The Medal Library

Famous Copyrighted Stories
for Boys, by Famous Authors

PUBLISHED EVERY WEEK

This is an ideal line for boys of all ages. It contains juvenile masterpieces by the most popular writers of interesting fiction for boys. Among these may be mentioned the works of Burt L. Standish, detailing the adventures of Frank Merriwell, the hero, of whom every American boy has read with admiration. Frank is a truly representative American lad, full of character and a strong determination to do right at any cost. Then, there are the works of Horatio Alger, Jr., whose keen insight into the minds of the boys of our country has enabled him to write a series of the most interesting tales ever published. This line also contains some of the best works of Oliver Optic, another author whose entire life was devoted to writing books that would tend to interest and elevate our boys.

To Be Published During March

250. Neka, the Boy Conjurer. By Capt. Ralph Bonehill.
249. The Young Bridge Tender. By Arthur M. Winfield.
248. The West Point Boys. By Lieut. Frederick Garrison, U.S.A.
247. Frank Merriwell’s Secret. By Burt L. Standish.
246. Rob Ranger’s Cowboy Days. By Lieut. Lounsberry.

To Be Published During February

245. The Red Rover. By J. Fenimore Cooper.
244. Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale. By Burt L. Standish.
243. Adrift in New York. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
242. The Rival Canoe Boys. By St. George Rathborne.

To Be Published During January

241. The Tour of the Zero Club. By Capt. R. Bonehill.
240. Frank Merriwell’s Champions. By Burt L. Standish.
239. The Two Admirals. By J. Fenimore Cooper.
238. A Cadet’s Honor. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.

237. Frank Merriwell’s Skill. By Burt L. Standish.
236. Rob Ranger’s Mine. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
235. The Young Carthaginian. By G. A. Henty.
234. The Store Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
233. Frank Merriwell’s Athletes. By Burt L. Standish.
232. The Valley of Mystery. By Henry Harrison Lewis.
231—Paddling Under Palmettos. By St. George Rathborne.
230—Off for West Point. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.
229—Frank Merriwell’s Daring. By Burt L. Standish.
228—The Cash Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
227—In Freedom’s Cause. By G. A. Henty.
226—Tom Havens With the White Squadron. By Lieut. Orton.
225—Frank Merriwell’s Courage. By Burt L. Standish.
224—Yankee Boys in Japan. By Henry Harrison Lewis.
223—In Fort and Prison. By William Murray Graydon.
222—A West Point Treasure. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.
221—The Young Outlaw. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
220—The Gulf Cruisers. By St. George Rathborne.
219—Tom Truxton’s Ocean Trip. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
218—Tom Truxton’s School Days. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
217—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour. By Burt L. Standish.
216—Campaigning With Braddock. By William Murray Graydon.
215—With Clive in India. By G. A. Henty.
214—On Guard. By Lieut. Frederick Garrison, U.S.A.
213—Frank Merriwell’s Races. By Burt L. Standish.
212—Julius, the Street Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
211—Buck Badger’s Ranch. By Russell Williams.
210—Sturdy and Strong. By G. A. Henty.
209—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield. By Burt L. Standish.
208—The Treasure of the Golden Crater. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
207—Shifting Winds. By St. George Rathborne.
206—Jungles and Traitors. By Wm. Murray Graydon.
205—Frank Merriwell at Yale. By Burt L. Standish.
204—Under Drake’s Flag. By G. A. Henty.
203—Last Chance Mine. By Lieut James K. Orton.
202—Risen From the Ranks. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
201—Frank Merriwell in Europe. By Burt L. Standish.
200—The Fight for a Pennant. By Frank Merriwell.
199—The Golden Canon. By G. A. Henty.
198—Only an Irish Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
197—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour. By Burt L. Standish.
196—Zip, the Acrobat. By Victor St. Clair.
195—The Lion of the North. By G. A. Henty.
194—The White Mustang. By Edward S. Ellis.
193—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery. By Burt L. Standish.
192—Tom, the Bootblack. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
191—The Rivals of the Diamond. By Russell Williams.
190—The Cat of Bubastes. By G. A. Henty.
189—Frank Merriwell Down South. By Burt L. Standish.
188—From Street to Mansion. By Frank H. Stauffer.
187—Bound to Rise. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
186—On the Trail of Geronimo. By Edward S. Ellis.
185—For the Temple. By G. A. Henty.
184—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West. By Burt L. Standish.

Frank Merriwell’s
Danger

By BURT L. STANDISH

Author of “Frank Merriwell’s School Days,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Chums,” “Frank Merriwell’s Foes,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Trip West,” “Frank Merriwell Down
South,” “Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Bravery,” “Frank Merriwell in Europe,” etc.

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
238 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK CITY

Copyright, 1904
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell’s Danger

FRANK MERRIWELL’S DANGER.

CHAPTER I.

OUT FOR A CRUISE.

Spring!

All through the long winter the only green thing to be seen on the Yale campus was the festive freshman, but now, on this mild, sunny April day, which was a promise of June soon to come, a few blades of grass were struggling to appear.

It was a day to bring everybody out. For the first time one could realize that winter was really a thing of the past.

At noon the campus swarmed and the fence was lined with roosters. The juniors came out and smoked their big English pipes, and did their best to imitate the graveness and dignity of the seniors. The sophomores loaded their line of fence, joking, laughing and guying the freshmen. And the freshmen gamboled like young colts just turned out to pasture, betraying their absolute “newness” by every word and act.

Big Bruce Browning smoked in lazy abandon, leaning against a post, feeling far too tired to climb to a seat upon the top rail. Bink Stubbs was whittling with a brand-new knife, while Danny Griswold whistled a rollicking tune. Dismal Jones actually wore an expression on his face that was as near perfect satisfaction and happiness as anyone had ever seen on his long countenance. “Lucy” Little, with a necktie “loud enough to jar the bricks out of South Middle,” was doing his best to see how many packages of cigarettes he could smoke in five minutes.

Everywhere the talk was baseball. Who would make the team? Would it be as strong as the year before? and would they win out from Harvard?

It was pretty certain Harvard would have an exceptionally strong team. The material to choose from was better than ever before, and Harvard was “making a brace” in all directions. Yale had won the last football game from Harvard more by the wonderful work of one man than by the superior strength of her eleven, and the Cambridge lads were thirsting for revenge.

The man who seemed to stand head and shoulders above all others in Yale sports and athletics was Frank Merriwell. But Merriwell had become a “greasy grind” during the winter, and there were those who prophesied that he was satisfied with his fame, and would retire on his laurels. It was even reported that he was ambitious to be valedictorian, and it was known that he could go to either Bones or Keys, as he might choose, which was a most remarkable state of affairs, as there were hundreds of good men and true, with hearts full of ambition, who could not reach either.

All along Merriwell had refused to say anything about his plans, and he would not talk baseball. He had been drawn into the football game with Harvard through force of circumstances, and against his inclination, so it was not strange that the general belief was that he might refuse to become the leading “twirler” for Yale that season.

It was generally conceded by Merriwell’s friends and foes alike that his refusal to play would be a great blow to Yale. Hugh Heffiner and Dad Hicks, the old timers, were gone, and Merriwell was the only man left who had been tried by Yale and not found wanting.

True, there was some new material. Walbert, an Andover man, was a promising candidate; and Haggerty, who had come to Yale after being dropped at straight-laced little Williams for some thoughtless prank, was said to be a great “southpaw” twirler.

But what Yale wanted was steady, reliable material in which confidence could be placed. The new men might show up all right when the time came, but what if they did not? The “if” was in the way.

So baseball was the theme on this bright April day, and the enthusiasm which the game always arouses among the “cranks” was beginning to make itself manifest.

While they were talking of him, Frank Merriwell appeared. He looked trim and well-groomed. It was one of his peculiarities that he always looked as if he had just emerged from a bath.

Barely was Frank upon the campus before Harry Rattleton, his old-time chum, rushed up and caught him by the arm.

“Looking for you, old man—looking for you!” he excitedly sputtered. “There’s tomething on sap—I mean something on tap.”

“You know I never drink beer,” smiled Frank.

“Never mind—t’ain’t beer,” Harry rattled on. “This is just the day, isn’t it?”

“Just the day for what?”

“Cruise.”

“What sort of a cruise?”

“On the sound. I’ve got a cat.”

“A cat? Well, what has a cat to do with a cruise on the sound?”

“I mean a batcoat—no, no, a catboat! Bought her yesterday.”

“Oh! I must say you are starting early.”

“None too early. And this is just the day for a sail. We can have a glorious afternoon on the sound. What do you say to it, old man?”

“Who is going?”

“Anybody you want. We’ll take along Browning and Diamond.”

“I don’t think I ought to spend the time.”

“Oh, come off! You have been cramming like a fiend all winter, and an afternoon’s outing is just what you need. You can’t say no. Think of the sport.”

Frank did think of it. He knew it was true he had become a “dig,” and he felt that a sail on the sound would do him good. It would serve as a relaxation for half a day, and he could return to his studies with fresh energy on the morrow.

All at once he turned on Harry, exclaiming:

“I am with you, old fellow!”

“You will go?”

“Dead sure. I’ll be able to study all the better for it afterward.”

“That’s the talk, Merry! Who’ll we take?”

“Name your own crew.”

“Diamond and Browning.”

“They’re all right. What say if I get Hodge and take him along?”

“Get him. That will make just the right sort of a crew. I’ll get a lunch, and we’ll meet at the New Haven Yacht Clubhouse. The Jolly Sport is moored off the clubhouse. We’ll all get down there as soon as possible. I know Browning and Diamond will go when they know you are coming along, Frank. You go for Hodge, and I’ll look after the others.”

In this way it was settled. Frank started to get Bart Hodge, another old chum, who roomed at a distance. Hodge had passed examinations successfully, and was a Yale student at last. Rattleton made for Browning, who still leaned in solemn stateliness against the fence.

Rattleton and Diamond were on the Jolly Sport, getting her in trim, when Frank and Bart appeared.

“Where’s Browning?” shouted Frank.

“Coming,” Harry called back.

“So’s Christmas, but it’ll be a long time getting here. If you really expect that fellow to sail with us this afternoon, you should have brought him along.”

“We can’t waste the afternoon waiting for him,” said Jack, impatiently.

Frank and Bart got on board the boat, and then Bruce appeared, perspiring and staggering under a heavy load, for he carried a huge basket in either hand.

“Dat the whickens—I mean, what the dickens has he there?” cried Harry. “Oh, I know, the lunch!”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Frank. “We were smart not to think of that. But he has brought enough to provision the Jolly Sport for a week’s cruise.”

“Hurry up, Browning!” shouted Jack, testily. “We’ve waited long enough for you.”

“Oh, fall overboard and cool off!” flung back the big fellow, who seemed a bit out of sorts himself from the exertion. “You’re always in a hurry.”

“What have you there, anyway?” asked Frank, as Bruce came on board.

“Beer.”

“Beer?” shouted all the lads.

“Sandwiches.”

“Then it’s not all beer?”

“Most of it is.”

“That’s all right,” said Diamond, beginning to look satisfied. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” grunted Browning. “I brought it along for myself. Supposed you chaps would bring your own beer and provisions.”

“You don’t mean to say you brought all that stuff in those two great baskets for yourself and no one else?”

“Why not?”

“How long do you think this cruise will last?”

“Can’t tell about that.”

“You’ll divvy, or we’ll put you in irons and cast you into the hold!” declared Rattleton. “I’m owner and captain of this vessel, and what I say goes. See?”

To this Bruce simply grunted.

The baskets were stowed as snugly as possible, and then Rattleton began to give orders.

“Haul away!” he cried. “Haul away on the throat halyards! Up with the peak! That’s right. Slack off the sheet a bit, Diamond. Lay her a bit more to port! Steady, so!”

