bums! We must rescue her. We thought we had only ourselves to save. But now we've got to save a lady."

"Lady, me eye!" snorted Cicero, still chafing under Nick's duplicity. "I should worry about a skirt!"

"No, you wouldn't," Tom snorted back at him.

"Do you mean to say," exclaimed Captain Ferreira, "that you'd all forgotten about my little Terry? Why, that's what worried me about the boat right along."

"This performance," stated Scarface levelly, "is going to be very bad luck for Nick the Rat. Charley, where was the Miami headed for, when you--ah--left the ship? And have you any idea where she is now?"

"Boat not go anywhere special," replied the cook. "Ev'lybody too dlunk. Boat just lun along shore, south. Nowhere particular."

"That fits in with Arty's radio message," Scarface said thoughtfully. "We'll follow the shore south."

Southward they tramped the sandy beach. How long, will never be known, for the sun hung always at noon above them, and no one thought to note the time by his watch. Occasionally they stopped to eat from the remainder of the rations which they carried, but there was no sunset to tell them when to sleep.

At last, when rounding the tip of a promontory of land, they saw the Miami drifting idly in a cove beyond. Before any one could hail her, Scarface had cautioned silence, and motioned his little band to take cover. But the precaution seemed needless. Not a soul was stirring on board. The boat appeared to be utterly deserted.

"Lord knows where they've all gone," exclaimed Scarface, "but at least we've got our ship back. How many of you can swim?"

Only Tom Jones and Si Greene admitted the accomplishment, so these two and their leader stripped, with the exception of belt and pistol, and waded out into the none-too-warm sea. The Miami was about a quarter of a mile distant, and drifting slowly away, under the influence of an offshore breeze.

"Lie low," was Jimmy's parting injunction to the four on shore, "But if any one appears on deck, then make a disturbance, and try to distract their attention from us."

"I wish I had got some of that rum," muttered Cicero Tony to himself, "If Nick ever gets another chance to make a break, I'm going to stick to him like a plaster."

* * * * *

All three of the men in the water were expert swimmers, and rapidly overhauled the Miami. Yet still there was no sign of life on board.

They had almost reached the boat when a shout from the shore caused them to pause and look around. Their first thought was that some one had appeared on deck, and that their four allies were attempting to create a diversion, as they had been instructed to do. But the decks were as deserted as before.

The commotion on the shore continued. The four men, standing on the beach, were pointing to the water to the south. The swimmers looked in that direction, and saw approaching them at a rapid rate what appeared to be a giant dolphin with alligator-like jaws. The nightmarish creature was leaping and diving, and weaving in and out of the surface of the water in its approach.

"An ichthyosaurus!" exclaimed Tom. "It comes from two Greek words--"

"Never mind where it comes from," interrupted Scarface. "It's coming toward us, and it looks hungry. I wish I could wake up from this--Come on, let's go."

And he began a frantic double-over-hand toward the Miami, the two others needing no encouragement to make them follow at top speed.

Silas Greene was the least effective swimmer of the three. With appalling swiftness the sea beast bore down on poor Si, and cut him off from his two companions. He at once stopped swimming, and, treading water, drew his pistol and faced his assailant.

But at that very instant another beast of a different sort attacked him from the rear. A head like the dipper of a steam shovel, mounted on the end of a long, snakelike neck, suddenly shot out of the water behind him, and hung suspended over him. His friends gave a cry of warning. But even as he was turning to see what new menace was confronting him, the neck curved, and the head shot down upon him, enveloping the upper half of his body with its horrid jaws.

Jimmy's automatic barked twice. Two red spots appeared in the creature's neck, which gave a writhe as though in pain. At the same instant the other beast, cheated of its prey, hurled itself on the wounded reptile with a hiss of rage. The water, swirling in geysers, closed over the two beasts and their victim.

"He's done for!" gasped Tom.

Scarface was equally horrified. "If he's not, he'll certainly need our help when he comes to the top. Danger or not, we'll wait here till we see if there's any hope for him."

But nothing more was seen of either beast, nor of their prey.

