“Smash the door down!” roared Dalton.
“Maybe we kin do it, boss, but the hatch is a stout one, and we ain’t jest ’zactly fixed for tools,” replied another voice.
After a few moments the fruitless hammering with mere fists subsided. In that time Hank Butts had raced forward, and now was back again with a prize that he had caught up from a locker near the motors. This was nothing more nor less than the hitching weight that Hank had once made very nearly famous, as described in the preceding volume, “The motor boat club off long island.”
“Let ’em get out if they can,” advised Hank, grimly. “This for the feet, or the head, of the first roustabout that shows himself!” 71
Joe now raced forward to set the motors in motion. Though the young trio had temporary command of the deck, there was no telling how soon they would be overwhelmed. Every moment must be made to count.
Captain Tom, grasping his stick, stood by to help Hank in case the furious ones below succeeded in breaking out.
Hardly any time passed before the rhythmic chugging of the motors came to the young skipper’s delighted ears. Then Joe waved his arms as a signal from the raised deck forward. Halstead swiftly joined his chum. Together they got the anchor up, stowing it well enough for the present.
“Now, you’d better get back to Hank, hadn’t you?” quivered Joe. “I can handle speed and the wheel, too.”
“Bless you, old Joe!” murmured Captain Tom, fervently, and raced aft. Dawson leaped to the wheel, at the same time setting one of the bridge controls so that the “Restless” began to move forward under slow speed. This move came just in time, for, even in the cove, the water had motion enough to threaten the yacht with grounding.
But now alert Joe Dawson swung the boat’s head around, pointing her nose out of the cove.