The tide was running out, and the wind was light, but the Jolly Sport seemed eager to get out into the sound, and was soon running down past an anchored fishing vessel at good speed.

“Well, this is great!” muttered Hodge, as he lay back comfortably, lighting a cigar.

Down past the fort in Indian Hill they slipped, steered across to the old lighthouse, and tacked into the sound.

“Hurrah!” cried Skipper Rattleton. “The breeze is with us, boys!”

Then he sang a snatch of “A Life on the Ocean Wave.”

“What do you think of my singing?” he asked. “It’s entirely by ear.”

“Great heavens!” cried Merry, tragically. “That explains it!”

“Explains what?”

“Why, I didn’t think it possibly could be by mouth.”

Browning grunted. It was as near as he could come to laughing without exerting himself.

The boys took off their coats and prepared to enjoy life. All fell to smoking, with the exception of Frank.

“Going to pitch on the nine this spring, Merry?” asked Bart.

“I may,” answered Frank. “I was practicing yesterday, and I threw the ball a mile.”

“What’s that? Threw a baseball a mile? Oh, come off!”

“You see, I threw it at a mark.”

“Well?”

“I missed the mark.”

“What of that?”

“Isn’t a miss as good as a mile?” chuckled Frank.

Rattleton came near having a fit.

“If this keeps up,” said Diamond, “there will be a lot of maniacs on board before the Jolly Sport sails back to New Haven.”

As they passed a puffing tug, an old salt hailed them:

“Better be careful, boys,” he called.

“Careful? What for?”

“There’ll be a reg’ler nor’wester to-night. This is a weather breeder.”

“All right, cap,” returned Frank. “We’ll be back before night.”

And they did not think of the warning afterward.

Away down the harbor ran the Jolly Sport. The boys smoked, laughed, sang and joked. It was like a midsummer day. They took the East Channel out toward Brandford Point, and then set their course toward the Thimble Islands.

After a time the wind freshened a little, and they put on their coats. The Thimbles were seen glistening in the bright sunshine. Harry had brought along a glass, and they took turns peering off toward the islands, of which there are said to be three hundred and sixty-five, one for each day in the year.

The wind rose steadily till they had a “spanking breeze,” and the catboat danced along right merrily.

“Perhaps we hadn’t better try to make the islands,” said Frank, but the others cried him down.

“What’s the matter with you?” they demanded. “This is a beautiful breeze. Of course, we’ll go to the Thimbles.”

They were enthusiastic, for the way the Jolly Sport reeled along was exhilarating. Soon the glistening islands grew to bits of green and then took on definite shapes.

“Look at that schooner yonder,” said Jack. “Isn’t she a queer-looking craft?”

He pointed out a black two-master that was running up into the sound. There was something rakish about the slant of the masts, and the vessel seemed to creep over the water in a stealthy fashion. The boys watched her with increasing interest.

“Makes me think of some of the stories of pirate vessels,” said Bart.

“Jingoes!” exclaimed Diamond. “She does look like a pirate!”

“But the days of pirates are past,” said Harry. “Probably she is a fishing vessel.”

“Guess not,” said Frank. “She does not look like a fisherman. There is something mysterious in her appearance.”

“You know Capt. Kidd ran in here something over a hundred years ago and landed on the Thimbles,” Harry reminded. “He hid his vessel behind the rocky islands and buried his treasure where he and no one else has since been able to find it. His ‘punch bowl’ and initials remain to prove that he really did come in here.”

“Imagine we are living in the days of pirates,” said Diamond, his eyes sparkling. “Imagine that fellow coming yonder is one.”

“We’d be headed the other way, instead of bearing down to cross close under his stern,” declared Hodge.

“I don’t believe that schooner is much of a sailor, for all of her rakish appearance,” said Harry.

“She’s running under light sail,” observed Frank. “It would make a difference if she were to crack on every stitch.”

At the wheel a man seemed half asleep. Another man was at work forward, and those were all the boys could see.

“Don’t believe she carries a heavy crew,” said Browning, surveying the schooner with lazy interest.

Somehow or other as they drew nearer to the black vessel they lowered their voices and all seemed to feel an air of awe stealing over them.

“Do you make out her name, Merry?” asked Harry of Frank, who had the glass.

“Yes. There, you can all see it now.”

The schooner swung to port, and the white letters on her stern were distinctly seen.

“P-i-r-a-t-e,” spelled Diamond.

“Pirate?” gasped Harry, doubtfully.

“Pirate!” exclaimed Hodge, excitedly.

“Pirate,” came languidly from Browning, who showed no remarkable interest.

“That’s right,” nodded Frank. “An appropriate name for her, sure enough.”

“I should say so!” nodded Rattleton. “She looks like a pirate.”

“And I’m hanged if the man at the wheel don’t look like one!” half laughed Frank, passing the glass to Harry.

Rattleton took a look through the glass.

“Both men are tough-looking fellows,” he declared. “They have the appearance of men who would not hesitate to cut a throat for a sawbuck. I wouldn’t—— What’s up now?”

There was a commotion on board the black schooner.

CHAPTER II.

THE MAN WITH THE GUN.

“Something’s wrong!”

“Sure pop!”

The boys heard a scream. It sounded like the voice of a woman.

Then there was a hoarse shout. The man at the wheel woke to a show of interest, and the man forward started aft.

Suddenly a girlish figure appeared on deck. She ran to the rail and tried to leap overboard, but two men, besides those already on deck, appeared in pursuit, grasped and held her.

The girl seemed to see the small sailboat.

“Help!” she wildly cried. “Save——”

One of the men clapped a hand over her mouth, and she was carried away, struggling.

Then there was excitement on board the Jolly Sport.

“The Old Nick is to pay on board the Pirate!” exclaimed Rattleton.

“It’s a girl, boys!” cried Diamond, all his natural gallantry awakened and aroused. “She is in distress. We must aid her!”

“Bring her round, Hodge—bring her round, and we’ll——”

“Lay her up, Hodge, lay her up, and we’ll make a run after the schooner!” came promptly from Frank. “I want to know something more about this.”

“That’s right,” nodded Rattleton, who did not resent the manner in which Frank took command. “What right have they to treat a girl like that! There’s something wrong going on!”

Even Browning was aroused.

“I believe Rattleton is right,” he said. “Maybe that girl has been kidnaped.”

The Jolly Sport was headed in pursuit of the black schooner, without immediately attracting the attention of anyone on board the Pirate.

The girl had been overpowered with ease and carried below.

“What are we going to do when we overtake them?” asked Browning.

“We’ll do something if we get on board!” exclaimed Hodge.

“But it’s not likely we’ll be able to get on board.”

“Oh, I don’t know!”

It was not long before the man at the wheel saw the boat in pursuit. He called to another man, who went below, after coming astern to take a look at the pursuing catboat.

In a short time two men came up from below and took a survey of the Jolly Sport. One of the men seemed to be captain of the schooner. He betrayed uneasiness.

Coming to the rail, the captain harshly shouted:

“What are you lubbers chasin’ us fer? Go about, and mind your own business!”

“We wish to talk with you, captain,” returned Frank.

“Don’t want to talk,” was the surly retort. “Keep off.”

“We want to talk, I tell you. What’s the use to be so unsociable. Make yourself agreeable.”

“What do you want?”

“We saw you were having a little trouble on board and so——”

“Ain’t havin’ no trouble. Tell yer to mind your own business! If you nose round us, you’ll get hurt.”

“Who was the young lady who tried to jump overboard?”

“That was my gal,” answered the man, after some hesitation.

“Why did she try to leap over the rail?”

“She’s been sick, an’ she’s a little daffy in her upper deck, that’s all.”

“He’s lying!” exclaimed Hodge, in a low voice. “You can tell that he is lying by the way he says it!”

“We’ve got a doctor here,” fibbed Rattleton. “We’ll come aboard and he’ll prescribe for her.”

“Keep off!” roared the man on the schooner. “We don’t want no doctors botherin’ round here.”

“But we are coming aboard!” flung back Diamond. “We want to see that girl.”

“You can’t see her! If you come round here, you’ll get yer heads broke!”

The black-bearded sailor was angry. He shook his fist at the boys, and used language that would not look well in print.

Still the Jolly Sport kept after the Pirate, as if the youthful crew of the former had determined to overhaul the schooner and board her.

There was a consultation on board the schooner, and then one of the men hastily went below.

The Jolly Sport was drawing close to the other vessel when the man reappeared, bringing a gun, which he handed to the black-bearded man who had done all the talking.

“Jee whiskers!” gurgled Rattleton. “That means trouble!”

“He won’t dare use it!” declared Diamond.

The man with the gun leaned over the rail of the schooner.

“Now, look here, you fresh young lubbers,” he roared, “if you don’t go round and git, I’ll fill you full of duck-shot, or my name’s not Cyrus Horn!”

The way he said it seemed to indicate that he meant business.

“Hanged if I don’t think he’ll do it!” grunted Browning. “He is a genuine old pirate, for sure.”

“Are you the captain of that schooner?” asked Frank Merriwell.

“I be,” was the answer.

“Well, what’s the use to be touchy, captain! We’ve got some beer on board, and you must be thirsty. You’ll find us a jolly crowd.”

“I don’t drink beer and I don’t want nothing to do with yer. Git!”

Capt. Horn leveled his big gun at the pursuing boat.

“Don’t be hasty, captain, for——”

“Git!”

“Listen to reason.”

“Git!”

The captain of the schooner was not to be beguiled by smooth words. They could see his greenish eyes glaring along the barrel of the gun he held, and he looked like a person who would not hesitate to shoot.

“I’ll give ye till I count three to go about,” he roared. “If ye don’t do it, I’ll begin shootin’.”

Then he counted:

“One!”

The boys looked at each other undecidedly.

“Two!”

“It’s no use,” said Frank, quietly. “If the man is in such a mood, it’s worse than folly to try to board his boat. He could claim that he took us for robbers, and——”

“Down with your helm!” cried Rattleton, and the Jolly Sport was put about.

None too soon, for the captain of the schooner was seen taking aim with great deliberation.

“Now git!” he roared. “If I see anything of yer again, I’ll take a shot at yer jest for the fun of it.”

“Well, if that man isn’t a genuine pirate, it’s not his fault,” growled Browning. “It’s certain he was cut out for one.”

“He’d cut a throat with pleasure,” nodded Hodge.

Merriwell was silent, with his eyes fastened on the receding schooner. There was a troubled expression on his handsome face, and it was plain enough that he regretted their inability to solve the mystery of the girl who had tried to leap overboard.

It was not like Frank to give up so easily, but he had realized that it was the height of folly to attempt to board the schooner in the face of the enraged man with the gun.

It might be true that the girl was crazy, but Frank could not help feeling that it was not true. Something seemed to whisper that she was a captive in the hands of wretched and unscrupulous men.

Such a thought was quite enough to arouse within Frank’s heart a strong desire to rescue her, but it seemed that he was utterly helpless to render her any assistance.

Had our hero been sure the girl was a captive, he would have felt like following the Pirate at a distance and making an attempt to have the proper authorities render the girl assistance when Capt. Horn ran into some port.

If it was true she was crazy, the boys would make themselves objects of ridicule by interfering in her behalf.

The situation was discussed, and they finally decided to continue on their course to the Thimbles.

They steered for Pot Rock and the cove, where it was said Capt. Kidd had hidden his vessel, and near which, it was supposed, his treasure was buried.

It was past three in the afternoon when they ran into the little steamboat dock.

CHAPTER III.

ON THE ISLAND.

Under a tree they lunched, drank their beer and smoked cigars and cigarettes. They were jolly, seeming to have forgotten the adventure with the mysterious black schooner.

Browning stretched his massive frame on the ground and puffed away in serene laziness.

“I’d like to stay right here the rest of my life and do nothing but eat and drink and sleep,” he grunted.

“You’d miss the ball games this spring,” said Diamond.

