“I’d like to know why not?” demanded Tom. “We could turn the gun on ’em and we’ve got rifles and pistols and everything.”
“Sure,” laughed Rawlins. “I suppose we’d pick up that two-inch gun and lug it over in the small boat and dump it down in their front yard while they looked on. No, Son, if they got wise to us being here they’d either clean out by their sub or scatter in the bush or go for us tooth and nail. A crowd that don’t hesitate to try to torpedo us isn’t going to stop at a scrap and the Lord alone knows how many of ’em there are.”
“Rawlins is right,” declared Mr. Pauling. “If we locate them we must plan to make a concerted raid, surrounding them on all sides and with a large enough force to make resistance useless. The man we want may or may not be there, but we must be absolutely sure to get him if he is. If he gives us the slip our troubles will have just commenced.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s so,” admitted Tom. “Gosh, I hope we do find them.”
Everything was now in readiness, the night was inky black, not a glimmer of light showed upon the submarine and silently embarking in the small boat, Rawlins, Mr. Pauling, Tom and two of the crew pushed off and were instantly swallowed up in the darkness.
Sitting at his instruments and listening for any chance sound or message was dull work for Frank and his mind was constantly on what Tom and the others might be doing. Once, very faint and far away, he thought he heard the whirring sound of a screw, but Bancroft, who listened in at Frank’s request, declared he did not believe it was.
“At any rate,” he said, “if 't is, it’s a long way off. Maybe some ship outside the bay.”
Then followed absolute silence. Bancroft, at the regular instruments, picked up some dot and dash messages flying back and forth between passing ships and the big station at Santo Domingo City, but there was nothing suspicious, nothing that hinted of the proximity of the men they sought. Slowly the time dragged on, hour after hour passed by. Frank yawned and almost dozed while sitting at the instruments. Would the boat never return? Had they heard or seen anything? How, Frank wondered, could Rawlins find his way in such dense blackness? Would they get lost in the swamp he had mentioned? Suppose they never returned? Perhaps they might be captured or killed by the outlaws. The thought startled him. It had not occurred to him before that there was any danger. But once that current of thought was started it ran riot in his brain. He grew nervous, excited, worried, and Bancroft could not cheer him or disabuse him of the premonition that something serious had happened.
“Oh, you’d hear ’em, if anything happened,” declared the operator. “They’d call you or something. If they were discovered there’d be no need of keeping quiet. Trouble is, your nerves aren’t over the excitement of this afternoon yet. Cheer up. They’re all right. No news is good news, you know.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” admitted Frank, “but just the same I’m worried.”