“It couldn’t swallow anything, captain?” asked Nat solemnly.
“No, sir; not a solitary morsel,” rejoined the captain, wagging his head.
“Then how did it take the bait?” asked Nat, fairly bursting into laughter. But the captain never smiled.
“I reckon that was one of the inscrutable ways of Providence to help me get my leg back,” he said. “See here,” he held up the wooden leg for inspection, “see those marks? Those were made by shark’s teeth—yes, siree, it was sure a terrible experience.”
“Well,” chuckled Nat, “I don’t want to doubt your word, captain, but I guess that yarn is about what the Andaman shark found your leg,—hard to swallow!”
The captain looked as if he meant to defend his story, but Nat cut him short with a joyful cry:
“Here comes the Nomad! Hooray!”
And the Nomad it was, and a few minutes later there was a reunion of the Motor Rangers that made the old captain chuckle and stamp his shark-marked leg and yell:
“Bully for you, boys! You sure ought to be glad to see yer messmate again. He’s a boy to be proud of.”
Not long after, the Nomad with her crew of three, for Dr. Chalmers, Mr. Anderson and Nate, and Prof. Jenkins had been left ashore—the latter in a hospital,—headed for Santa Barbara. For some days thereafter, during which the professor rapidly regained health, they awaited anxiously for news of Minory, but none came.