Chapter VIII A Bargain is Struck
The fellow in the red bathing suit descended to the edge of the water and plunged in without hesitation. Three others came running from the larger tent—a fat chap, a lean one, and the third almost as stocky as Red Phillips. Rex Kingdon could identify them all by what he had heard the night before.
After a minute a fifth youth appeared from the smaller tent, and by his look and dress Rex knew this last must be the Joe Bootleg with whom he had had the struggle.
“Five of ’em,” said Peewee. “Even Stephen.”
“We ought to be able to hold our own with that crowd,” Red murmured.
“You can have my share of the Indian, Red,” Kingdon drawled.
“Well, what are you going to do?” demanded Midkiff.
Only the tall fellow of the party of campers ventured into the water. The others dressed hastily, chattering excitedly the while. The tall fellow went ashore, stripped, rubbed himself down, and got into his own clothes leisurely.
“Well set up lad, that,” Phillips said to Rex, admiringly. “He looks about your build, Beauty. Made of whipcord and wire cable, too. Notice those biceps when he put on his shirt?”
Red had been looking through the glasses, and forgot that the rest were not eagle-eyed. Hicks chuckled:
“If it comes to a rough-and-tumble, I choose the fat one for my meat. He must be so clumsy he can’t get out of the way of his own feet.”
“Always looking for the easy work, infant,” said Rex. “Go wash up the dishes; that’s your job. We’ll up anchor and——”
“Make sail for Blackport?” put in Midkiff.
“Like fun we will!” cried Phillips. “Aren’t going to turn tail and run from those chaps, are you, Rex?”
“Guess we’d better have a pow-wow first,” admitted Kingdon. “Time enough to shout for help when we find we need it.”
“I wouldn’t say a word to them,” complained John Midkiff.
“Gentle lamb, Jawn is,” drawled Kingdon. “He doesn’t like a fuss, of course—oh, no!”
“Not for the sake of the fuss, as you and Red do,” snapped Midkiff. “You two are always hunting trouble.”
They paid little attention to Midkiff’s complaints. The anchor was dragged over the bows. The sail was hoisted. It filled, and the Spoondrift began to move. She was not a graceful craft, but she slid through the water rapidly. The painters of the canoes tautened and they hobbled along astern. Rex shortened the line of one so that they would not bump and damage each other. He steered the cat for the deep mooring place under the two arching trees below the encampment.
“They chose a pretty place to set up their tents,” Peewee said, lying on his stomach and trailing dish after dish overboard to wash them. “Just as pretty places all along the shore here,” Rex said. “A hundred parties could easily find room on the island.”
Midkiff stared at him. “I know you’re getting ready to do something foolish,” he declared, sourly.
“I’d hate to have your suspicious nature, Jawn,” was the retort as Kingdon skillfully steered the Spoondrift shoreward.
“Hey! What are you doing with our canoes?” was the shouted greeting of the fellow whom Rex suspected was named Ben.
“Why, I declare! are these your boats?” drawled the blond chap. “Don’t you think you were mighty careless with them?”
“Now you said a mouthful,” barked the belligerent Kirby. “But we didn’t know there were thieves about.”
“No?”
“We hadn’t seen anybody who looked dishonest before,” said the good-looking, black-haired fellow they called Horrors, as Red Phillips let out the sheet at a gesture from Rex and the flapping sail came down on the run.
“What’s the matter?” squealed little Hicks in reply to the last speech. “Did you all forget to bring your pocket mirrors?”
“You come ashore here, you little chipmunk,” blustered Ben Comas, “and I’ll show you something. It won’t be in a looking-glass, either.”
“Naughty! Naughty!” laughed Kingdon. “Don’t threaten; it isn’t nice. Drop the anchor again, Jawn. You fellows let me do a little of the talking, will you?”
“Aw, well——” began Hicks. But Cloudman reached for him and laid him carefully on his back.
“Hush up, infant!” the Westerner advised. “We can’t hear ourselves think for your chatter.”
“Going to give us back our canoes?” shouted Kirby.
“For a price,” Kingdon coolly told him. “Of course, you don’t expect to get anything for nothing? It isn’t done, my boy; it isn’t done.”
Before Harry Kirby could sputter again, the tall, dark fellow interfered. The catboat now swung so near the shore on the morning tide that a conversational tone between the two parties was all that was necessary.
“I say,” Horace Pence said, “you’re Rex Kingdon, aren’t you?”
“Bull’s-eye,” admitted the blond youth lazily. “But I haven’t the pleasure, have I?”
“That makes no difference. I suppose it was you who came ashore here last night?”
“Seems to me I remember something like that,” admitted Rex suddenly a-smile. He saw the Indian behind the group of other boys, and the smile was for him. But Joe Bootleg did not respond; only stared down at his erstwhile antagonist threateningly.
“What do you want here at Storm Island, anyway?” demanded Pence boldly.
“You ought to go ashore and tell him, Rex,” declared Red Phillips in disgust. “The gall of him!”
“We ought to go to Blackport and get a constable to put the whole gang off the island,” added Midkiff.
“Why be childish?” said Rex. “I rather like our neighbor with the black eyebrows.”
“Well?” demanded Pence. “Lost your voice?”
“Not any,” quoth Kingdon. “Was just wondering how much you fellows would be willing to pay for your canoes? We might keep ’em, you know.”
“You’d better not!” yelled Ben Comas, red in the face and shaking his fist at the catboat’s crew.
“My father——”
“Drop it!” growled Kirby, yet loud enough for the Walcott Hall boys to hear. “If your father knew where you were——”
“They’re a bunch of thieves,” declared Ben, just as wildly. “Ain’t they, Pudge?”
The fat boy kept discreetly silent. The black-haired youth said:
“Stop your yipping, you fellows, and let somebody talk sense. Hey, Kingdon! You needn’t think you’ve got us caged here for the rest of the summer. We could hail a fishing party before the day’s over, and get a boat from Blackport. Don’t fool yourself.”
“Got it all planned out, haven’t you?” said Cloudman.
Rex made a gesture to quiet Applejack, and said:
“I have an idea you don’t care to stir up any inquiry at the port. Am I right? Let’s settle this between ourselves—right in the bosom of the family, as it were. What do you say?”
“Shoot!” said Pence. “Let’s have your idea.”
“We give up the canoes. You let us land and set up our camp, and let us alone. Is it understood?” asked Rex with more seriousness.
The expressions on the faces of the fat fellow, Ben, and Kirby showed relief. Horace Pence said:
“It’s a bargain. The island’s big enough.”
“All agreed?” drawled Rex.
“I think we are,” Kirby said.
“Sure!” chimed in Ben and Pudge MacComber. Yet the former murmured: “There’s something up his sleeve. There must be!” Pudge looked doubtful, too. Joe Bootleg scowled in the background, saying nothing.
“Hope you may die, cross your heart, and all the rest of it,” said Rex, cheerfully. “I put you all on honor. It may be an awful strain; but they say a singed cat is often better than it looks. We’re to camp where we choose, and let you alone. You fellows ditto with us. Is it agreed?”
“Come along,” invited the black-haired chap. “You needn’t waste so much breath over it.”
Rex looked inquiringly at the others. Kirby, Ben and Pudge nodded. But it was noticeable that the Indian youth made no sign of acquiescence.