“Go to!” said the big fellow. “What are the ball games? A lot of fellows get up and bat a ball around, while another lot of fellows chase it. They run and whoop and throw the ball and get covered with perspiration. It is a most distressing spectacle. Ball games, indeed! Go to, I say—go to!”

“And the spring boat race—you’d miss that,” said Harry.

“Another distressing spectacle. Nine men in a boat, eight of them working, working, working as if their lives depended on it. They strain every muscle, their faces are contorted with the agony of it, their eyes bulge with distress, their breasts heave as they try to breathe, and when the race is over some of them are like rags run through a wringer. Again I say, go to!”

“But you used to be enthusiastic over such things. You played football yourself.”

“Which goes to show what a fool a fellow can make of himself. Of all things football is the worst. That is a real battle for life between twenty-two mad and furious fools, every one of whom is thirsting for gore. They tear at one another, like famished wolves, buck one another, fling one another to the ground, jump on one another. Did I play football?”

“Surely you did.”

“It’s a far reach from such folly to the wisdom of to-day. Ten thousand dollars would not induce me to engage once again in a real game of football.”

“But think of the excitement—the glory.”

“The excitement is the delirium of fools. The glory—what is glory? How long does it last? Last fall, when Merry carried the ball over the line for a touchdown on Jarvis Field, with half the Harvard team on his back, he covered himself with glory. For a little time he was the talk of the college. His picture was in the papers. He was dined, and he would have been wined—that is, if he would have been. But now—now how is it? Spring has come, football is forgotten and his glory is fading. Everybody is talking of baseball and the way the nine will be made up.”

“And you’ll find they are talking of Merry just the same,” declared Harry. “They haven’t forgotten that he twirls the sphere.”

“Oh, no, they haven’t forgotten; but what if he were not available—what if he should refuse? How long would his glory last! Another would arise to fill his place, and he would be forgotten. Glory! It is the dream of fools. Give me plenty to wear, plenty to eat and lots of time to rest, and the world may have its glory.”

Frank laughed.

“The same old Browning,” he said. “And yet you are as much of a football and baseball enthusiast as any man at Yale. It breaks your heart when Harvard or Princeton wins from Old Eli. You go into mourning and don’t recover for a week. Oh, you put up a good bluff, old man, but I can read you like an open book.”

Bruce grunted derisively.

“Very astute,” he commented, and then relapsed into silence, as if it were a great effort to speak, and he had already exerted himself too much.

“And think of the pretty girls Merry wins by his popularity,” said Jack. “He has opportunities to kiss lots of them.”

“If a fellow has an opportunity to kiss a pretty girl he should improve it,” declared Hodge.

“Ah!” cried Rattleton; “such an opportunity could not be improved.”

To this all agreed, laughing, with the exception of Browning, who had closed his eyes and seemed to have fallen asleep instantly.

The boys talked of Yale’s prospects on the diamond, and Harry said:

“It strikes me that we are going to be weak behind the bat this year. What do you think, Merry?”

“There are several fellows who will try for the position.”

“Yes; but what do you know about them?”

“I don’t like to say.”

“Oh, come! You are with friends, and you may talk freely. What do you think of Ned Noon?”

“He is, in my estimation, one of the most promising men, but he can’t run, and bats weakly. Behind the bat he might work very well, but he would be weak in other directions.”

“That’s string as a straight—I mean, straight as a string,” cried Harry. “If Ned Noon stands a show to get on the ’varsity nine, there is hope for me.”

“Well, there’s Roger Stone,” put in Diamond. “What about him?”

“He can bat like a fiend,” said Frank, “but he is weak on his throwing. He’ll stop anything he can reach, but it takes him so long to get a ball to second base that a good runner can steal down from first every time. That is a big fault. Stone will not do.”

“Right again,” nodded Rattleton. “And those two men are the strongest of the new candidates.”

“Some man may show up who is not talked of at all now,” said Jack.

Harry gave Hodge a quick glance.

“Old man,” he cried, “why don’t you make a try for the nine?”

An embarrassed flush showed in Bart’s dark cheeks.

“That would be pretty fresh for a freshman, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

“Not so confounded fresh. Merry got on the first year he was in Yale.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I am not Frank Merriwell, and there are not many fellows his equal.”

Frank laughed merrily.

“Come off!” he cried. “The world is full of them. In order to get on at anything, a fellow must seize his opportunities. At the time that I got on to the nine there was a great cry for a change pitcher. I laid out to fill the bill, and I managed to fill it. That’s all. Now there’s a cry for a catcher, as well as for pitchers. It will be somebody’s opportunity.”

Hodge was silent, but there was an eager look on his face.

“I have pitched to you, Bart,” Frank went on, “and I know what you are. We work well together. You are a dandy thrower, a good batter, and a bird on the bases. Take my advice, get into gear and make a try for the nine.”

“I don’t know how to do it.”

“There’ll be plenty of fellows to coach you,” said Diamond, quickly. “I am going in for a shot at third bag. I may get there, although several good men are looking in the same direction. If I fail, it won’t kill me. I know I am not the only cake of ice. There are others just as cool. Make a bluff at it, Hodge. It won’t hurt you to get left.”

“Perhaps not,” said Bart; but he felt in his heart that he would be cut keenly if he made a desperate try to get on the nine and some other fellow was chosen.

Browning sneezed and awoke.

“You’re catching cold, old man,” said Frank.

“No danger,” said Rattleton. “He’s too lazy to catch anything.”

“That’s got a long gray beard on it,” grunted Bruce, with an air of disgust.

The wind, chill and raw, began to blow. Black clouds were piling up in the west, and the sun was shut out. This came so suddenly that the boys were startled.

“Jove!” cried Hodge. “There’s a storm coming!”

“Remember what the old fellow on the tug said when we came out?” exclaimed Diamond. “He warned us.”

“That’s so!”

Frank was on his feet taking a survey of the sea and sky.

“If we want to get back to New Haven to-night we’d better get a hustle on,” he declared.

Then there was a hasty gathering of such things as they wished to carry back and a hurrying down to the Jolly Sport. They clambered on board, stowed things away, cast off from the pier, ran up the sails, and made the first tack out to sea.

The sky became dark and overcast. Down near New York somewhere great rollers started and seemed to gather force and size as they surged along the sound.

The spray began to fly as the catboat plunged from roller to roller, and the boys saw a prospect of getting “good and wet.”

Frank was at the helm, and his face wore a serious look. He realized that they were in for a bad run, to say the very least.

And the wind was dead ahead!

Harry showed nervousness. He owned the boat, but it was not that he was thinking about. He remembered the story of the Yale crowd lost on the sound some years before.

“Mink we’ll thake it—I mean think we’ll make it all right, Frank?” he asked, with evident agitation.

“We must,” was all Merriwell answered.

The wind grew stiffer and stiffer. The Jolly Sport floundered considerably, and the spray flew thicker and thicker.

“We’ve got to take in a reef,” cried Merry. “Get ready, all hands. Now—work lively!”

Lively work they made of it, but the catboat shipped a sea before the reefing was over and she was brought into the wind again.

The boys fell to bailing, and away went the Jolly Sport like a racer.

The wind continued to rise, and Frank found Harry’s boat had her faults.

“She’s no wind-jammer,” he said. “Can’t hold her close, and she will fall off, best I can do.”

“If we’d paid some attention to the old fellow who warned us there would be a blow,” regretted Harry.

“No use to cry over that,” came sharply from Diamond. “We’ve got to make New Haven harbor.”

Browning shivered.

“Don’t know why I was fool enough to come,” he grumbled. “Might be safe and warm in my room now.”

It was five o’clock, but was so dark that it seemed much later. Rattleton, for all of his nervousness, cracked several jokes. Diamond made an effort to look unconcerned, and succeeded very well. Hodge was grim and silent.

The wind was fitful. Now and then Frank would cry:

“Ease her off.”

Then they would let out the sail quickly, and the cat’s-paw would sweep over them.

“How is your old sheet, Rattles?” asked Diamond. “Will she hold?”

“Can’t say,” confessed Harry. “She isn’t new.”

“How are the halyards?”

“Strong enough so I have been up the mast with them.”

“They ought to be all right.”

Sizz—boom! A big wave struck the bow, the spray flew in a thick cloud, and they were drenched to the skin.

“Awfully jolly!” grinned Harry.

“Yes, more fun than a barrel of monkeys!” said Jack, sarcastically.

“That’s nothing but the beginning,” assured Frank, consolingly. “It’ll be a regular picnic before New Haven is reached.”

“How nice!” groaned Browning.

They took turns at bailing till all were weary and exhausted. Diamond’s temper was beginning to rise, while Hodge was holding his down with an effort.

“Don’t anybody ever again ask me to go sailing on an April day!” snapped the Virginian.

Darkness came down without the moon they desired.

“I wish we were back on the island,” said Bart.

“Can’t we run back there now?” asked Harry.

Frank looked away over the water and then shook his head.

“It’s more than even we’d run straight out to the open sea,” he said.

Frank took full command, and his sharp orders were obeyed unhesitatingly, showing they all had confidence in him.

The Jolly Sport lurched and staggered. She fell off amazingly. Frank gave orders that another reef be taken, and the boys sprang to obey, Browning making a show of haste.

Frank put two men on the sheet when the reef had been made, a laborious task, for their fingers were numb with the cold. The boat shook ominously.

But under the double reef she rode better.

All at once a cry broke from Bart’s lips.

“Luff! luff!” he screamed. “Hard a-port, or we’re goners!”

He pointed, and they all saw a dark mass that was bearing down upon them with the speed of an express train. It seemed to loom above them like the black shadow of doom. It sent a shudder of horror to their hearts.

“A vessel!” screamed Diamond.

“A vessel!” thundered Browning. “Look out, Merry!”

With all his strength Frank jammed down the tiller, and the boat came about on the other tack, although she seemed to do so with deathly slowness.

Every lad held his breath, expecting to hear a crash, feel the shock, or be hurled into the sea.

There was a slight jar, a scraping sound, and the black mass fled past.

“It’s the black schooner!” shouted Diamond.

The same thought had come to Frank. There seemed to be something familiar in this overshadowing peril of the deep.

Past them flew the strange vessel. The wind was making a great racket, but high above its clamor the boys in the catboat heard a cry that must have come from human lips. It was wild and weird, and it sent a shudder through them.

On sped the mysterious vessel.

Round came the Jolly Sport, and, almost before anybody was aware of it, the catboat was running after the schooner.

Running before the wind the Jolly Sport was a wonder. She flew like a bird.

“What are you going to do, Merry?” shouted Rattleton, in amazement.

“I am going to try to get back to the Thimbles before it is pitch dark.”

“It can’t be done!” declared Diamond.

“It’s our only show. The night is going to be blacker than a stack of black cats. We’ll be run down here on the sound, or the seas will swamp us. We can’t make New Haven against this wind. It is utterly impossible.”

The others felt that Frank was right. The boat had shown that she was but little good against the wind, but she could run like a deer before it. They had been a long time beating off from the Thimbles, but it could not take them long to run back.

Then they thought of the vessel that had so nearly run them down.

“Did you hear that cry, Merry?” asked Rattleton.

“Yes, I heard it,” nodded Frank.

“What do you think it was?”

“Hard to tell.”

“Sounded like a cry of distress.”

“Yes, that was what it sounded like.”

Then all the boys thought of the girl they had seen on the mysterious schooner. It occurred to each one of them that it was possible the cry had come from her lips.

For all that the Jolly Sport seemed to fly, the vessel was making still greater speed, and she was soon lost in the gloom.

The boys felt that the chance of making the Thimbles and running into the snug little harbor was small indeed, but they trusted everything to Frank Merriwell’s judgment.

They had been bailing all along, thinking the water was coming in over the rail, but when they had turned about a startling discovery was made.

The water was coming in as fast as ever, although but little spray flew into the boat.

