The Boy Scouts of the Air at Cape Peril/Chapter 18
CHAPTER XVIII
THE NIGHT RIDERS
When Hardy set foot on Roanoke Island, he probably felt almost as elated as did the first English settlers in America when they landed near the same spot three hundred and thirty-odd years before. For him, however, it was the mere start of the journey. His business was to get Hatton back to Cape Peril and get him there in a hurry. Besides, he still felt disturbed about the whereabouts and devilish plans of this mysterious Blanco.
With some difficulty, the pilot made his way up the unpaved street of the still and desolate hamlet. Scarcely a light was visible. The Darevillers, even if not all healthy, wealthy and wise, were early to bed at any rate; and persons prowling around after nine o'clock were more or less suspicious. Hardy, steering his course by a solitary lamp shining through a window of the "hotel," reached the porch without interference, and no sooner had his foot touched the planks than the vigilant Legs was out of the door, and, in another moment, let out a yell of recognition.
"Shut up," urged Hardy. "Stop your fuss, or we'll both be jugged by the constable for disturbing the peace at this ungodly hour; it must be nine o'clock if it's a minute."
"How did you get here? What's happened?" the boy shot at him in a slightly lowered tone.
"Let's get in out of this wind and I'll tell you." Inside, Hardy proceeded to recount hurriedly the events since his abrupt departure. The boy listened breathlessly. Relieved to hear that his father's yacht was well on to port, his mind gave all its attention to the Blanco mystery.
"I thought that fellow looked like a slick one," declared the lad when Hardy had finished his story, "but he sure had father hoodooed."
This was an afterthought, inspired by recent events. The truth was, when the lad got his glimpse of the interpreter, he had not given him much attention one way or the other.
"And you don't know any reason the man had for making off this way?" asked Hardy.
"Not unless he's swiped something," was Legs's suspicion. "But, say, let's get on that tugboat. I'll die if I stay in this place ten minutes longer."
"'Fraid you'll have to die, then. I'm going to get hold of that sheriff first. I'm going to wake a few citizens up if I start a riot in doing it."
The landlord was the first to suffer. He was finally rooted out in a state of negligee and indignation; but, when the airman offered to pay for the boy's room and for one he himself might occupy, but did not intend to, the appeased host agreed to dress and direct the way to King's house.
"Reckon it's a good thing to get rid of that kid," he thought to himself. "I never seen such a squirmy varmint since I was bawn."
Ten minutes later, Hardy was knocking on the door of the deputy sheriff. Fortunately that official, after being detained abroad on some criminal business, was still awake over a late supper. He ushered his guests in politely and a very reasonable sort of person he turned out to be.
"Yes, I've had some cable messages from Commodore Hatton," he returned to Hardy's questions, after listening to the pilot's interests in the matter. "He's got enough evidence to convict that crook if we can get the hooks in him. What he done I don't know any more than you do. All I know is I've got to try to catch him. I've wired the description around, and I think we're on the trail. What you tell me about that boat you found goes in with a report I got that a man lookin' like Blanco was seen in the back country not far from Knott's Island. But I've got hold of another piece of information I can't let out yet, and I'm going up Norfolk way tomorrow—was going today if the boats hadn't been held up by this here storm. Commodore Hatton offers right smart money reward if the man's landed."
"How about going tonight?" suggested Hardy.
The deputy gave a look that showed he thought he was dealing with a lunatic.
"I'm not dangerous," laughed Hardy, interpreting the other's glance. Then he told of the waiting tugboat.
"What would you do when you got to Knott's Island?" objected the reluctant deputy.
"That's easy," explained Hardy. "I've got a friend there who owns an automobile. He'll lend it to me for love or money, or maybe both. We'll get to the island, if the tug don't break down, by one o'clock. It's an hour's or an hour and a half's run to Cape Peril. I'll put you up at Seagulls' Nest, my place there, till tomorrow, and then send you wherever you want to go."
"Rotten roads and a howlin' night," meditated the deputy.
"You can sleep on the tug and take a wink in the auto," promised the other. "I'll attend to the roads. Nash's car's special trick is climbing out of mud holes."
The deputy thought a while longer, figured on what he would save financially, consulted his wife in retirement, got her permission after some argument, and made himself ready to go.
Shortly after the three night travelers were aboard, the tug bravely started, ploughing the rolling waters on its way up the Sound. Hardy and the deputy had soon made themselves comfortable on benches and were sound asleep. Legs, however, had to contend for an hour with a queasy feeling closely related to seasickness.
One o'clock found the party safely ashore on Knott's Island, and by the aid of the lantern of the tugboat captain they managed to pick their way to Nash's store. His dwelling place was above and, in the rear, stood his garage.
"Well, I'll be jiggered again!" was his exclamation when he was roused after some effort in the way of door pounding and, armed with a pistol, came down to investigate the disturbance. "I'll be jiggered! How'd you get here this time o' night? Darn if I don't b'lieve you've been fool enough to fly."
The pilot rattled out his explanation and the pressing business in hand, offering ample compensation for the use of the auto.
"Anything to accommodate a friend like you," said the good-natured Nash. "Just so you don't ask me to go with you."
The motor was produced, Hardy took the wheel, the deputy the place by him, Legs sprawled on the rear seat, and the car was off, leaving the owner almost as flabbergasted as he had been at first sight of his visitors.
To call the road across Knott's Island bad would be to compliment it; it was one not to be mentioned in polite motoring society. But some cars can negotiate almost anything, and Nash's car was of that breed. When this nightmare of a trail was left behind and the car crossed the tongue of land that connected the so-called "island" with the mainland, they struck a passable shellroad, and Hardy, having the law by his side, tried to outspeed the wind on his northwesterly journey. An hour's run brought him to the point where the branch road struck off in the direction of Seagulls' Nest. He had made this without incident to the point where he was rounding the curve. Here, knowing that he had practically reached his destination, he had taken his eyes from the illuminated road in front to direct the deputy's attention to the position of Cape Peril, with some remarks about the possible effects of the storm, when, to his consternation, he found he was right on an object standing to one side in the road. An instant's glance showed him it was a runabout, but despite his desperate effort to veer off he was unable to avoid crashing into it.
Then followed the excited talk that Cat Miller had heard from his covert.