The Motor Boat Club at Nantucket; or The Mystery of the Dunstan Heir Read online

  CHAPTER II--BOUNCER WAKES UP

  While our two young motor boat enthusiasts lie wrapped in the firstsound slumber of the summer night, lulled into unconsciousness by thesoft lapping of the salt water against the sides of the "Meteor," let ustake a brief glimpse at the events which had brought them here.

  Readers of the preceding volume in this series are aware of how theMotor Boat Club came to be organized. It now numbered fourteen members,any one of whom was fully qualified to handle a motor boat expertlyunder any ordinary circumstances.

  Every member was a boy born and brought up along the seacoast. Suchboys, both by inheritance and experience, are usually well qualified forsalt-water work. They are aboard of boats almost from the first days oflife that they can recollect. Seamanship and the work required aboutmarine machinery are in the air that surrounds their daily lives. It isfrom among such boys that our merchant marine and our Navy find theirbest recruit material. It was among such boys that broker GeorgePrescott had conceived the idea of finding material for making youngexperts to serve the owners of motor cruisers and racers along the NewEngland coast.

  Tom and Joe were undoubtedly the pick of the club for skill andexperience. More than that, they were such fast friends that they couldwork together without the least danger of friction. Though Halstead waslooked upon as the captain, he never attempted to lord it over his chum;they worked together as equals in everything.

  Mr. Dunstan had long known Mr. Prescott in Boston, where both hadoffices. So, when trouble happened in the "Meteor's" engine room, Mr.Dunstan had sent the broker a long telegram asking that gentleman tosend by the next train the two most capable experts of the Club. He hadadded that he wanted the boys principally for running the boat on fasttime between Nantucket and Wood's Hole, for the owner had a handsomeresidence on the island, but came over to the mainland nearly every dayin order to run in by train to his offices in Boston. The "Meteor,"therefore, was generally required to justify her name in the way ofspeed, for Mr. Dunstan's landing place at Nantucket was some thirty-fivemiles from Wood's Hole.

  Further, Mr. Dunstan's telegram had intimated that he was likely to wantthe young men for the balance of the season, though his message had notcommitted him absolutely on that point. The pay he had offered was morethan satisfactory.

  Wood's Hole is a quaint, sleepy little seaport village. The main life,in summer, comes from the passing through of steamboat passengers forMartha's Vineyard and Nantucket. The night air is so quiet and the seascent so strong that even the city visitors at the little hotel find itdifficult to stay up as late as eleven o'clock.

  On this night, or rather morning, at one o'clock, there were but twohonest people in the whole place awake. Over at the Marine BiologicalLaboratory, Curator Gray and an assistant were still up, bendingdrowsily over a microscope in one of the laboratory rooms. But thatbuilding was too far from the "Meteor's" pier for the scientists to haveany hint of what might be happening near the motor boat.

  It was the night before the new moon. The stars twinkled, but it wasrather dark when the figures of two men appeared at the land end of thepier. On their feet these men wore rubber-soled canvas shoes. Not asound did they make as they started to glide out on the pier.

  But Bouncer woke up.

  "Gr-r-r-r!" the bull pup observed, thrusting his head up, his hairbristling. All this required but a few seconds. In another instantBouncer was at the rail, his nostrils swelling as he took a keen lookdown the length of the pier. Then an angrier growl left his throat. Itended in a bound and Bouncer landed on the pier. His short legs movingrapidly under him Bouncer rushed to meet the soft-shoed gentlemen.

  That last, angrier note from the bull pup roused Tom Halstead as a buglecall might have done. He leaped to his feet, snatching at his trousers.Joe stirred, half alertly. When he heard his chum's feet strike theengine-room floor Dawson, too, sprang up.

  "Mischief, just as we thought!" breathed Tom.

  Down at the land end of the pier there was a sudden mingling of startledhuman voices.

  "_Por la gracia de Dios!_" sounded an excited, appealing wail.

  "Get away, you beast, or I'll kill you!" roared another voice inEnglish.

  Bang! That was the noise from the throat of a big-calibered pistol. Itwas followed, just as Tom bounded to the deck, pursued by Joe, by therapid pounding of a horse's hoofs and the rattle of wheels.

  "There they go!" cried Tom, leaping to the pier in his bare feet andracing shoreward over the boards. But it was too late for the boys toovertake the prowlers, who were now behind a fast horse.

  "Did they shoot that fine dog?" growled Joe, his voice rumbling withindignation. Bouncer answered the question for himself by running tomeet them, his tail a-wag, guttural grunts of satisfaction coming fromhis throat, while a signal flag of information fluttered from his mouth.

