“Get the sheriff, or a sheriff’s officer!” shouted back Powell Seaton. “Be quick about it, one of you, please, and the rest of you stay here to help us.”
Joe sent the bow hawser flying ashore, Tom doing the same with the stern line. Willing hands caught both ropes, making them fast around snubbing posts. As two men started 77 away on the run, the rest of the bystanders came crowding aboard, filled with curiosity.
“What happens to be wrong on board?” demanded one bronzed fisherman.
“We’ve a cabin full of pirates, or rascals about as bad,” returned Mr. Seaton, grimly.
“Men of this coast?” asked another speaker.
“Yes, evidently,” nodded Mr. Seaton, whom the new-comers had recognized as the owner of Lonely Island.
“Then they must be the crew of the ‘Black Betty,’” commented the first speaker.
“Is that a black, fifty-foot schooner, low in the water, narrow and carrying tall masts with a heavy spread of canvas?” interposed Tom Halstead.
“Yes,” nodded the fisherman. “That’s the ‘Black Betty.’ She claims to be a fishing boat, but we’re ready to bet she’s a smuggler. She carries nine men, including Captain Dave Lemly.”
“I reckon we’ve got most of the ‘Black Betty’ outfit below, then,” declared Captain Halstead. “Or else—gracious!”