"Who are you?" demanded the pudgy man with the bandaged hand. "What right have you here?"
"An American citizen arresting a criminal caught in the act," I said, proceeding to put the "Yankee Bridle" on his wrists behind him.
"You needn't tie us up like slaves. We are gentlemen," he urged stoutly, but I ordered him to keep his mouth shut, which he did.
I then ordered the two men into the stern of the motor boat and applied the same "Yankee Twist" about their ankles, fastening the two of them together. The other man appeared dead.
I searched out and tossed into the motor boat everything of a private nature, including some expensive hand luggage, afraid the boat would sink.
I left the dead man on board and started with my prisoners at full speed to where I thought the engineer and cook had possibly landed in the riddled lifeboat.
I could soon see them lying on the beach. As I approached they started away.
Running into the shore as close as I could, I fired at them, and they stopped. It didn't take long to get and tie them up with the rest. Without arms, on one of the barren coral islands that compose the Tortugas, they knew they had no chance of escape.
I then returned to the wreck, taking the lifeboat in tow. Small air compartments in each end prevented the cutter sinking entirely, but it had drifted away from the anchored Sprite, on which I could see little Jim moving about. Turning my attention to the "dead" man, I found the bullet had hit him so high on his forehead it did not enter his head, but had ploughed its way under the skin, the shock causing insensibility. Drenching him with sea water soon developed signs of life, and it wasn't long before he joined the sullen crew in corded harness, his head bandaged the best I knew how.