  "He took hold of one of 'em," chuckled Tom. "Good old fellow, you'vebrought us a sample of their cloth. Good boy! May I have it?"

  Tom bent down to stroke the dog, who submitted very willingly. WhenHalstead took hold of the large, irregular fragment of cloth the bullpup grunted once or twice, then let go.

  Back all three went to the boat. Tom lighted a lantern, then held thecloth forward.

  "Brown, striped trouser goods," he chuckled. "Joe, whom have we seenwith trousers of this pattern?"

  "That Spanish-looking chap in the seat ahead on the train," mutteredDawson grimly.

  "_Now_ if Mr. Dunstan doubts that some one wants to put his boat out ofcommission we'll have something definite to call to his attention,"uttered Tom excitedly. "Bouncer, you stocky little darling!"

  Joe looked the dog over carefully to make sure that a bullet had noteven grazed that reliable, business-like animal.

  "If they had touched you, old splendid," growled Joe, "we'd have had agood clew or two for avenging you. But those rascals didn't even hurtyour grit. You're ready for 'em again--if they come!"

  For some time the boys were too excited to lie down again. When at lastthey did, they kept their trousers on, ready for any further surprise.Bouncer took up his old post on the deck above, seemingly free from anytrace of excitement.

  It was nearly half-past six in the morning when Joe next opened hiseyes. In a hurry he roused his chum. Donning bathing trunks and shirtsboth dropped over the side for a refreshing swim. Then after drying anddressing, Halstead went forward into the galley, while Joe snatched afew minutes at the work left over from the night.

  Breakfast was a hurried affair, for there was still much to do about themotor. It was after nine o'clock when Tom stood back, looking oninquiringly while Joe put on the finishing touches.

  "Now I'll turn on the gasoline and see if we can get any news," proposedJoe. A few moments later he started the ignition apparatus and gave thedrive wheel a few turns.

  Chug! chug! the engine began slowly. Joe, oil can in hand, looked onwith the attention of a scientist making an experiment. Bit by bit heincreased the speed of the engine, smoothing the work with oil.

  "Give us a little time and the old motor'll mote," observed Dawsonquietly.

  "Yes," nodded Tom equally observant.

  Had they been more of amateurs at the work they would have felt elated,for the engine responded to all increased speeds that were tried. Butthese two had worked enough about motors to know that such an engine maycome to a creaking stop when everything appears to be running at thebest.

  Chug! chug! It was a cheery sound as the minutes went by and the motordid better and better.

  "I'm almost hopeful that everything is in shape," declared Dawson atlast.

  "Good morning, boys!" came a pleasant hail from the pier. "I seeeverything is in fine trim."

  "It looks that way, Mr. Dunstan," answered Tom, stepping up above and,by way of salute, bringing his hand to the visor of the Club's uniformcap that he had donned this morning. "But motors are sometimes cranky.We don't dare begin to brag just yet."

  "This morning's mail brought me a letter from Mr. Prescot
t," went on theowner, holding up an envelope. "He has written me seven pages about you.It seems that you are great pets of my friend's. He tells me that I canplace every confidence in you."

  "Why, that's mighty nice of Mr. Prescott," replied Tom quietly. He wasgreatly pleased, nevertheless, for he could now see that Mr. Dunstan'sopinion of them had gone up several notches.

  "Well, well," continued the owner, as he glanced smilingly down into theengine room; "are you going to cast off now and take me over toNantucket? It's four days since I've seen my home and that lucky littlerascal, Ted."

  Tom didn't know or inquire who Ted was or why that "rascal" was so veryfortunate. Instead he replied:

  "We were thinking of a little trial trip first, sir, just to see how thecraft will behave under way."

  "Good enough," nodded the owner. "But I'm aboard, so why can't I go withyou?"

  "Of course you can, sir."

  Tom ran ashore to cast off while Joe did some last fussing over themotor. Having cast the stern-line aboard and coiled it, Tom now cameforward, throwing off the bowline, boarding with it.

  "Start her up at very slow speed ahead, Joe," called down the youngcaptain, taking his place at the wheel and throwing it over a little.

  With the first throbs of the propeller the "Meteor" began to glide awayfrom the pier. Mr. Dunstan had taken his post at Halstead's right. Thewater being deep enough, the young captain moved out confidently.

  "Just a little more speed, Joe," Tom called, when the pier end was sometwo hundred yards astern.

  A little faster and still a little faster the propeller shaft turned,until it settled down to good work. The "Meteor" was moving at abouttwelve miles an hour.

  "Fine!" cried Mr. Dunstan joyously. "We're all right now."

