CHAPTER II.
COLONEL MORELLO CHARTERS A SCHOONER.
Cal Gifford had been correct in his guess. The watcher of the trail was a man, and probably the last man in the world the boys would have wished to have in their vicinity just then. For it was Ed. Dayton who had stepped upon the branch, much to his chagrin, for the accident came just at the very moment that he was pretty sure of overhearing something interesting, provided he remained silent.
Dayton had been rabbit hunting along the trail when his quick ear had caught the sound of the approaching party. With an instinct entirely natural to a man of his character he had hastened to conceal himself immediately. This was partly, as has been said, by instinct, and partly from a reasonable sense of prudence; for Ed. Dayton knew as well as any one else that a reward had been offered for the capture of any of the leaders of Morello's gang, and he was naturally wary of encountering strangers of any kind.
He had never dreamed that the boys were in that part of the country, and his astonishment at recognizing their voices first, and then their faces as he peered through the bushes, was colossal. The former chauffeur was as quick of wit as he was lacking in principle, and it had not needed more than Ding-dong's stuttered hint about the "treasure ship" to apprise him that he had by, for him, a lucky accident stumbled once more across the trail of the sapphires.
When the branch had cracked, Dayton, knowing that a search might ensue, had thrown himself flat on his stomach and wiggled off across the ground at a surprising rate. By the time the boys had remounted and continued their journey he had been some distance off, and far on his way to his destination. This was a camp well concealed in a brush-grown cañon up the mountainside above Santa Inez.
On his return he found Colonel Morello himself gloomily seated in front of his tent, gazing seaward, for a good view could be obtained of the ocean from the mountain cañon without danger of the observers being themselves observed. Near the leader of the gang which Nat and his chums had broken up, sat a man in a greasy, well-worn buckskin suit. His lank, black hair dribbled over the collar of his upper garment and his mahogany-tinted face was shaded by a big cone-shaped sombrero. This man was Manuello, whom our old readers will recall as one of Colonel Morello's aides in the mountain fortress from which the boys' efforts had evicted the lawless crew. Half a dozen other men lounged about, smoking and talking. But an air of dejection hung about the camp. It was perceptible in the men's attitudes no less than in the tones in which they talked.
In fact, Colonel Morello's position was a precarious one. It is true that he was well enough concealed in the cañon above Santa Inez, but it is equally true that unless he remained there indefinitely he ran grave risk of being captured by the indignant authorities. But Colonel Morello was not a man who did things without due thought and preparation. He was in the vicinity of Santa Inez for what were, to him, good and sufficient reasons. What these were we shall presently see. He raised his head from his reverie as Dayton's step sounded, and looked quickly up.
"Well, here you are back again," he said. "Have you any news to give us?"
The others gathered about eagerly.
"Yes; is there any vessel in the harbor we can charter?" asked one eagerly.
"I'm sick of sneaking and hiding about here," put in another. "You promised us, Morello, when you brought us here that you would charter a vessel of some sort on which we could all go to that island you know of, and keep quiet till things blew over."
"Yes," put in another, a tall, strapping fellow, in a red shirt, well-worn mackinack trousers, and much-battered sombrero, "that was the excuse you gave for retaining possession of the money we managed to obtain from the fortress before the pursuit began. If you don't mean to do something pretty quick, you had better divide it up and let us separate and each take our chances alone."
A chorus of assent greeted this proposal.
"That's the talk, Swensen," put in one of the group, Al. Jeffries, the man who had impersonated a traveler at the Lariat Hotel. "We want action, Colonel. Your plan to get a vessel at this quiet, out-of-the-way place was a good one. What we want is to have it put into practice."
"That schooner lying in the bay is the first vessel to put in here in a week, isn't she?" growled Colonel Morello, although he was too wise to adopt anything but a mildly argumentative tone with his followers.
"That's right, but why can't we charter her?" came from Swensen.
"Yes, or that small, white craft that came round the point a short while ago and anchored not far from the schooner?" demanded Al. Jeffries.
"We have not had time to find out about the schooner yet," reasoned Colonel Morello, "and we don't want to spoil things by rushing them. A little too much haste now might ruin all our plans. As for the small white craft——"
"I can tell you all about her," put in Dayton, who had stood silently by while this colloquy was going forward.
The others turned on him in some astonishment.
"You mean that she can be hired for our purpose?" he began. But Dayton interrupted him with a quick wave of the hand.
"I mean," he said, "that she can be no such thing. That craft is owned by those pesky young cubs, the Motor Rangers——"
He was going on, but a perfect uproar of exclamations of astonishment interrupted him. Colonel Morello finally succeeded in quelling the disturbance and Dayton went on to relate all that he had overheard while he lay concealed by the side of the trail.
Looks of cupidity passed among the men as he reached the part of his narrative concerning the sapphires. Morello's eyes glistened greedily as he heard.
"Then they have not altogether eluded us," he said, as if he was busy with some private thoughts. "If only we could—however, that is neither here nor there. What concerns us most now is that the Motor Rangers are at Santa Inez and that we are within reaching distance of the lads we have to blame for all our troubles."
"I'd give a whole lot to get even on them," growled Swensen savagely.
But Morello checked him.
