In a few minutes the schooner was heading for Greenport, with the Sea-Lark in tow, and Captain Sennet was standing, amazed, amid the scene of wreckage in this little cabin of the sloop.
“Say!” He pushed his cap back and rubbed his head perplexedly, addressing Rodney. “For the love of Mike, will you just tell me what them fellers have been up to in here? Half the sheathing is torn down! They must ha’ gone clean crazy. Why—” Suddenly he stopped and his jaw dropped, as, turning round and glancing on to one of the bunks, he saw something which took away his breath.
“What in thunder!” he began; and then, with a broad smile he leaned over the bunk and fingered his discovery.
“Money!” exclaimed Rodney.
“Some one must ha’ been robbing a bank!” laughed Captain Sennet. “Fives—tens—twenties! Ho, ho! I reckon that accounts for some o’ the milk in this particular cocoanut. Let’s put it in that thing,” he went on, picking up a canvas bag and stowing the pile of paper currency and coins into it. “Guess I’ll take charge o’ this till we find whose it is,” he added, dropping the bag into his pocket.
Back on deck, he gave his attention to Jack.
“We’ll have you in a doctor’s hands soon,” he said. “Much pain?”
“Not too much,” said Jack, with a grimace. “My head hurts most. I don’t think the bullet wound amounts to much.”
“Let’s have a look at it,” said the fisherman, rolling up the boy’s trouser leg and displaying a clean wound in the flesh about four inches above the knee. The bullet had entered the flesh at the front and passed out again at the back without touching the bone. Rodney produced a handkerchief, and the skipper bathed the injury with sea-water.