“That’s a good dummy, if I do say it myself,” he chuckled; “maybe it has more brains than I have, at that,” he added, with a grim smile.
But his attention was speedily distracted from watching the Sea Gull’s dinghy by the fact that from the Tarpon’s side another small boat now shot out. In it were five men—the total ship’s company of the Tarpon.
“Well, that disposes of the theory that the model was landed in the night,” mused Jack, as he watched them row off; “unless a sixth confederate ashore took charge of it.”
His expression suddenly changed to one of anxiety as he saw that the Tarpon’s dinghy was clearly in pursuit of the Sea Gull’s small boat.
“If they catch up there’ll be a fight more than likely,” he exclaimed, “and five to two, and with the two unarmed, is terrific odds. Hello, Tom’s seen them. Captain Andrews is pulling faster now! So are the Tarpon’s, though! It’s a race for the shore!”
Jack fairly glued his face to the porthole as he watched the two boats. A few moments later he gave a sigh of relief as the Sea Gull’s dinghy grazed the beach, and Captain Andrews and Tom sprang out. Jack noted, with a sort of grim amusement, that Tom supported the dummy up the beach, and managed it so skillfully that from a distance it really looked as if it were Jack walking beside him.
A moment later the two figures of Jack’s friends vanished in the brush which grew down to the foot of the cliffs, and the Tarpon’s boat touched the shore. Jack heard her occupants give a yell as they leaped out and ran up the beach, almost in the footsteps of Tom and Captain Andrews. The next instant the brush swallowed them likewise, and Jack was left to conjecture what was taking place behind that leafy curtain. That it was a drama of a pretty strenuous sort he was certain.
The cabin was insufferably hot, and Jack was too restless to remain still. As he knew that no one was left on board the Tarpon, he saw no objection to his emerging on deck for a breath of fresh air. He sat in the cockpit, looking dreamily at the Tarpon swinging at anchor, and wondering how things were faring with Captain Andrews and Tom.
Suddenly his reverie was broken off. The boy sprang to his feet and slapped his hand down on his knee. A sudden idea had come to him—an idea that was an inspiration.
“It’s worth trying,” said the boy to himself; “it’s worth trying. I may find out nothing, and then again—well, it may mean a whole lot.”