“She’s leaking!” cried Hodge.

Frank had made that discovery some time before, and it was for that reason he had turned about so suddenly and unexpectedly. He hoped to strike the Thimbles, and, as a desperate resort, he could pile the Jolly Sport high and dry on the beach.

Frank knew the boat would not hold to continue the desperate attempt to beat across the sound. He was not sure she would hold to reach the islands.

But what if they missed the islands entirely?

They would be driven out to sea, and the chances were a thousand to one that not one of them would ever live to again place a foot on dry land!

CHAPTER IV.

IN THE HOUR OF PERIL.

It was a terrible risk running blindly for those islands, but it seemed a still more terrible one to attempt to beat across the black sound.

The five lads in the boat held their breath, strained their eyes, listened.

Around the boat the sea swirled and seethed. It rolled darkly on either hand, and the Jolly Sport cut through the water with a hissing sound.

Somehow through the darkness they could see great white bubbles of foam that came up out of the water and winked at them like the eyes of the mighty demons of the deep.

Those blinking eyes filled them with awe and horror. They shuddered and turned sick at heart. Their ears listened for the breaking of the surf on the beach of the islands, a sound which they longed, yet dreaded, to hear.

But all they could hear was the shriek of the wind, the swish of the sea, and the rushing sound of the boat.

“Bail!”

The word came like a pistol shot. It woke them to a realization of the peril that was creeping upon them.

Water was pouring into the boat from her leaks. It was rising around their feet, and the Jolly Sport was beginning to plunge and flounder distressingly.

“Bail!”

Again the word shot from Frank Merriwell’s lips.

They hastened to obey. They scooped the water up with the bailing dishes, with a sponge, and with their caps; but it came in faster than they could throw it out.

“We’re going down!”

Rattleton uttered the cry.

“Well,” said Browning, in the same old lazy manner, “it does look as if we might have to swim for it pretty soon.”

Diamond and Hodge were silent. Their teeth were set, and they were straining their eyes through the darkness, as if they longed to see something that would give them hope.

A light flashed out, winked, disappeared.

“Lighthouse there!” shouted Rattleton.

“Running straight for it!” cried Diamond.

“Be on a ledge in a minute!” grunted Browning.

Frank shoved over the tiller, and the Jolly Sport went floundering off through the seas, with her course changed somewhat.

“Bail, boys—bail!” Frank again commanded. “It is our only hope. If we can keep afloat five minutes longer——”

The wind tore the words from his lips, with a mocking shriek. He bent his head and gripped the tiller, while the boat wallowed along bravely, seeming like a wounded creature seeking cover as it grew weaker from loss of blood.

The boys worked with all the energy they could command to get the water out as fast as it came in. Bruce Browning did his best. They were chilled to the bone, dripping wet, and sick at heart. Every man of them felt that his chance of being drowned was most excellent.

Swish—bump! the big waves came down on the boat, struck her, piled over her. A score of times it seemed that she was swamped, a score of times she fought her way to the surface, a score of times prayers of relief were whispered by white lips.

She was not making much headway. The wind was carrying her off helplessly.

Still Frank clung to the tiller, trying to steer and succeeding in a measure, so that he kept her from rolling helplessly broadside to the seas.

“Light again!” cried Diamond, as the flash of fire again gleamed out and disappeared.

Now came a sound that was like the sullen roar of an animal in distress. It was the booming of the surf on shore.

“If I don’t strike the mouth of the cove, we’ll be piled up on a ledge, or high and dry on shore in less than two minutes,” came from Frank’s lips.

They heard him, and they realized they were close upon the islands. The sound of the surf added a feeling of terror to their other sensations, and yet they were thankful they had not missed the Thimbles and been driven out to sea.

Louder and louder came the booming roar of the surf. Through the darkness they seemed to see a white wall of foam that shifted and heaved, leaped and roared.

All the tigers of the deep seemed to be at play along that white line. They saw the boat and its helpless crew. They roared their delight over the coming feast.

But ahead—what was that? A spot where the white line was not dancing and howling. The boat made for that spot.

“Hold fast!”

Frank was not sure it was the mouth of the cove. He could not tell in that dense darkness, but he headed straight toward that spot. They might strike at any moment.

Onward floundered the Jolly Sport, making a last gallant effort to keep afloat. The roaring surf was on either side. The leaping tigers in white were there, gnashing their teeth and howling with impotent rage.

“It’s the cove!” screamed Harry Rattleton. “We’re all right! Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!” cheered Diamond.

Frank said nothing; he knew their peril was not over.

Bart Hodge said nothing; he would not have murmured had they gone down in mid-sound.

Bruce Browning was silent; he was exhausted by his efforts at bailing.

The great waves pursued the fugitive boat into the cove, like wolves in chase of a wounded deer.

All at once a black hulk loomed before them.

“A vessel!” cried Harry.

“Look out!” warned Jack.

With all his strength, Frank pulled over the tiller. The boat obeyed slowly and with reluctance. She could not clear the black hulk entirely.

“Confound them!” muttered Frank. “Why don’t they have a light out? There’s a law for this, and——”

Bump!—the Jolly Sport struck. Scrape!—she slid along the side of the vessel.

It was a marvel she did not go down then and there, but they continued to scrape and slide along the side of the vessel, which was heaving at anchor.

The shock was felt on board the vessel. As the boys looked up there was a faint gleam of light, and a man looked down at them from the rail. He snarled out something at them, but the shrieking wind drowned his words, and they did not understand what he said.

The boat cleared the vessel and went wallowing across the dark waters of the cove.

“Can’t strike steamboat pier,” muttered Frank. “Strike shore beyond. Bound to swim for it.”

Then he called to the others:

“All ready, fellows! Got to swim. We’re all right now, if we stand by each other.”

They knew they would be in the water directly, but they were not scared now, for what was before them was nothing beside what they had escaped.

“Harry, are you ready?” called Frank.

“All ready, Merry,” came back, promptly.

“Ready, Jack?”

“Sure,” answered Diamond’s voice.

“And you, Bruce?”

“I’m too fat to sink, don’t worry about me,” said Browning, with a laugh.

“How about you, Bart?”

No answer.

“Hodge, are you ready?” called Frank.

No answer.

“What’s the matter with him? Why doesn’t he speak?”

“Where is he?” asked Rattleton, excitedly.

“Isn’t he here?”

“No! He is gone!”

“Impossible.”

But it was true; Hodge was not in the boat. He had disappeared in a most remarkable manner, as if he had been dragged from the boat by the grim demons of the deep.

There was no time to think about this most astounding and terrible discovery. They had stopped bailing for a few seconds, but the water had continued to rush in, and now, without so much as one last faint struggle, the Jolly Sport floundered and sank.

“She’s going!” screamed Harry.

“Jump!” cried Frank.

He saw them rise and plunge into the cold water, and then, with some trouble, he cleared the dripping sail that sought to settle down over his head and drag him under with the Jolly Sport.

They were close to the shore, else they could not have escaped even then. They helped each other out, and dragged themselves upon the bank, where they sank down, panting and helpless.

Beyond the mouth of the cove the breakers roared, and now in their clamor there seemed a note of triumph, as if they knew not all of the crew on board the Jolly Sport had escaped.

And the four water-dripping lads who lay upon the shore were too numb for words. But their hearts were torn with grief, even though they had reached solid ground, for one of their number was not with them.

Where was he?

Had he been swept overboard by a wave and carried down without a sound?

It did not seem possible.

Frank was thinking of him. Where, when and how had it happened?

Frank remembered that Bart had been silent all along, but he was sure Hodge had been in the boat when the black schooner so nearly ran them down.

He was in the boat after that. The others remembered that he had helped them bail.

The mystery of his disappearance was appalling. It crushed down upon them all like some mighty weight.

He had helped them bail. Frank kept thinking that over. He understood Bart better than anyone else, and he knew Hodge had realized that the Jolly Sport was overloaded.

Then came a thought to Frank that brought an exclamation from his lips.

“Did he jump overboard purposely?”

That was the question that gave Frank a shock. He realized that Hodge might have done so. Bart might have felt that his added weight was helping to sink the catboat and that the others would stand a better show of reaching shore if he were gone. Then——

Merry did not like to think of that. He did not like to fancy Hodge slipping overboard to lighten the boat so that the others might have a better chance to reach land.

Still he could not help thinking, and his fancy pictured Bart struggling with the surging waves, trying to keep afloat a few moments, rising on the crest of a wave and straining his eyes through the darkness for one last glimpse of the boat that contained his friends—his friends for whom he had sacrificed his life.

If Bart had done such a thing, Frank was certain he knew why. Merry had done everything in his power for Hodge, and Bart had felt his utter inability to make repayment. Now it was possible he had sacrificed his own life that Frank might possibly be saved.

Such thoughts brought to Merriwell the tenderest emotions.

“Dear, brave fellow!” he whispered.

Then he murmured a prayer, the words being torn from his lips by the furious gale.

Merry seemed to see Hodge feebly battling with the waves, his strength failing him swiftly. He fancied the waves tearing at him, beating upon him, hurling him down.

The last struggle had come and passed, and the cruel, triumphant, deadly sea rolled on.

In the morning they would search for him on yonder shore where the white tigers were dancing and howling. They would walk along the shore, hoping, yet dreading, to see his white face on the sand.

Frank thought of the time he had first met Hodge at Fardale Station. They had met as enemies, and Merry had struck the proud and haughty lad who was shaking a barefooted urchin, after having kicked the urchin’s dog from the station platform.

Hodge had vowed vengeance, and he had resorted to questionable methods for obtaining it; but in everything he had been beaten by Frank.

Then came the time that Bart had realized the cowardice of his own actions and Merriwell’s nobility. Later they had become friends, roommates, chums. They had fought for each other, and Bart had said more than once that he would die for Frank Merriwell.

CHAPTER V.

A MYSTERY.

Huddled together on the shore, the boys began to talk it over. Rattleton did not remember seeing Bart after the second appearance of the black schooner, while Diamond was sure Hodge had been with them till they were near the mouth of the cove. All wondered why they had not seen him when he plunged overboard.

“Perhaps he felt that he had a better show to get ashore if he swam for it than he had if he remained in the boat,” suggested Browning.

“Hodge was not a fool,” said Frank, a bit sharply. “He knew he had no show at all if he left the boat.”

“Then why did he leave it?”

“That the rest of us might have a better show. He thought the boat would keep afloat longer.”

“Do you think that?”

“It seems that way.”

They talked it over and over, wringing the water from their clothes. Despite the fact that four of them had escaped, all felt that a frightful calamity had occurred. At one time it had seemed there was not one chance in a hundred for any of them to escape, but, now they were ashore, the horror of the loss of a single man made them sick at heart.

“I’ll never own another boat!” declared Rattleton. “I’ve had enough of it.”

A light flashed out on the cove. It was on board the vessel that they had run against.

Then they spoke of her.

“Do you know,” said Diamond, “I believe I can name that vessel.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Harry.

“Sure.”

“Name her.”

“Pirate.”

“What?”

Harry and Bruce uttered the exclamation together. Both were startled.

Frank Merriwell said nothing. Had he been asked to name the vessel, he would have said the same thing.

“How can that be?” asked Harry. “We thought it was the Pirate that came so near running us down on the sound.”

“Perhaps it was.”

“Impossible! She could not be here.”

“Why not?” asked Frank. “We ran into this cove, and the Sport was disabled at that.”

“But the Pirate is a big vessel.”

“Not so very large.”

“Why should she run in here?”

“There is some mystery about her. Like Diamond, I think that is the black schooner. She had time to run in here and drop anchor ahead of us, and that’s what she did. We know no vessel was here when we left the cove this afternoon. She must have come in since then.”

“Say, fellows,” grunted Browning.

“Say it.”

“I don’t believe her name is a misnomer. It strikes me she is a genuine old pirate. If not, why is she running around in this way and taking such chances of being piled high and dry on these islands? She came into this cove to hide.”