* * * * *

"Shay," inquired a thick voice out of the air above them, "did you shee what I shaw?"

Scarface whipped out his pistol again, and both men, treading water, looked up. The Miami had drifted almost upon them, and Scutari was leaning over the rail above them, beautifully drunk.

"Put up your water pishtolsh, an' come aboard," said Scutari genially. "Gran' little party!"

"Come on, Tom," said Scarface. "We can't do poor Si any good here, and we may possibly be able to help him from the Miami." Then to the surprisingly amiable drunk above them, "Lower us down a ladder, will you?"

"Shorry," replied Scutari, with a profound bow that nearly tumbled him over the rail. "No laddersh to-day. Thish' my day off."

So the two swimmers clambered up the side as best they could.

As Tom swung his last foot over the rail, the ichthyosaur rose in a graceful curve from the water behind him and snapped within an inch of his heel.

"A rotten miss," exclaimed Scutari. Then applauded feebly: "But it'sh the best show I've ever sheen."

Lying in the scuppers was the body of a man. Scarface turned it over with his foot. It was George, the Syrian.

"Dead?" asked Tom.

"Yes," replied his chief, "dead drunk." Then, to Scutari, "Where are the others?"

"Party in mesh-room," replied the Greek. "Shay, you'll get run in for indeshent exposure. Put on shum closhe. Haw, haw, haw!"

Scarface cuffed him into the scuppers alongside George. Then, brushing off his hands, he strode to the rail again for an anxious look at the spot where poor Si Greene had gone down. But the surface of the water was as calm and placid as though no tragedy had just been enacted there.

With a sigh Scarface turned away and entered the mess-room, followed by his aide.

The only occupants were Theresa and Nick the Rat. The two sat facing each other across the table. The girl was tied to her chair with many turns of rope. The bulky Italian sat at ease in his, with a half-filled glass and a bottle on the table before him. As the door crashed open, he was holding a table-knife by the blade, and was pointing at Theresa with the butt, evidently to emphasize something which he was saying.

As Scarface and Tom entered, Fratelli lumbered unsteadily to his feet and reached for one of his pockets. Instantly he thought better of it--he knew Scarface--and raised his hands aloft. Both of the intruders had drawn their automatics before entering.

"Quick, Tom, frisk him," ordered Scarface Jimmy. "And keep your own gun out of his reach while you do it."

Tom Jones walked over to the Italian and patted the latter's pockets, as he had often seen done in the movies. The patting having developed a lump in the right-hand coat pocket, Tom reached in and pulled out a gat, which he threw upon the table, as he had also seen done in the movies. Scarface hastily scooped up the gun and held it in his other hand.

"Nick, you big bum, you lousy double crosser," growled Scarface, "sit down, Tom, untie Miss Ferreira, and tie up Nick."

Tom approached the captive.

But she expostulated, red-faced, and turning away her eyes, "Aw, gee, Mr. Jones, you and Mr. Jimmy haven't a stitch of clothes on."

* * * * *

So intent had the two been on the developments since their return on board that they had completely forgotten their lack of attire.

Tom now promptly turned red himself and bolted for the door, only to be stopped by a peremptory, "Jones! There are two men still unaccounted for, and Little Arty's either locked up or knocked out somewhere. Never mind your modesty. Go and locate Swede Johnson and the Eskimo, and make sure that they are not in a position to cause us any trouble. And--and--" Scarface faltered, "you'd better bring me some clothes as soon as you've got those two birds disposed of."

Then his _sang-froid_ returned, and he sat down, more or less shielded by the table from Theresa.

In a minute or two Tom Jones returned, clothed and bearing clothes. He untied the girl, and trussed up the Italian. Then Scarface Jimmy withdrew hastily and slipped into the garments which Tom had brought him.

On Scarface's return, his first inquiry concerned Swede and Friday.

"Both asleep in the bunk room," Tom reported.

"And now how are you, my dear?" Scarface asked, turning to Terry. "Did the Rat harm you?"

"Sure he did," replied the girl, "He bruised my arms up terribly with these ropes."

