CHAPTER TEN
Aboard the Floating Prison
Moving away from the forward portholes, Sandy and Jerry sat on the edges of the bunks and waited for their captors to come and get them. Both boys made themselves look as if they were completely dejected—as if they had already given up any hopes they might have had of escaping or of being rescued.
In a few minutes the footsteps on the deck and cabin top stopped and the little craft lay bobbing and wallowing in the sea swell that rose and fell alongside the freighter.
Rope bumpers, large braided lengths of thick cordage, were lashed to the sides of the sloop to keep it from being damaged by rubbing and banging against the steel side of the big ship.
Although they were listening as closely as possible to everything that went on, they could not make out the words they heard shouted from the freighter’s deck far above. Nevertheless, the sense of them was made clear by the answer that Turk bellowed back.
“Yeah! we got the stuff this time, all right! And we got a couple of other pieces of cargo with us, too! Wait and we’ll show you!”
This was the moment, Sandy thought. He would have to be careful, he warned himself, not to lose his temper as he had done last time, even if he was roughed up and shoved around again. And above all, he must be careful about the way he moved. One false step would surely outline the telltale shape of the flare gun taped to his leg—and that would be the end of the only “weapon” that he and Jerry had! Not only that, but it might well be the end of the only chance they would have to get away with whole skins!
A bolt grated in its slide on the companionway door and the hatch slid open to reveal Turk, pistol in hand, grinning nastily at them.
“Okay, gents,” he said. “The first-class passage on the local ferry is over. Just step up on deck, and we’ll transfer to the next vessel.”
As Sandy reached the companionway steps, Turk reached down and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt. With a swift heave, he sent Sandy sprawling on the cockpit deck. Keeping a tight control on his temper, Sandy confined his thoughts to worrying about getting his leg tucked under him in such a position that the flare pistol wouldn’t show.