“There ain’t any particulars except that we harpooned this whale, and it’s ours,” growled Bill Lowden. “You needn’t be putting your oar in, Cap’n Trent. We know our rights. There’s our iron, and it’s got the name of our boat branded in it—the Scud—you can see if you light a match,” for it was now dark.
“Hum! When did you strike it?” asked the captain, amid a silence, for, as an old whaling master and one of the most influential residents of Harbor View, the captain was universally respected.
“We were going along just outside the Shark’s Teeth reef day ’fore yesterday,” spoke Jack Kett, “when our lookout spied the whale. We keep a couple of irons aboard for sharks, dogfish and the like, and it didn’t take long to sink one in this critter. Then he sounded and we couldn’t pick him up again. We’ve been looking for him ever since, and to-day we thought we saw someone in a motor boat towing our whale away. I explained how we got on the wrong course,” and he detailed what is already known to my readers.
“Then we found the whale here,” went on Jack Kett, “and we’re going to have it.”
“Hum,” mused the captain. “It looks as if they had the right of it, boys,” he said in a low voice, to his son and the latter’s chums.
“Ask them if the whale wasn’t about dead when they harpooned it, and if it didn’t already have an iron in it?” suggested Frank.
“Another iron; eh? That’s a different story. Somebody bring a lantern,” called the captain quickly.
One was procured, and the crowd made way while the aged whaleman approached the dead beast.
“Here, you can see our iron,” said Bill Lowden eagerly. “There it is, as plain as day, with our boat’s name burned in the handle.”
“Hum, that’s right,” admitted Captain Trent, as he noted the harpoon. “But what about this?” he asked quickly, pointing to a second one, lower down, and in such a position that it could not be readily seen. “Is that yours too?” and Captain Trent held the lantern so that the gleam shone on the other implement.