“The days of pirates are past,” said Jack.

“Don’t care,” growled Bruce. “Capt. Horn is a pirate chief, or he’s the ghost of one, and his old schooner is a phantom, like the Flying Dutchman.”

“She’s a pretty solid phantom,” said Frank. “We struck against her and scraped her side.”

“If that is the Pirate.”

“Hark!”

The boys listened, and the wind brought to their ears sounds that interested them.

“They are lowering a boat out there,” said Frank. “Surely they are at some unlawful business, or they would not work in the dark and fail to display a single light.”

A few moments later the boys heard the sound of oars clanking in rowlocks.

“Coming!”

Rattleton uttered the exclamation.

“Sounds like it!” agreed Diamond.

Browning grunted.

Merriwell was silent.

The wind was right for them to hear any sound that might come from the direction of the unknown vessel, but when it rose to a wild shriek nothing but its howling could be distinguished. When it fell, each of the four boys distinguished the sound of oars.

Somehow there seemed something mysterious about the movement of the boat. Each of the listening lads felt the mystery, although they could not have told why.

Harry’s teeth chattered. He was cold, and he was nervous. The events of the night had quite unmanned him.

Clug-clank, clug-clank, clug-clank.

More than a single set of oars were being used. Frank felt sure of that, for his keen ear distinguished something in the sound that settled the point in his mind.

The boat was coming straight toward the point where the boys were crouching on the shore.

“Pier is near here,” thought Frank. “They’re going to run in there and get in the lee of it. But why are they coming ashore in this confounded storm?”

In the teeth of the wind a fine sleet was carried. It was too cold for a genuine storm of rain, and the sleet fell like some particles of ice.

No wonder Harry’s teeth chattered together.

“Keep still, boys,” warned Frank. “We’ll get a look at those fellows.”

“Huah!” grunted Browning. “Don’t know how you are going to get a look at anybody in this darkness.”

“They are bringing some kind of a light.”

“Can’t see it.”

“They’ve got it just the same.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Saw a gleam of it when they were getting into the boat.”

“Yes; but it may have been left on the vessel.”

“No; I’m sure I caught a flicker after the boat started.”

“Well, what sort of a light is it if we can’t see it now?”

“Dark lantern.”

“Eh? Great Scott!”

All the boys, with the exception of Merry, gave a start. Why should the men in the boat carry a dark lantern?

Rattleton, Browning, Diamond, all three of them, flung the question at Frank.

“I don’t know,” confessed Merry; “but it is a part of the mystery.”

It added to the keen interest with which the boys awaited the approach of the boat.

Burglars carried dark lanterns. Crooks carried dark lanterns. What sort of men were these? What sort of a night expedition were they making?

For the moment the mystery surrounding the fate of Bart Hodge was forgotten. The boys had no thoughts for anyone or anything but the approaching boat.

The sound of rowing became more and more distinct.

“Changed now—not coming straight here,” whispered Frank. “Going in at pier. I thought so.”

Rattleton’s imagination was at work; strange fancies flitted through his brain.

“What if they are kidnapers?” he thought. “What if they had stolen that girl? What if they were paid to put her out of the way? What if they have murdered her and are bringing her ashore to bury her under cover of darkness, where her body will never be found. What if——”

That was the limit. He did not dare carry the speculation any further. Already he was gasping for breath, overcome with the horror of the thought. The adventures of the night bore heavily upon him. For the first time in his life he felt like a coward. He was willing to keep still and let the men in the boat go their way and do their will, no matter what crime they had perpetrated.

Frank did not feel that way. His curiosity was fully awakened, and he was eager to solve the mystery.

“Come!”

He arose to a crouching posture and moved toward the pier, stumbling blindly over the rough ground.

Diamond was ready to follow anywhere Merriwell might lead, and he followed close at Frank’s heels.

Rattleton hesitated. It was not till Browning, with a groan, arose and started to follow the others that he seemed to awaken from the spell that had fallen upon him.

“Brace up!” he grated. “What ails you? Are you going to wilt now?”

He did brace up, but he followed along behind the others.

They did not go far before Merriwell brought them to a stand.

“They’re landing,” whispered Frank.

The rowing had stopped. They could hear a subdued murmur of hoarse voices.

The boat had come round under the lee of the pier, and the men were coming ashore.

As the boys stood there, they again caught a gleam of light—a moving ray, shot from a reflector. It was gone in a moment, but it had shown them several figures.

“Nearer!” palpitated Diamond, eagerly.

“Dangerous,” declared Frank. “Might shoot the light on us at any moment. Can’t tell what those men are doing.”

The others felt that Merriwell was right. It might be very dangerous to be discovered.

“Shall we follow them?” asked Browning, who had been awakened in a most unusual manner.

“Perhaps. Wait and see.”

The wind howled, the fine sleet beat upon them, the white tigers roared from the distant shore.

“Down!”

Merriwell hissed the word, sinking to the ground. The others followed his example.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack, throbbing with excitement.

“Coming,” answered Frank, laconically.

This was true. The men had left the pier, and they were advancing toward the boys.

Again strange fancies flitted through Harry Rattleton’s head. Had they been discovered? Were those men coming to attack them? Were they destined to soon be engaged in a savage battle for life?

“If I ever get out of this scrape, I’ll let the Jolly Sport rest where she is and keep off the sound in April,” he mentally vowed.

“Lay low!” hissed Frank.

They flattened themselves upon the ground, hearing footsteps close at hand. They looked up and saw dark figures passing. One, two, three, four of them.

“Don’t try any funny business with us, old man!” sounded a hoarse voice. “Take us straight to the spot!”

“If he tries ter fool Capt. Horn he’s as good as dead!” said another hoarse voice.

Then there was a muttering of harsh laughter, and the four men passed on into the darkness.

Frank sat up, and the others did likewise.

“This is interesting!” Merry softly exclaimed.

“Yes, very!” grunted Browning. “Give something to know what it means. Can you tell?”

“No,” confessed Frank. “All I could make out is that three of those fellows are making a fourth lead them somewhere.”

“Let’s follow,” suggested Diamond. “Let’s know what they are up to. What do you say, Merry?”

“Just what I’d like to do.”

“What’s the use——” began Rattleton. Then he checked himself, biting his tongue and thinking:

“Don’t be a fool! If you’re scared, don’t give it away. They may never know it.”

“Come ahead!”

Frank arose and took the lead. The others trailed out after him. He was following the sailors through the darkness, and his companions were following him. Not one of them knew what the adventure might lead to; all of them realized that it might be very dangerous. They were sure the men ahead were desperate ruffians, but curiosity overcame every other emotion.

CHAPTER VI.

GHOSTLY SOUNDS.

Clank! clink! clank!

“What are they doing?”

“Digging!”

The boys had followed the men to a lonely part of the island, where the wind howled through the trees when it came down in fitful gusts, or moaned when it sank low.

The booming of the surf was like the steady roar of a distant battery in action. The night seemed full of alarms and terrors.

Frank had followed the unknown men with the skill of an Indian trailer. The others had followed him with less skill, but the sounds of the storm had favored them by drowning such noises as they made while stumbling along through the darkness.

At last the men had stopped, and, bit by bit, the boys had crept upon them.

There was a gleam of light to guide them. The lights came from two dark lanterns, the sides of which had been opened. The lanterns were held to aid the men who were at work.

Clink-clank! clink-clank! clink-clank!

One man was plying a pick. After a little he paused.

Scrape-swish! scrape-swish!

Another man was using a spade, flinging out the earth which the man with the pick had loosened.

“Digging!” repeated Diamond, in a palpitating whisper. “What does that mean?”

“Digging!” fluttered Rattleton. “Digging a grave!”

“Huah!” grunted Browning. “For whom?”

“Somebody! I knew it! Going to bury that girl! She’s been kidnaped! They’re going to put her out of the way!”

“How about the man they have with them—the man they forced to show them this spot?” asked Diamond. “What are they going to do with him?”

“Don’t know. Kill him, too, perhaps! Let’s git!”

“And leave him to be killed?” said Frank. “Well, I didn’t think that of you, Harry!”

Harry felt the cut of the reproach. He choked as he tried to whisper something back. After a little, he asked:

“Well, what can we do? Tell me that.”

“We can do our best for the man, if necessary; but I do not think it will be necessary.”

“Then you think—just what?”

“That you are off your trolley.”

“How? Which way?”

“I do not believe they are digging a grave.”

“Then what are they doing? Why are they digging that hole?”

“They are looking for a souvenir.”

“Eh? Are you jollying, Merry? A souvenir of what?”

“Capt. Kidd!”

The others had been listening eagerly. Frank’s words caused all of them to gasp for breath.

“Then—then you think they are digging for——”

“Kidd’s gold!” finished Merriwell.

There was a moment of silence, and then Browning hoarsely whispered:

“That’s it—just it! It explains everything.”

“Everything but the prisoner. One of those four men is not here of his own free will. That is certain.”

“And the mystery of the girl on board the vessel,” came from Harry. “It is certain she is not there of her own free will.”

There was no doubt in the minds of the boys; all were satisfied that Frank had hit upon the truth.

Harry, however, was no less afraid, for he realized that, without doubt, the men who had taken such pains to come there under cover of the storm and had brought a captive with them were ruffians capable of any desperate deed.

The men worked steadily. One would use the pick a short time, and then the other would toss out the dirt with the spade. Not one of the four spoke. Deeper and deeper grew the hole.

The light fell on the faces of the men occasionally. They were rough and bearded. Frank watched them closely, and he soon decided that one was the man who had been at the wheel of the black schooner when they first saw the vessel that day.

Now there was no longer a doubt that the same black schooner lay in the cove, having run in there under cover of darkness, for all of the frightful risk.

The boys had heard one of the men speak to Capt. Horn as they crouched to let them pass, and that was quite enough to settle the point.

Who was Capt. Horn?

He was the commander of the black schooner Pirate, but what was his record and his business? He had looked like a man who would not hesitate to enter into anything by which it seemed likely he might make money, no matter how dishonest or dangerous the project might be.

Frank crept a bit nearer the four men, hugging the ground. The others followed him.

Merriwell remembered the stories he had heard of other attempts to recover Kidd’s buried treasure—remembered how it had been necessary, according to superstition, for the treasure hunters to obey certain rules. They always dug on a dark and stormy night, and not one of the party could speak from the time they began to work till the treasure was found. If they did speak the treasure would turn to old iron or vanish entirely.

For some time the boys watched the digging, wondering if there was a bare possibility that, at last, some one had located the spot where the pirate’s treasure was buried.

The hole grew deeper and deeper. The two men got down into it, and were hidden to their hips.

Frank became tired. He resolved to test the courage of the diggers in some manner.

The wind sank to a low moaning, but, from far, far away it seemed to bring a sound that caused the men in the hole to start, stop digging and listen.

It was a voice singing, and it seemed to be away on the distant cove:

“Oh, my name was Capt. Kidd.

When I sailed, when I sailed;

And so wickedly I did,

When I sailed, when I sailed.”

It was the famous song of the famous pirate, and it caused those men to tremble in their boots. They felt like dropping pick and spade and taking to their heels, but one of the men who stood above savagely motioned for them to go on with the work.

The wind rose to a shriek, full of mockery. The surf boomed in the distance.

Slowly the sailors picked up the pick and spade and resumed their work, but they were trembling now.

The sound of singing came nearer and nearer, as if Kidd himself were approaching the spot, singing at the top of his voice as he advanced.

The men grew more and more nervous as the sound came nearer, but still the man above motioned for them to go on.

At last, when the singer seemed close to that very spot, the song ceased.

“Thunder!” muttered Browning. “Where is that fellow? Thought it must be another one of their gang coming.”

“Nothing of the sort,” whispered Diamond. “Didn’t you see how scared the men digging were?”