"That can all be discussed later," he said. "The thing to be done now is to ascertain if that schooner can be chartered. If she can, we have the money to pay for her, and if she can't——"
He did not finish, but paused significantly. His eyes wandered out over the mountainside and rested on the "Nomad" as she lay at anchor on the sun-lit bay. A small boat could be seen putting out from her side and the two men in it were giving way with a will for the shore.
"I suppose that those are the men who brought her here from wherever she came from," mused Morello. "If only we had a craft like that now."
"Well, we haven't," cut in Ed. Dayton, "so the thing to do now is to see if we can't get the hire of that schooner. We could easy sail her. Swensen here is an old navigator, and the one or two of the others have been sailors. I know something about ships myself."
"What do you propose, then?" asked Col. Morello.
"That you and I set out for Santa Inez at once and find out the lay of the land. If we can charter the schooner, well and good. If not—why then we'll have to find some other way of getting out of this hole."
It was some hours later that Captain Nelsen of the smart coasting schooner, "Nettie Nelsen," perceived, being pulled toward him from the shore, a small row boat. He recognized it as one of those that were for hire and wondered whom the two passengers in the stern might be. He could not imagine who could be coming off to his vessel while the smart motor boat, which he had noticed come in that morning, had dropped anchor some distance off, and not in the direction in which the shore boat was being pulled.
Captain Nelsen was in a mood in which he would have welcomed any interruption to his own thoughts. Trade was bad for coasting schooners. Steam craft had taken most of it from the wind-propelled vessels, and it was only at small, unfrequented ports like Santa Inez that he could hope to pick up a cargo. But there was no redwood, no hides, and no produce of any kind awaiting transportation at the old mission town when the "Nettie Nelsen" dropped anchor there that morning. And this had proved the last straw which broke the back of Captain Nelsen's fortunes. His crew, which had only remained with him in the hopes of obtaining a cargo and thus getting the means of liquidating their overdue wages, had deserted in a body when they discovered that there was no prospect of the "Nettie Nelsen's" holds being filled at Santa Inez.
The desertion had not been mutinous. The men admired Captain Nelsen and were sorry for him. They had simply informed him that they could work the ship no longer without pay, and had gone ashore in a body, to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Thus Captain Nelsen was left alone on his schooner, with his thoughts for company—and very poor company he found them, too.
Naturally, the desertion of the schooner had become the cause of considerable talk on shore, and when Colonel Morello and Dayton, after a careful reconnaisance, had arrived at the wharf and hired a boat for transport to the schooner, one of the first things they heard from their garrulous boatman was of the strange state of things on board the deserted craft. They had exchanged delighted glances as they heard. Surely fortune was favoring them with her smiles once more after having frowned on them so long.
And so it proved. Captain Nelsen was in no mood to haggle over the matter of chartering his schooner. Colonel Morello secured it for the sum of five hundred dollars. There was one serious drawback, however, according to his way of thinking, about the arrangements. Captain Nelsen insisted on being allowed to navigate his own vessel. He had owned and sailed her for thirty years, he said, and keen as were his necessities he would rather let her rot than place her in the hands of strangers.
And so Colonel Morello had to make the best of matters, and agree to carry Captain Nelsen as his skipper. As for the simple-minded captain, he watched the shore boat departing, when negotiations were completed, with a keen access of joy such as he had not known for some weeks.
"Five hundred dollars," he thought to himself. "Why, it will make Nettie and the children hold up their heads again. Oh, I'm in luck! It isn't every day that a down-and-out skipper has a chance of chartering his ship to a party of scientists on a research expedition to the Marquesas."
By which it will be seen that Colonel Morello had not exactly represented his party in their true light to the guileless seaman, who was as unsuspecting as most sailors are. Indeed, after he and Dayton had left the boat at the wharf they began to chuckle over the skipper's simplicity. It was almost dark, so that they did not use so much care to escape observation as they had on their way to the beach.
"Only one thing sticks in my craw," growled Dayton, "and that is that you gave that old barnacle five hundred dollars."
"I had to," protested the colonel. "I don't think he'd have struck a bargain otherwise. Said his wife and children needed the money badly and that he would have to buy extra fittings for the schooner for such a long voyage as we contemplate."
"It's a long voyage, all right," agreed Dayton. "But if things go through all right, we'll have taken a wise course. Your plan is to work our way through the islands to Australia and then sell the schooner?"
"That's my present idea," rejoined the colonel. "How do you like it?"
"It seems to me to be a good plan," said Dayton. "Couldn't be improved on. But what will the captain say to our trying to sell his boat?"
Morello gave his companion a swift side glance as they trudged along through the dark streets.
"Perhaps he won't be there to object," he said significantly.
Dayton shrugged his shoulders.
"Colonel, you are a wonderful man," he said. "By the way, what is the name of this friend of yours in the Marquesas? Owns a plantation there, I think you said."
"That's right," said the colonel; "he's got a big island and grows cocoanuts. Haven't seen him for some years, but I guess he'll be glad to see me again."
"American?" asked Dayton carelessly.
"Yes. I met him in that revolutionary business in Lower California."
"What's his name?"
"Gooddale—Elias Gooddale," was the reply.