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The Young Engineers on the Gulf, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 11. A Message From A Coward |
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_ CHAPTER XI. A MESSAGE FROM A COWARD "Now Reade," began President Bascomb, in a shaking voice, "what can you say---" Tom didn't wait to inform him. The young chief engineer was darting out on the wall as fast as he could go. Already the "Morton" had turned, and was chugging back to the scene of this latest outrage, the searchlight flashing back and forth, in the vain effort to detect any small craft stealing away from the vicinity. "I---I can't race on a narrow runway like that," faltered Mr. Bascomb, halting at the beginning of the narrow wall. "I---I'll wait here, Mr. Renshaw, will you keep me company?" "If you so direct, sir," replied the superintendent. "For that matter, what Reade and Hazelton can't find out, out yonder, will probably never be discovered." "Do you share Mr. Prenter's infatuation for those two young men?" asked the president of the Melliston Company. "I can't say about that, sir," Renshaw replied, with a puzzled air. "But this much I know---I never worked with two more capable men of any age. They always know what to do, and they never lose their heads." Mr. Bascomb compressed his lips tightly. In the meantime Tom, Harry and Treasurer Prenter covered nearly a quarter of a mile along the retaining wall when the motor boat, putting about, picked them up with the searchlight. Toot! toot! sounded the boat's pneumatic whistle. "Foreman Corbett is signaling to us to wait and he'll put in for us," said Tom, coming to a halt. Soon the motor craft chugged in alongside, coming close to the wall. Tom, Harry and Mr. Prenter jumped, landing safely aboard. "How did the enemy come to catch you napping, Corbett?" Tom inquired good-humoredly. "They didn't catch me napping, sir," protested Foreman Corbett. "It is the strangest thing, sir---that explosion. Why, I had had my light turned on that very part of the wall at least a dozen times in the last half-hour before the blow-out came. Our light didn't pick up a soul around there at any time. What do you suppose I did, Mr. Reade, as soon as the explosion sounded?" "I saw you turn about and use your search light a lot," Reade answered. "Did you notice, sir, that I turned the light right up at the sky, first-off?" "I believe I did notice that," Tom assented. "It seemed to me, sir, that nothing but an airship could plant a charge of high explosive on the wall in that fashion." "I don't believe the airship theory will explain it either," said Tom, shaking his head. "Then what theory can explain it?" asked Mr. Prenter, anxiously. "I'd pay a reward out of my own pocket for the right answer," Reade replied. "Then you haven't a theory?" asked the treasurer. "Not even an imitation of a theory," Tom laughed, shortly. All this time the motor boat was gliding out toward the scene of the wreck. "Now, you can see the damage that has been done," suggested Mr. Corbett, turning the light fully on the scene of the latest blow-out. "You see, a long strip of the wall has been cleaned out. Not a trace of the damaged part shows above water." "It wasn't as big an explosion as the other two, though," Reade declared. "Really, it looks as though the folks behind this found themselves running low on explosives." "There must be a trace or a clue left," urged Mr. Prenter. "High explosives don't leave many traces of anything with which they come in contact," muttered Harry. "If we _do_ find any traces, I guess it will have to be in broad daylight." "And I guess that's right," agreed Tom. "Mr. Corbett, did none of your men patrolling on the wall report any signs of strangers?" "No such report was made, sir." "At all events, we can be thankful that the explosion didn't blow one or two of our men into the other world," Tom went on. "Even that is bound to happen if there are many more of these explosions," muttered Corbett, grimly. "Which is another reason," remarked Tom Reade, "why we're going to solve the mystery of said explosions at the earliest minute that we can." "One thing is certain," observed Mr. Prenter, with the nearest approach to gloom that he had yet shown. "If you don't soon penetrate this grim mystery, and find a way to stop these outrages, then the wall will be destroyed more rapidly than you can build it." "The outrages may cease after a while," suggested Harry. "No," answered Reade. "As long as the unknown enemy feels that he can harass us without much risk of being caught red-handed, just so long will he go on with his outrages---unless we give in." "Give in?" asked Mr. Prenter, with a rising inflection in his voice. "Unless we give in," supplied Tom promptly, "by allowing gambling and rum-selling to go on openly in our camp of workmen." "Have you any notion of giving in to that extent?" asked Mr. Prenter. "Not an idea!" retorted Tom Reade promptly. "It wouldn't be my way to surrender to the Devil. I'll fight to the last ditch---unless your company really prefers to have Hazelton and myself cancel our contract and get out of this work. Do you?" "_I_ don't want you to quit," replied Mr. Prenter positively. "I admire fighting grit, and I want to see you keep hammering away at the work until you win and the job is finished. The board of directors will stand with me on that, if I can sway them. As for Mr. Bascomb, you mustn't take him too seriously. He's a first rate fellow in a lot of ways, but there's no fight