“Sure.”

“They would not have been frightened if it had been one of their own crowd.”

“That’s so. Who was it, then?”

“Capt. Kidd’s spook,” suggested Harry. “You know it is said his ghost haunts the place where he buried his treasure.”

“Rot!” grunted the big fellow. “Don’t take stock in spooks.”

Then, of a sudden, when the wind had died once more to a low moaning, a wild burst of laughter was heard. That laugh was full of fiendish glee and mockery, and it seemed to come from some vague point in the very midst of the treasure-seekers.

Then the men in the pit did drop their implements and scramble out in hot haste. But they were met with a revolver in the hand of one of the men above, and it drove them back to their digging.

“Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!”

Again the weird laughter sounded, and it seemed to the excited imagination of the diggers, to come from the pit they had made.

But that revolver was menacing them, and they dared not leap to the surface and take to their heels, although it was certain they wished to do so.

Again and again that laugh rang out. Then a deep, sepulchral voice was heard to say:

“Fools, do ye think to rob me now that I am dead? You shall find I guard my blood-stained gold! Not a single piece shall you touch!”

That was quite enough to frighten any sailor. Again the men in the pit dropped the pick and spade, but they seemed paralyzed with fear, and stood there, staring about with bulging eyes.

“Avaunt!” cried the hollow voice. “Flee from my wrath, or ye shall feel the touch of my dead hands—the touch of doom! That touch means death!”

A wild shriek broke from the lips of one of the diggers.

“I feel it!” he screamed. “He has touched me! I am a dead man! I am doomed!”

Then, shrieking with terror, he leaped out of the pit and fled.

That was enough to completely unman the others, and they lost no time in taking to their heels also.

CHAPTER VII.

PURSUIT.

Frank had caused all this terror. As old readers know, he was a skillful ventriloquist, and he had seized the opportunity to work upon the superstitious fears of the ignorant sailors. With a skill that was absolutely wonderful he had made the singing seem to come nearer and nearer till it was close at hand, and then he had laughed so the sound appeared to issue from the pit the men had dug.

It was sport for Frank, and he hoped to frighten the men away so completely that they would abandon their captive. This, however, they did not do. Capt. Horn kept a clutch upon the captive, whom he dragged along as he hurried after the fleeing men, whom he savagely cursed as poltroons.

Capt. Horn did not know whence the ghostly voice had come, but, although he was startled, the sound of that voice had added to his belief that they really were on track of the pirate’s treasure. He had more than half expected something of a weird and ghostly nature would happen, and he had tried to fortify the courage of his companions so they would keep at work for all of anything that might happen.

But those sailors, who had promised faithfully not to desert him, were frightened, and they fled as if the very Old Nick was in pursuit.

When Frank saw that Capt. Horn was dragging the captive away, he leaped up and ran to help the man; but the dark lantern was dropped, and both captor and captive disappeared in the shadows beneath the trees.

Frank ran in the direction he fancied they had taken. First he tripped over a stone and went sprawling upon the ground; but he jumped up instantly and dashed on again.

Bump—shash—grunt!

Frank was hurled down again, but this time he had struck the trunk of a tree, and he was stunned. It was some moments before he could recover, but still he did not give up the hope of rendering the captive some assistance.

When he got upon his feet he realized that the chances of overtaking Horn and his captive in the darkness was slim.

“Must do something,” he muttered. “What?”

Then he thought of the boat.

“Cut ’em off! Perhaps I can do that. I’ll try!”

He ran for the pier, hoping to get there ahead of Capt. Horn—hoping Capt. Horn and the captive would be the next to arrive after he reached the spot.

Frank’s clothing was heavy with water, and thus he was hampered. He could not see what lay before him, and he took chances of a broken neck. Two or three times he went down, but he came up again like a bounding rubber ball.

“This—isn’t—anything—to—bucking—Harvard’s—line—in—football—game,” he panted.

He enjoyed it. The thought came to him that he would have a jolly time telling the fellows of the adventure. For one moment he saw in his fancy a crowd of friends gathered in his room eagerly listening to the narration of that night’s adventures.

He did not wait for his friends to overtake him. He had lost them in the darkness, and he knew it would not do to wait.

In a short time he approached the little steamboat pier, still running like a racer, head up, and breathing through his nostrils.

“Wonder—if—I’m—ahead.”

He could not tell. When he was close to the pier, he stopped and listened.

He heard nothing but the sweep of the wind and the boom of the surf.

“Can it be they got here ahead? Can it be they are gone?”

He crept out on the pier and looked over. Was that a boat under the edge of the pier?

He let himself over, hung down, felt out with his feet, found the boat and dropped into her.

“This is the one they came ashore in,” he decided. “It’s the only one here. I am ahead of them.”

The boat had drifted under the pier when he dropped into her. He put his hands against the wet and slimy timbers and pushed her out. Then he started to climb up on the pier.

Hark! Voices close at hand! The men were coming!

He took hold of the edge of the timbers above and pulled himself up, but the moment his head rose above the edge of the pier he realized that the men were close at hand. They were coming, and he could not get off the pier before they reached it!

“Trapped!”

He felt out with his feet, dropped back into the boat, sat down.

Then it was that Frank Merriwell’s brain worked swiftly. What was he to do? He thought of several things. His first thought was to cut the boat adrift, push it under the pier, where they could not find it, and keep still. Then he knew his friends would soon be coming down to that pier, and, if the sailors were there, a collision must take place.

His hand touched something in the prow of the boat.

“A tarpaulin!” he whispered.

With that discovery a daring scheme entered his mind. Not one boy in a hundred would have ventured to carry it out had he thought of it.

The boat was fairly large, and there was little danger that one of the four men would be placed in the bow.

“Got to hustle!” whispered Frank, as he heard the feet of the men on the pier above his head.

He lifted the tarpaulin, crawled under it, stowed himself as closely as possible in the forward end of the boat.

Not a moment too soon.

There was a tug at the rope, and the boat was dragged from beneath the pier. Then several cursing, growling, shivering men dropped into it.

Capt. Horn was there. He snarled at everybody, he swore at everybody, he was furious.

“A lot of lubberly cowards!” he raved. “A lot of fools! You were scared at nothing!”

“No, sir,” said a sullen voice. “I heard it, cap’n.”

“An’ I felt it’s touch, cap’n,” chattered another, who seemed almost overcome with terror.

One of the men planted his heel fairly on Frank’s fingers, but Merry set his teeth and made no attempt to pull his hand away, although he felt that his fingers would be crushed. It was a great relief when the man removed his foot.

Capt. Horn realized that his men were utterly overcome with fear, and so he allowed them to push off from the pier and row toward the black schooner, which was hidden in the darkness of the cove.

The waves beat against the boat with heavy thuds, but the arms of the sailors were strengthened by fear, and they pulled lustily, seeming in terror that the ghost of the pirate chief should follow them even after they had left the island.

Capt. Horn continued to curse and snarl. His captive was silent.

That captive was a mystery to Frank. Surely it was not the girl they had seen on the vessel. It was a man, but not a word had Frank heard him speak.

The thought that he might be gagged came to Merriwell. Perhaps that was why he remained so silent.

The schooner was reached at last. There was a hail from the boat, answered from on deck, and then a line came down from above, was caught, and they were alongside.

Frank remained quiet for a little time after the men had left the boat. At last, he stirred, for he was in a most uncomfortable position, cramped and aching in every limb.

With great caution, Merry pulled the tarpaulin off him and got a breath of fresh air. It had ceased raining, and it did not seem as if the wind was blowing as hard as it had been.

“Short storm,” Frank decided; “but it was long enough to raise the Old Nick with us and send Bart Hodge to the bottom. Poor Bart! I’ll never see him more!”

The thought made Frank sick at heart, and, for some moments, he remained there motionless, benumbed by this fresh sense of the loss of his friend.

Merry knew Bart had regarded him as a hero. He had reached out his hand and steadied Hodge more than once when the dark-faced, passionate lad was tottering on the brink of a precipice. His hand had guided Bart’s wavering footsteps into the path of honor, and for his sake Hodge had studied for months that he might be in condition to pass the examination and enter Yale that spring.

And now he was gone!

No wonder Frank was sick and numb. After a time he aroused himself and sat up.

A short line held the boat close under the stern of the black schooner, upon which he could see no sign of life.

“I might cast off and slip ashore without a soul on this vessel being the wiser,” he thought. “I could find the boys and bring them on board. What could we do then? There are, at least, four sailors. There are but four of us. It is a sure thing that the sailors are armed, and we are not. It’s more than even chances that they’d do us up in a square fight.”

It did not take him long to decide he would not be in a hurry about bringing the rest of the boys on board, but he resolved to go on board himself.

With the aid of the line, he pulled the boat close under the stern of the vessel, and, a moment later, he slipped like a cat over the rail of the Pirate and reached her deck.

Frank crouched low in the shadow of the wheel, listening and trying to peer through the darkness. He saw no moving thing. The wind was whistling through the rigging of the heaving schooner, and a loose rope was making a slatting sound, but that was all.

Frank moved. He did not stand upright, but, on his hands and knees, he crept along the deck toward the companionway. He had not gone far before the sound of voices reached his ears.

“They are all below,” he decided.

The companionway was reached, and he started to slip down the stairs. He had not gone far before he halted suddenly and turned his head, having heard a sound behind him.

At that very moment, with a hoarse shout, a man sprang down the stairs and landed on Frank’s shoulders.

With a crash and a bump, they went to the bottom together. Frank received a shock that robbed him of his senses for the moment, so that he was utterly helpless.

CHAPTER VIII.

WHAT BECAME OF BART.

When Merriwell recovered a light was glaring straight into his eyes, causing him to blink. He saw four rough-looking men around him, and realized that he was in the cabin of the mysterious vessel.

One of the men was Capt. Horn, and, on closer view, he looked more the ruffian than he had seemed at a distance. His beard was black as ink, while his huge nose was turned up and his nostrils were wide open, like the mouths of two black funnels. He showed his teeth as he saw the captured boy look up.

“It seems to be raining boys to-night,” he said, with a sneer. “Well, I can take care of ’em as fast as they come.”

Frank looked at the others, and quickly decided that they were fit followers for such a captain.

“Excuse me,” he said, with an effort. “Just dropped in. Thought I’d come aboard and see how much you’ll ask to take me to New York. Must have slipped on the stairs—or something. Don’t seem to know what happened. First thing I knew I fell, and then—here I am.”

“Cute, ain’t ye!” sneered Capt. Horn. “Think you’ll make me swaller that, I suppose! Think I’m a durned fool! Made a mistake this time—biggest mistake of your life.”

“You may be right,” acknowledged Frank, promptly. “It’s just like me. Seems to come natural for me to make mistakes. Made a mistake when I joined that picnic excursion. Made another when I let the boat go off without me. And now you say I made another when I came aboard to see if you won’t take me back to New York. I am getting it in the neck, sure.”

“What’s this you’re trying to tell, anyway? Spit it out. How’d you happen to be on the island?”

“Came down on an excursion, got left, and here I am. I’ll pay well if you’ll take me to New York.”

Capt. Horn pulled his beard and glared at Frank.

“What sort of an excursion?” he asked. “One of the regular kind from New York?”

“Of course,” answered Frank, thoughtlessly.

“You’re a liar!” said the man with the black beard, instantly. “Knew it all the time.”

“Thank you,” answered Frank. “You are polite.”

“I saw you on the small boat to-day,” said Capt. Horn. “You wanted to come on board then. How you ever succeeded in doing so now is more than I can tell, but you’ll be sorry for it. When you go back to New York the tide will take you there.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Feed you to ther fish, durn ye! It’s no use to ask you questions, for you’ll lie faster than I can ask ’em. Lies won’t do ye no good.”

“Sorry about that,” was Frank’s cool retort; “but it’ll save me a heap of trouble to invent ’em. Shan’t have to rack my brain to get ’em up.”

