“It was just a joke,” pleaded Lawless, whose face was pallid. He paid no attention to the promptings of his mate, who was urging him, in an undertone, to “stand up to the lubbers.”
“We’ll give in, professor,” he went on in a shaky tone. “You’re welcome to take all your baggage and go, without us making any more trouble.
“How can we depend on you?” asked the professor.
“I’ll give you my word,” said the captain.
“A whole lot of dependence we could place on that,” scoffed Mr. Tubbs.
“Tell you what,” spoke Nat; “let’s make him lock all his sailors up in the forecastle. We can guard them, and then, in case of treachery, we’ll only have two to deal with.”
The professor delivered this ultimatum. Captain Lawless readily agreed to comply with it. The crew, sullen and muttering, was ordered below, and the forecastle hatch battened down. Joe was set to guard it, while the others helped in the work of transporting the baggage on board the Motor Rangers’ craft.
Of course Ding-dong Bell, who had really displayed the qualities of a capable general, came in for much warm congratulation. He took his honors modestly.
“I dud-dud-didn’t know it was lur-lur-loaded,” he protested, and, as a matter of fact, the lad had been as much astonished as any one at the tremendous fusillade that followed his manipulation of the machine-gun’s firing lever.
At length all the baggage was on board. During its transportation, Captain Lawless and his mate had looked sullenly on, but offered no aid or interference. They were beaten men, and they knew it. Once the professor’s report of their conduct was circulated, there was not a civilized port into which they could take the schooner without being arrested and brought to book for their misdeeds.