"Is that all?"

"Gee, ain't that enough?"

"Tell us what happened."

"Well," narrated Terry, "you see, after you had gone, the wop here he got nosing around all over the ship, and finally he let out a howl that he'd found a lot of booze. So everybody ran to see, except me and the Chink. The Chink shut himself up in the galley, and I tried to get on shore, but Scutari caught me and brought me back. The wop took me away from the Greek and locked me up in my own room--I mean your room, sir. I bolted the door on the inside, and then some one started up the boat. And they all drank a lot more, and sang and howled. And then the engines stopped, and no one seemed to care."

She paused for a moment, and then continued, "Well, after a while, I heard a splash and a lot of laughter, and I looked out the window--port-hole, I mean--and the Chink was swimming away for dear life. They all tried to break down my door, but the wop came and cussed them something awful, so they stopped. Then the wop broke down the door himself, and wanted me to drink with him. So I slapped his face, and he tied me up and said he would teach me to be a lady. And then you came. And I guess that's about all, sir."

"It's quite enough," commented Scarface grimly.

"You poor little kid," said Tom Jones.

* * * * *

"Can you handle a gun?" Scarface asked her.

"Gee, Mr. Jimmy," replied the girl, "you don't want for me to kill the wop, do you?"

"Not exactly," explained Scarface.

"That is, not unless it's necessary. I merely want you to keep him out of mischief, while Jones and I get this boat going."

So saying, he handed her one of the pistols. Grasping it in both hands, she placed its butt on the table and pointed the trembling muzzle at the bound man, who now turned pale for the first time.

"For Pete's sake, Jimmy," Nick begged hoarsely, "take her away! I can't stand to see that gat waving at me."

"Then shut your eyes, you fool," replied Scarface.

"That would be worse," moaned Fratelli, now completely unnerved. "It might go off without my knowing it. Take her away!"

"You've got it coming to you, Nick," asserted Scarface with a malicious smile. "And if Miss Ferreira should happen to get careless or nervous with the trigger, your death would not be on my conscience. Come on, Tom, let's get going. You start the engine."

So saying, he departed for the pilot house, and soon the Miami was chugging back toward shore, where Cicero, Murphy, Captain Ferreira and Charley Loy were taken on board. George and Scutari were promptly lifted from the deck and put to bed. Scarface relieved Terry of the pistol with which she had been guarding Nick. Arty had been located in the galley and untied. Then all hands, except the four drunks, were assembled in the mess-room.

Captain Ferreira warmly embraced his daughter, and then his eyes ranged over those present.

"Where's Si Greene?" he asked. "Did that dolphin get him?"

Scarface Jimmy's face sobered, and his eyes narrowed.

"Si has given up his life for this girl here," he reported. "Two sea-beasts--and they weren't mere dolphins either--pulled him under and fought over him, just as we reached the ship. We waited around, but the poor fellow never came to the top again."

"Moby Dick!" exclaimed the ship captain, horrified.

Terry's eyes flashed around at Nick Fratelli.

"It's all your fault!" she sobbed. "Mr. Greene was a good, good man."

So saying, she jumped at him, but several of the men seized her and held her away.

"Nick has been guilty of mutiny on the high seas," announced Captain Ferreira. "The very least penalty is to be kept in irons until the end of the trip."

"I'll gladly supply the irons," cut in Mike Murphy, the ex-policeman, fishing his pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, and handing them over to his chief.

Still glowering, the burly Italian was untied and then manacled.

"I'll give you this much freedom for the present," announced Scarface, "until I decide whether to keep you in irons for the rest of the trip, as Ferreira suggests, or to turn you loose altogether."

Then the party broke up for a few moments rest, while Charley Loy prepared grub. Arty made a bee-line to his beloved radio; and, to the surprise of every one, got a station almost immediately.

Some one appeared to be broadcasting a speech. But it was in some utterly strange and outlandish language. Furthermore, the dial-setting did not correspond to any station on the earth's surface, most of which were marked in the little radio fan's log.