Capt. Horn looked at the boy in astonishment. Frank was a cool customer for his years.

Merry was securely bound, as he had already discovered. The men lifted him and flung him into a berth, where he was left to his thoughts, which might have been more pleasant.

Frank’s head had been injured in the fall, and it throbbed painfully, but he made no murmur.

The men talked a while, and then fell to playing cards. Three of them played, while the fourth remained on deck to watch.

Frank could see nothing of the captives.

The night wore on. Capt. Horn arose and looked into Frank’s face. The boy’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing steadily and regularly.

“Never saw anything like that!” exclaimed the captain. “The youngster is asleep! He is a cool one!”

The watch on deck was changed, and the men took turns in guarding Frank.

Toward morning, after going on deck, Capt. Horn announced that the wind had changed, and they could get out of the cove.

Merry still seemed to be sleeping when all the sailors went on deck to get up the anchor and make sail.

Barely were they gone when Frank was startled by a voice that called:

“Hello, Merry!”

“Eh?” exclaimed Frank. “Who are you?”

A head rose up from the opposite berth. The light shone full on the face of the person in that berth, and Frank Merriwell came near shrieking:

“Bart Hodge!”

Frank was incredulous. He could not believe the evidence of his eyes. He was almost inclined to think himself staring at a phantom.

“Hodge—impossible!”

“Not a bit of it,” assured the voice of Hodge himself. “I am here, but I’m tied, like yourself, and it strikes me we are in a mighty bad scrape.”

“But—but we thought you dead,” said Frank. “We felt sure you were dead. How do you come to be here?”

“That’s an easy one. When the Jolly Sport slammed up against this vessel I thought she was a goner, and I made a scramble to get on board here, expecting the rest of you to follow. I was astonished when you failed to do so, and I looked down to see nothing of the boat. She was gone, and I did not know but what she had gone to the bottom with the whole of you. They have kept me here ever since, for I was knocked over and tied up with ease, like the fool that I am! I’ve tried to get away, but it’s no use. Then I heard you captured, and saw you dragged in here.”

This was very astonishing, but Frank Merriwell’s heart was filled with thankfulness to know that Hodge still lived. Hastily they talked over what had happened since the Jolly Sport was driven into the cove before the gale.

“Merry.”

“Yes, Bart.”

“Got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t want to tell you now, but I know the captives—Capt. Horn’s captives. We must do something for them. You are full of schemes, old man; can’t you plan something now?”

“I can plan enough, but the trouble is to put the plans into execution. Where are the captives?”

“Beyond that door there.”

Frank saw a door at the farther end of the cabin. He had not noticed it before.

At this moment one of the sailors came down from above. The sound of hoisting the anchor had stopped, and it was evident that the man popped down to take a look at the captives and make sure they were all right, for he stopped but a moment.

Soon the boys realized that the vessel was under way. They could tell by the motion.

Capt. Horn came down.

“Hello, cap,” called Frank. “Whither away?”

“Out to sea,” was the surly answer. “Going to drop you over where it is deep.”

“Couldn’t persuade you to change your mind about that? I don’t want to be dropped overboard.”

The man grunted. After a time another man came below. Capt. Horn rolled into a bunk and slept.

Frank strained and worked at his bonds. At first it seemed that he simply made them cut deeper and deeper into his wrists without loosening them in the least. After a time, he began to fancy he was making some progress.

If he could get his hands free he felt sure he would be able to liberate Hodge. Between them they could make a fight for life and liberty.

Hours passed. Capt. Horn got up and went on deck, accompanied by the man who had been in the cabin with him. Then the other two men came down and turned into the bunks. They seemed exhausted, and quickly fell asleep.

Morning dawned.

With the coming of dawn, Frank succeeded in getting one hand free. Then it was not long before he was entirely free, and he hastened to release Hodge.

Bart was palpitating with excitement.

“What’ll we do, Merry?” he asked, in a whisper.

“First set the other captives at liberty,” said Frank. “We must work lively.”

“Steady, then,” warned Hodge. “No matter whom you see, do not utter a cry. Here, tie this handkerchief over your face to your eyes.”

“What for?”

“So the captives will not raise a cry when they see you.”

Both boys tied handkerchiefs over their faces, and then Frank approached the door. This was bolted and hasped. There was no lock upon it. It did not take Frank long to shoot back the bolt and release the hasp. Then he slowly opened the door, and looked into the small room beyond.

An old man was sitting helplessly in the corner, and a young girl, pale and wan, with tangled curls of yellow, lay on a bunk. The old man raised his head, and the girl looked up.

Frank recognized them both, and, despite the warning Hodge had given him, came near uttering a shout.

Before him were Capt. Justin Bellwood and his daughter, Elsie!

Elsie Bellwood was there—Elsie, his old-time friend, who was so dear to him! She was a captive in the power of those ruffians!

That thought was enough to make Frank furious and desperate. He suddenly felt that he was able, single-handed, to conquer all the ruffians on that vessel.

With his hand he motioned for Capt. Bellwood and Elsie to come forth. They realized that Frank was not one of the ruffians, and Elsie sprang up.

“Come out here,” whispered Frank. “We want you to help us capture this vessel.”

New life and hope sprang up in the heart of the old sea captain. He responded eagerly.

“Here,” whispered Merry, pointing to the sleeping sailors, “watch those fellows, and do not hesitate to crack them over the head if they awaken. Take this stool, Capt. Bellwood, and give it to them if necessary. We are going on deck to tackle Capt. Horn and the other fellow.”

The man nodded. He took the stool and stood ready. Then, to Frank’s surprise, Elsie picked up a heavy boot as a weapon and stood over the other man.

“Come!” whispered Frank.

With Hodge at his heels, he crept swiftly up the companionway. A peep on deck showed him one man at the wheel, while Capt. Horn was near. The vessel was plunging through a sea of rolling billows, the aftermath of the storm.

Capt. Horn’s back was turned.

“Now is our time!” hissed Frank, as he tore the handkerchief from his face and cast it aside, fearing it might hamper him in some way.

Then he leaped on deck, with Bart close behind him, and they rushed at the two men.

The man at the wheel saw them, and uttered a cry. Capt. Horn whirled in a moment.

With loud shouts the boys rushed forward and Bart grappled with the sailor at the wheel.

Horn managed to avoid Frank’s rush, and Merry saw him tugging at his hip pocket. That was enough to indicate that he was trying to draw a weapon.

Snatching up a belayingpin, Frank did not hesitate in attacking the ruffian with the black beard, who succeeded in pulling forth the weapon his hand had sought.

Before Capt. Horn could use the revolver, Frank leaped forward and struck the weapon from his hand. A second blow, delivered with all the strength and skill the young Yale athlete could command, stretched the ruffianly commander of the Pirate upon the deck.

A coil of rope was close at hand, and, with the aid of that, Merry quickly bound the fallen man. Then he hastened to the assistance of Bart, who was having a fierce battle with the other sailor.

The two boys succeeded in downing the ruffian after a time, and then they tied him, as they had tied the captain.

Frank secured Horn’s revolver, and Bart obtained a knife from the other sailor. The wheel was set and lashed, and then both hastened below.

Capt. Bellwood and Elsie were still standing over the sleeping sailors, who had not been disturbed by the encounter that was taking place on the deck.

At sight of Frank, Elsie uttered a cry of amazement and joy, and nearly swooned. That cry aroused the men, but when they sat up one was astonished to find himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver, while the keen blade of a wicked-looking knife menaced the other.

They were so astonished that they were incapable of offering resistance, and were easily captured.

Capt. Bellwood’s story was simple, but interesting. Being a follower of the sea, it was not strange that he should acquire information purporting to reveal the whereabouts of Kidd’s buried gold. His secret was known to another sailor, and that sailor shipped with Capt. Horn. Then Justin Bellwood and his daughter were lured to New York, and induced to board the Pirate, where they became Horn’s captives. Horn knew every inch of the sound, and he set about forcing Capt. Bellwood to reveal his knowledge of the supposed hiding place of Kidd’s treasure. Capt. Horn also made love to Elsie, nearly driving her mad with fear, so that she attempted to jump overboard, an act that was witnessed by the boys on board the Jolly Sport.

Fortune had worked in a singular manner to bring about the undoing of Capt. Horn. When the ruffian and his crew were made secure, Capt. Bellwood took command of the Pirate, running her back into the cove where Diamond, Browning and Rattleton were stranded. The reappearance of the black schooner with Merriwell and Hodge on board nearly paralyzed the three lads with amazement. It took considerable explaining to make clear to them how such a thing had come about.

Capt. Bellwood carried the boys over to New Haven, where he turned Capt. Horn and his crew of ruffians over to the authorities. It may be as well to add here that it afterward developed that Horn was a most notorious sound smuggler. He was tried and convicted and sent to prison. His men all received short sentences.

Justin Bellwood was not able to recover Kidd’s treasure, although he tried to find it. Filled with superstitions, he sometimes wondered if the treasure had not been spirited away in some uncanny manner on the night that Horn tried to dig it up.

As for the boys who sailed out of New Haven harbor that warm April day, they had a story to tell that was marvelous, and not even Frank Merriwell’s reputation for veracity could make all who heard it believe it fully.

CHAPTER IX.

THE LONE FISHERMAN.

“Look!”

“Where?”

“On the corner. It’s another one of them!”

“It’s Browning!”

“Sure!”

“What is he doing?”

“Fishing, by the Lord Harry—fishing in the street! That is the most ludicrous spectacle yet. Ha! ha! ha!”

A burst of laughter came from the little band of students who had been making their way along one of New Haven’s principal streets and come upon this astonishing spectacle:

Bruce Browning sat there on the corner, perched on a high stool, dressed like a fisherman, with a sailor’s “sou’wester” on his head, and rubber boots on his feet, gravely pretending to fish in the street with a pole and line.

Pedestrians paused to stare, poke each other in the ribs, laugh and chaff the big fellow on the stool, but he did not heed them in the least, calmly continuing to fish, as if he expected at any moment to feel a bite.

Frank, Hodge, Pierson, Gamp, Griswold and Noon were some of the students who had come upon this surprising spectacle while walking along the street.

Noon was a prominent candidate for the position of catcher on the ’varsity ball team, but Hodge was coming into notice through his work on the freshman nine, and, although he was a freshman, it was rumored that, aided by the influence of Frank, he stood a chance of getting on for a trial.

Joe Gamp was a big, awkward boy from New Hampshire, who, for all of the time he had spent in college, could not drop the vernacular of the farm. To hear him talk no one could have dreamed he was a college student, and that he stood well in his class. And he stammered outrageously.

“Gug-gug-gug-great gosh!” he cried, standing with his hands in his pockets and staring at the fat youth on the stool. “Will somebody tut-tut-tell me what in thunder it mum-mum-mum-means? First we saw a fuf-fuf-feller walkin’ araound with his cuc-cuc-clothes turned wrong sus-sus-sus-side out, then another was bub-bub-bub-barkin’ like a dorg, another was tryin’ to stand on his head in fuf-fuf-front of the pup-pup-pup-post office, and here’s Browning fuf-fuf-fuf-fuf—— Here is Bur-bub-bub-bub-bub—— I sus-sus-sus-sus——”

“Whistle, Joe!” laughed Frank. “Whistle, quick. You’re going backward, and you’ll have to say it all over if you don’t whistle.”

Gamp whistled.

“I sus-sus-sus”—whistle—“I say here’s Browning tut-tut-trying to cuc-cuc-cuc-catch a fuf-fuf-fuf-fuf”—whistle—“a fish in the middle of the sus-sus-street, just as if he was fishin’ in the dud-dud-dud-dud”—whistle—“the deep blue sea. I don’t understand what all this bub-bub-business is abub-bub-bout.”