in him, and he's a bit close-fisted, too. As for me, Reade, and as far as I can speak for my fellow directors, go ahead, just the way you've started. If you can find any way to hammer camp vice harder than you've been hammering it, then go ahead and do some harder work with your little hammer." "I'll do it," promised Tom. "Now, Mr. Prenter, I don't believe anything more will happen here to-night---perhaps not for two or three nights. So I think the wisest thing for you to do will be to get back to the house and get some sleep. The same for you, Harry!" "What are you going to do?" Hazelton wanted to know. "I?" repeated Reade. "For to-night I'm going to remain up, and be out here around this threatened wall." "Then that ought to be good enough for me, also," Harry suggested. "Not much, chum. I'm going to take the night trick for the present, and put on you the burden of all the day work. So you'll need your sleep." "I can swing the day work easily enough," laughed Hazelton. "It will be all the more easy as the next few days will be taken up simply with repairing the breaks that have been made." "Swing the boat in toward land, Mr. Corbett," Tom directed the foreman. At the little landing Hazelton and Mr. Prenter joined the waiting president and superintendent. "Did you really find out anything?" called Mr. Bascomb eagerly. "It's as big a mystery as ever." "There's just one thing we'll have to do," sighed Mr. Bascomb, "and that will be to stop running the camp on a basis of old Puritan laws." "You talk Reade into it, if you can," chuckled Treasurer Prenter. "You won't find him easy to convince, either." Tom didn't wait to discuss the matter. Instead, he signaled to Foreman Corbett to run the craft out again. "If you want to, Corbett," suggested Tom, with a laugh, as the boat moved over the salt waters again, "you might go ashore and go to bed. You can easily claim that you engaged with us as a foreman, and that being captain of a motor boat amounts to breach of contract." "I'm not fussing," smiled the foreman. "As long as I can sleep daytimes running this motor boat is easier than working." "It probably will be," nodded Reade, "unless the enemy go in for a new line of tactics." "Such as what, sir?" asked Corbett. "If this boat hampers them too much they may decide to send it to the bottom with a torpedo." "Let 'em try, then," grunted the foreman, giving the steering wheel a turn. Though Reade remained up until broad daylight no further sign of the unknown enemies was seen. Through the night, had it not been for the patrols walking up and down the line of wall with lanterns, it would have been hard to realize that the big breakwater was haunted by any such desperately practical group of "ghosts." "I guess we've heard the last of the rascals," suggested Harry Hazelton one night at supper. Messrs. Bascomb and Prenter had returned to Mobile, so that the young engineers and their superintendent were the only men at table. "My guess is about the same," drawled Mr. Renshaw. "Yes?" queried Reade. "Guess again!" "Oh, I believe they've quit," argued Mr. Renshaw. "For one thing, the scoundrels probably have discovered that detectives from Mobile are down here trying to run 'em to earth. That has scared the rascals away." "What are the detectives doing, anyway?" asked Harry. "Blessed if I know," Tom yawned. "I believe there are three of them here or over in Blixton, but I wouldn't know one of them, if I fell over him. The detectives came, secured their orders from Mr. Prenter, and went to work---or pretended to go to work. I'm glad that I'm not responsible for the detectives." Nicolas entered, an envelope in his hand. "Par-rdon, Senor Reade," begged the Mexican. "I would not interrupt, but on the porch I found thees letter. It is address to you." Tom took the envelope and scanned it, saying: "The address is printed---probably because the writer didn't want to run the risk of having his writing identified. Probably the letter, also, is printed. Pardon me, gentlemen, while I open this communication . . . Yes; the letter is printed, and unsigned---a further sign of cowardice on the part of the writer. And now let me see what it says." Tom spent a few moments in going through the communication. A white line formed around his mouth as he read. Then he passed the letter to Harry, who read it aloud, as follows: _"You have had a week of peace. Is peace better than war? You may have all the peace you wish, and go on working and prospering if you will let others do the same. Stop interfering with the right of your men to amuse themselves and all will be well. Try any of your former tricks in the camp, and then you will have good cause to 'Beware!'"_ "Is that a declaration of war?" asked Harry, looking up. "I think so," nodded Tom. "Then how are you going to meet it?" "There's only one way," Tom returned. "A declaration of war must be met with a fight. Unless I'm very greatly in error the gamblers and bootleggers will try to start up matters again to-night in camp." "And you'll throw them down harder than before?" queried Mr. Renshaw, gazing keenly at the young chief. "If it be possible," Tom declared. "Nicolas, be kind enough to go over and ask the foremen to report here at 8:20 promptly. At 8:30 we will enter camp and see what is going on." "I miss my guess, then," chuckled Mr. Renshaw, quietly, "if our arrival isn't followed by war in earnest." "War is never so bad," retorted Tom Reade, his jaws setting, "as a disgraceful peace!" _ |
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