“Wall, guv’ner, that’s our business,” responded the old man; “but once in while we have stuff on board that it might be inconvenient for the Customs officers to find, an’ so we just rigged up that little stowage fer safe keeping.”
Nat guessed that the “cubby hole” referred to and in which Minory had evidently been hidden while he vainly searched the boat for him, was used in old Israel’s illicit trade for the convenient and safe hiding of the opium he smuggled.
“Well, I’ve fallen into the hands of a fine lot of rascals,” he thought to himself, “but they’ll hardly dare to do more than keep me a prisoner, and maybe I’ll find some way of getting out before long. I wonder where we’re headed for? Gracious, how my head aches!”
“Reckon I’ll douse the kid with some more water,” humanely suggested Seth; “he don’t appear to be coming around very fast.”
But Nat saved him this trouble. He opened his eyes and assumed a look as if he had just come out of a stupor. It wouldn’t do to let the Harleys know that he had overheard their conversation and was conversant with the situation.
“Where am I?” he asked in as bewildered a voice as he could assume.
“On board the Rattlesnake, my hearty,” piped up old Israel. “Reckon your head aches pretty well, don’t it?” he added with a grin.
“Sort of,” rejoined Nat, in the easy tone he had decided to assume. He knew that with the odds against him it would be of no use to struggle, and by remaining apparently indifferent to the situation he might stand a chance of bettering it, or at least of gaining some valuable information.
“You see what comes of meddling in other people’s affairs,” struck in Minory meaningly. “You young cub, you! I’d like to——”
He started toward Nat, who was still recumbent, with the apparent intention of striking him a vicious blow in the face. But old Israel interposed.