“I didn’t know but the first fellow we saw was doing it on a wager,” said Bart; “but now——”

“Those fellows are candidates for some society,” explained Pierson. “They have been commanded to do those things, and they dare not disobey if they wish to pass.”

“Is that it?” cried Gamp, who was astonishingly green for a Yale man. “Well, dud-dud-darned if that ain’t fuf-fuf-fuf-funny! A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!”

He had a laugh that was like the braying of a mule, and a passing pedestrian dodged so suddenly that he jumped from under his hat, while an old lady with an umbrella turned and cried:

“Shoo! Git away! Don’t you bite me!”

She waved her umbrella in Gamp’s direction and peered fearfully over her spectacles, as if she fully expected to see some fierce wild beast rushing upon her.

That caused all the other boys to laugh again, while Joe paused, with his huge mouth wide open, and stared in surprise at the excited and trembling old lady.

“Hey?” he cried.

“Mercy!” gasped the old lady. “I thought so. I thought it was a horse whickerin’ for hay.”

Then she hurried on, while the boys, with the exception of Gamp, were convulsed with merriment.

Joe stared after the old lady’s retreating form, gasping for breath.

“First tut-tut-tut-time I ever was took for a hoss!” he exclaimed.

“That’s a horse on you,” chuckled Danny Griswold.

Despite himself, Bruce Browning had not been able to keep from turning his head a moment to see what all the excitement was about. As he did so, a street urchin slipped out quickly and hitched a dead cat onto the end of the line that lay in the street, losing not a moment in scampering out of sight.

Bruce pulled up the line to cast it out again, and the cat came with it.

Then there was another shout of merriment.

“Browning has met with a cat-astrophe,” laughed Frank.

“He’s caught a cat-fish,” cried Danny Griswold.

“Spt! spt! Me-e-e-ow! Ma-ri-ar!”

Danny Griswold gave vent to a perfect volley of cat-calls, and there was an uproar of mirth around that corner.

Through it all Browning retained his sober dignity, removing the cat from his hook, as if he had captured a fish, and flinging the line out into the street again.

A policeman, who was sauntering along at a distance, heard the sounds, and came rushing forward. He was a green man on the force, and he had not been many moons on this side of the “pond.” He had red hair, and a face that looked like a painful accident.

“Pwhat’s this, Oi dunno?” he exclaimed, bursting through the crowd and halting so suddenly that he nearly fell over himself when he saw Bruce. “An’ now will yez be afther tellin’ me pwhat ye’re doin’ there?”

Browning made no reply, but gravely pulled up his line, looked at the hook, as if to ascertain the condition of the bait, and again made a cast into the street.

The little Irishman grew red in the face.

“Look here, me foine b’y!” he cried, flourishing his stick; “it’s the magisty av th’ law Oi ripresint, an’ Oi do be afther axin’ ye a quistion. Pwhat are yez doin’ there, Oi want to know?”

Bruce remained silent.

The spectators looked on with interest, wondering what the outcome would be.

The policeman came a bit nearer Bruce, and again shook his stick, crying:

“Is it a lunathick ye are? It’s a foine spictacle ye do be afther makin’ av yersilf. Av ye don’t belave it, jist shtep over this way an’ take a look at yersilf a-sittin’ on thot stool loike a frog on a log. Get down now, ur Oi’ll plaze ye under arrist!”

Browning did not heed.

“It’s me duty Oi’ll have to do,” declared the officer, as he advanced on the big fellow; “an’ av ye resist me, Oi’ll have to club th’ loife out av yez. It’s a lunathick ye are, an’ Oi know it. Come along now, to th’ station house.”

But as he was on the point of pulling the big fellow from the stool, Browning gave him a look that made him stagger. His face worked convulsively, and he looked around for assistance.

“Pull him in, Paddy!” cried one of several town boys, who had gathered to see the fun, and who felt delighted to see a student placed under arrest.

“Thot Oi will!” cried the little cop, as he advanced on Bruce.

He caught the big fellow by the collar and yanked him off the stool in a moment.

“If it’s a bit aff trouble ye’re afther givin’ me, Oi’ll crack yer shkull wid me shillayly,” he declared. “Come on, now.”

Browning did not wish to be arrested, so he tried to argue with the officer, but it was useless to talk.

“It’s a lunathick Oi know ye are,” said the policeman; “an’ it’s not safe to let yez run at large.”

“Take your hand off my collar!” said Bruce, sternly. “I have done nothing to cause you to arrest me.”

“Now none av yer thrits to me, ye spalpane!” shouted the policeman. “Coom along!”

He gave Bruce a yank.

It was a comical spectacle to see the little red-headed cop yanking about the giant of the college, but it did not seem very funny to Browning.

“Say,” he growled, thrusting his fist under the officer’s nose, “if you do that again, I’m going to thump you once, for luck.”

The policeman had a violent temper, and very little judgment.

“Attimpting to resist arrist, are yez!” he shouted, and then, without another word, he rapped Bruce over the head, bringing the big fellow to his knees.

Browning had not looked for such a move, and he was so stunned that he could not rise at once, whereupon the policeman lifted his club again, as if to hit him once more.

The blow did not fall.

Frank’s hand caught the club and held it back, Paul Pierson and Bart Hodge yanked Browning to his feet, Danny Griswold gave the big fellow a shove, and the voice of Ned Noon was heard shouting:

“Git!”

This turn of affairs was not at all satisfactory to the town boys, who had been delighted when the officer started to arrest one of the college lads.

At New Haven there is constantly more or less feeling between the town lads and the students. Sometimes this feeling is so strong that it is not safe for a well-known student to be caught alone in town at a late hour of the night. He is in danger of being stoned, pounded and forced to run for his life.

At the time of which we write the feeling between the college lads and the “townies” was rather bitter. Thus it came about that, as soon as Browning’s friends tried to help him, one of the watching toughs cried:

“Come on, fellers! Dey’re helpin’ der bloke git erway. It’s our duty ter stop dat.”

The gang didn’t care anything for duty, but they had been called upon to do a thing by their leader, and they did not hesitate about jumping in to the policeman’s aid.

Thus it came about that, in a very few seconds, a small riot was taking place there on that corner, where, a short time before, all had seemed hilarity and good nature.

The little cop clung tenaciously to Browning.

“I call on yez to hilp me arrist this spalpane!” he squealed.

“We’ll help yer!” declared the leader of the town lads.

“Yes you will!” flung back Bart Hodge, the hot color of anger rushing to his face. “Yes you will—not!”

Then he went at the leader of the gang, and, before that fellow was aware that he was attacked, Hodge cracked him a blow between the eyes that sent him sprawling.

The downfall of their leader seemed to infuriate the others.

“Thump ’em! Hammer ’em! Slug ’em!”

Uttering these cries, the roughs pitched into the college boys. Fists began to fly, and there was a hot time on that corner without delay.

The little cop rapped for assistance. While he was doing this, Browning gave him a twist and a fling that broke his hold and sent him flying into Bart Hodge’s arms.

Hodge was thoroughly aroused.

“You’re the cause of all this trouble, you little red-headed fool!” he grated.

Then, with a display of strength that was astonishing, Bart lifted the officer and hurled him violently against a stone hitching-post. With a gasp and a groan, the policeman dropped down limply and lay on the ground as if he had been shot.

Bart was astonished by the remarkable manner in which the little man had been knocked out. He paused and stared at the motionless figure, a feeling of dismay beginning to creep over him, for he realized that his ungovernable temper had once again led him to do an act that he would not have done in his sober moments.

“Great Scott!” shakily cried Ned Noon. “You’ve killed him, Hodge!”

Bart said nothing, but he felt a pressure about his heart—a sickening sensation.

It seemed that Noon was the only one of the party engaged in the struggle who witnessed Bart’s thoughtless act of anger. The others were far too busy among themselves.

But all realized the officer had rapped for aid, and they knew other policemen were sure to arrive on the spot very soon.

“Got to run for it, fellows!” panted Griswold, as he put in his best licks. “Got to get away, or we’ll all be locked up.”

Hodge plunged in to aid the others. He was a perfect tiger. Not even Frank seemed to fight with such fury and be so effective. Bart bowled the “townies” over as if they were tenpins.

It was not long before the fight was going in favor of the college men. Then another party of students happened along, and, at sight of them, the town lads promptly scattered and ran.

“Now’s the time!” cried Merry. “We want to get out of this in a hurry, fellows.”

Then he saw the officer lying stretched on the ground, and stared at him in surprise.

“What’s the matter with him?” he asked.

“Nothing!” cried Hodge, feverishly. “He got a crack under the ear, and it knocked him out. He’s all right. Come on.”

The college boys lost no further time in getting away. They separated and made their way back to the college grounds with certain haste.

As if by general consent, they proceeded to Merriwell’s room. They found Frank there, making himself comfortable while he studied, as if nothing serious had happened. He welcomed them all as they appeared.

Pierson was the first, and he was followed by Griswold, who strutted proudly as he entered, crying:

“Did you see me do ’em up, fellows? Did you see me lay ’em out? Oh, I’m a hot biscuit right out of the bakery!”

“Quite a little racket, eh, Merriwell,” smiled Pierson.

“Sure,” nodded Frank. “We needed something to stir up our blood. We were getting stagnant here of late.”

Joe Gamp came lumbering in.

“Dud-dud-dud-dog my cuc-cuc-cuc-cats!” he stuttered. “Ain’t seen so much fun as that sence I was a fuf-fuf-freshman. But Browning did look comical up on that sus-sus-stool. A-haw! ha-aw! a-haw!”

Even as Gamp roared with laughter, Bruce came slouching into the room. He sat down and kicked off the rubber boots, which were too large for his feet, then he flung aside the “sou’wester,” removed his oilskin jacket, and stretched himself wearily on the couch, observing:

“Fishing is thundering tiresome work.”

“Were you doing it on a wager, old man?” asked Griswold.

“No,” yawned Bruce; “I was doing it on a stool.”

That was all they could get out of him. It was plain that he did not want to talk about it, and did not mean to talk.

“Anyway, we did up the townies all right,” said Frank. “There was some sport in that.”

“Too much work,” grumbled Bruce. “Everything is too much work, and work was made for slaves.”

Ned Noon came in and looked around.

“Where is Hodge?” he asked.

Bart was not there, but they fancied he would put in an appearance very soon, so, while they discussed the fight with the “townies,” they kept looking for Hodge.

But Bart did not appear.

“Hope he wasn’t pinched,” said Frank. “He’s so proud that arrest would seem a frightful disgrace to him.”

There was a queer look on the face of Ned Noon.

CHAPTER X.

HODGE IN DANGER.

Frank was crossing the campus when a voice called to him:

“Hey, Merry, hold on; want to speak with you.”

He looked around, and saw Danny Griswold hurrying toward him. There was a strangely serious look on the face of the little fellow, who was of a jovial nature and seldom inclined to take anything seriously.

The moment Frank saw Danny’s face, he realized something was wrong.

“What is it, old man?” he asked, as Griswold came up, panting.

“They’re looking for the fellow who did it.”

“Did what?”

“Broke his ribs.”

“Broke whose ribs?”

“The cop’s.”

“Why, the little fellow with the red head and liver face.”

“The one who tried to arrest Browning?”

“Same.”

Frank whistled.

“And his ribs were broken?”

“That’s it. He says it wasn’t the big fellow who did it, but some other chap slammed him up against a stone post and smashed his ribs in. Officers have been here trying to locate the fellow. We’re in danger of being pulled up as witnesses—or worse.”

“Accused, you mean?”

“Any of us may be.”

“Well, who did it, anyway?”

“Hodge.”

Frank started.

“Hodge?” he cried. “Are you sure, old man?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say that?”

“Noon says Hodge slammed the cop up against the post.”

“Noon says so, eh? Did he see it?”

“Says he did.”

“And he is talking about it openly?”

“Don’t know about that. He talked to me about it.”