  "We're not yet quite out of the--well, I won't say woods, but seawoods," smiled Tom quietly.

  "I'm forgetting my duty," cried Mr. Dunstan in sudden self-reproach. "Imust act a bit as pilot until you know these waters better."

  "Why, I studied the chart, sir, nearly all the way from Portland,"replied Tom. "I think I am picking up the marks of the course allright."

  "You can't see Nantucket from here, but can you point straight to it?"inquired Mr. Dunstan.

  "I'm heading straight along the usual course now," Tom replied.

  "Right! You are. I guess you know your way from the chart, though you'venever seen these waters before. Keep on. I won't interfere unless I seeyou going wrong."

  "Shall I head straight on for the island?" asked Halstead. "Or would yourather keep close to the mainland until we see how the engine behaves?"

  "Keep right on, captain, unless your judgment forbids."

  Tom, therefore, after a brief talk with his chum through the openhatchway, held to his course, to the south of which lay the big islandof Martha's Vineyard, now well populated by summer pleasure seekers.

  Notch by notch Joe let out the speed, though he was too careful to be ina hurry about that. He wanted to study his machine until he knew it ashe did the alphabet. Every fresh spurt pleased the owner greatly.

  "Your Club has some great fellows in it if you two are specimens," saidMr. Dunstan delightedly. "Prescott knew what he was writing when he toldme to stand by anything you wanted to do."

  By the time when they had the Vineyard fairly south of them and thecraft was going at more than a twenty-mile gait, Tom judged that heshould inform the owner of the happening of the night before. Hetherefore called Joe up from the motor to take the wheel. Then Halsteadtold Mr. Dunstan what had taken place, exhibiting the fragment of clothsecured by Bouncer and connecting this, in theory, with the swarthy manthey had seen aboard the train.

  Bouncer, looking up in his master's face and whining, seemed anxious toconfirm Tom Halstead's narration.

  "Why, there's something about all this that will make it well for us allto keep our eyes open," said Mr. Dunstan.

  Tom, watching the owner's face, felt that that gentleman had firstlooked somewhat alarmed, then much more annoyed.

  "There's something that doesn't please him and I shouldn't think itwould," the young captain reflected. "Yet, whatever it is he doesn'tintend to tell me, just yet, at all events. I hope it's nothing in theway of big mischief that threatens."

  "Of course I'd suggest, sir," Tom observed finally, "that Dawson andmyself sleep aboard nights."

  "You may as well," nodded the owner, and again Tom thought he saw ashadow of worriment in the other's eyes.

  "Are you going to let Bouncer stay aboard, too, sir?" Tom asked.

  "Ordinarily I think I'll let the dog sleep at the house nights," repliedMr. Dunstan, immediately after looking as though he were trying todismiss some matter from his mind.

  Joe, too, had been keen enough to scent the fact that, though Mr.Dunstan tried to appear wholly at his ease, yet something was givingthat gentleman a good deal of cause for thought. Mr. Dunstan even wentaft, presently, seating himself in one of the armchairs and smoking twocigars in succession rather rapidly.

  "We've put something into his mind that doesn't lie there easily,"hinted Joe.

  "But, of course, it's none of our business unless he chooses to tellus," replied Halstead.

  A little later Joe Dawson went down into the engine room to get the bestreasonable work out of the motor. Even at racing speed the "Meteor's"bow wave was not a big one. There was almost an absence of spray dashingover the helmsman. Tom did not need to put on oilskins, as he had oftendone on the "Sunbeam." The "Meteor's" bow lines were so beautiful andgraceful, so well adapted to an ideal racing craft, that the bridge deckin ordinary weather was not a wet place.

  As they neared cool, wind-swept Nantucket, Mr. Dunstan came forward oncemore, to point out the direction of his own place. This lay on the westside of the island. As they ran in closer the owner pointed out themouth of a cove.

  "We've come over in two hours," announced Mr. Dunstan, consulting hiswatch as they neared the cove.

  "Now that we understand the boat and the engine," answered Tom, "weought to go over the course in less than an hour and a half."

  "Fine!" pronounced the owner. "That's what the boat was built for. Dothat and I can make the trip to my Boston offices every week day--if Idecide that it's best to do so."

  Tom noted a certain hesitancy about those last few words. Again he feltsure that some mystery threatened the owner's peace of mind.

  Into the cove and up alongside the pier the "Meteor" was run. From herelarge and handsome grounds and a huge white house, the latter well backfrom the water, were visible.

  "We'll leave Bouncer on board for the present," said Mr. Dunstan. "I'lltake you up to the house so you can get used to the place. By and bywe'll have lunch. And I want to show you my boy, Ted."