John Goldfrap - The Motor Rangers' Wireless Station

“We owe our lives to you boys,” declared the doctor gratefully, “and we can never repay you for what you have done.”

Rufus Anderson warmly echoed the doctor’s praise, and Nate, the sailor, shyly seconded the gratitude. Dr. Chalmers had already agreed to help Nate purchase another boat in place of the Albicore , and so the fisherman felt happier than he might have done at the thought of his trim craft lying a blackened shell in the Pacific.

The doctor expressed great interest in Mr. Jenkins’ case, and, after examining him, declared that in his opinion the surgeon of the Iroquois had exaggerated the nature of his injuries. In his estimation, he said, Mr. Jenkins would pull through all right. Ding-dong stole a look at Dr. Sartorius as his brother physician announced this opinion, and detected an expression of hawklike eagerness on the black-bearded man’s features. He showed an interest beyond that of a perfect stranger in Dr. Chalmers’ opinion.

“Then he will not die, after all?” he asked in his raspy voice, coming forward to the other physician’s side.

Dr. Chalmers turned and scrutinized him quickly.

“Dr. Sartorius,” explained the other, introducing himself. “I have a professional interest in the case. You think this man will live?”

“I do, unquestionably,” was the reply of Dr. Chalmers. Ding-dong saw his eyebrows lift in astonishment at the other’s tone. It was plain that he liked the black-bearded man no better than did the boys.

When Ding-dong, shortly afterward, poked his head above the companionway for a breath of air, he found that the storm was rapidly abating. In fact in the cabin it had been apparent that the movements of the Nomad were becoming less and less erratic and violent. He told Nat of what had occurred below, and Nat, after a moment’s thought, replied:

“There’s something about all this that I can’t fathom, Ding-dong. In fact, things have been moving so swiftly since we left the Iroquois that I haven’t had time to think. Of two things I’m pretty sure, though, and one of them is that Dr. Sartorius came aboard us because he didn’t want Mr. Jenkins out of his sight; and the other is that he had a good reason for wanting to delay the Nomad’s reaching port when he tampered with the engines.”

“Y-y-y-y-you think he der-der-did it, then?” asked Ding-dong.

“Who else could have? I didn’t, you didn’t, and Joe didn’t. The injured man certainly didn’t; and, besides that, didn’t Joe see his Whiskers coming out of the engine room with a monkey wrench? What was he doing in there at all if he hadn’t been tinkering with the motor?”

“Ther-ther-that’s so,” assented the other. “It’s all like a Cher-cher-Chinese puzzle. What are you going to do about it, Nat?”

“If suspicions were legal evidence, I’d hand this fellow over to the authorities as soon as we landed; but I can’t do that very well. They would only laugh at us. Recollect, we’ve got nothing tangible to bring against the man – Hullo, Joe, what’s up now?”

Nat turned quickly as Joe came on deck. His face was troubled.

“The engines are acting awfully queerly again,” he said seriously; “I can’t make out what ails them. Everything appears to be all right, but still they’re not running as they ought.”

“Guess you’d better skip below and look at them, Ding-dong,” said Nat. “No offence meant, Joe, but Ding-dong is the mechanical crank of this outfit.”

Joe and Ding-dong were below some time, during which period the black squall about blew itself out, leaving only a heavy, blind swell to tell of its passing.

When the two lads came on deck again Nat saw at once that they had bad news.

“We’re pretty nearly out of gasolene, Nat,” announced Joe ruefully; “none of us thought to look at the main tank before we started out, and now we’ve only a few gallons left. We’ve pumped that into the auxiliary, and I guess we can limp along a few knots on it.”

“Great mackerel! That’s nice!” exclaimed Nat, shoving back his cap and scratching his curly forelock, a way he had when perplexed. “This is sure our day for troubles,” he added with a grin.

“Well, gee-whillakers, I don’t see what else can happen right off,” declared Joe.

“Unless we bub-bub-blow up,” said Ding-dong ominously.

“Shucks, we haven’t gasolene enough even for that!”

“And there’s none nearer than the island,” put in Nat. “Tell you what, boys, it’s tough on Mr. Jenkins, but there’s no help for it. We’ll have to try and reach the island and then see what is best to be done.”

“Well, there’s one good thing – we have a reputable physician on board now instead of that old Sartorius.”

“Gug-gug-glory! I dur-dur-don’t believe he’s a dur-dur-doctor at all,” snorted Ding-dong.

“Unless he’s a horse doctor,” quoth Joe, “and then any self-respecting steed would kick those whiskers off him.”

“All of which doesn’t help us in solving our problem,” struck in Nat. “We’re a good long distance from the island, but at that it’s nearer than any other place where we could get gas, by my calculations. Can we make it on what we’ve got in the tank?”

“We’ve gug-gug-got to,” rejoined the Nomad’s engineer with conviction.

The rugged outlines of Goat Island loomed over the Nomad’s bow an hour or more after the conversation just recorded. But the pace of the stalwart craft was pitifully slow compared to her usual rapid mode of progression. The entire ship’s company, some of them recruited under such strange circumstances, were on deck, with the exception, of course, of Mr. Jenkins and Dr. Sartorius. The latter had elected to remain below, but you may be sure that he was closely watched.

It was growing rapidly dusk. Nat noted with increasing uneasiness the slow gait of the Nomad and the still considerable distance to be covered by her before she reached her haven.

“I’ll tell you,” he said to Joe, who stood beside him, “we’ll put a wireless plant on the Nomad , and then in future if we get stuck we can at least flash word of our plight and get aid from some source or other.”

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Joe; “if only we had such a plant on board now we could send out a message for the gasolene boat that supplies the fishing fleet and be all right in a jiffy.”

But, fortunately for the boys, their troubles for the day at least appeared now to be over. The Nomad made her cove without further difficulty, although, as Joe remarked, “there was hardly another turn left in her.”

The party landed in the dinghy which had been towed safely by its stout hawser. Mr. Jenkins, thanks to the care of Dr. Chalmers, showed signs of rallying, and not long after he had been comfortably bestowed on a cot in the Motor Rangers’ hut he regained consciousness. Although the boys were burning to ask questions which would aid in elucidating the puzzling problem into which they had blundered, they were warned by Dr. Chalmers not to do so at the time.

“Let us give him time to collect his thoughts and not pester him by talking now,” he said. “Since I have heard your stories, I am just as curious as you are to find out the truth of the matter, and just where this Dr. Sartorius fits into the puzzle; for I am sure that he is a factor, and no beneficent one, in the case.”

A little later Dr. Chalmers decided that it would not be necessary to remove the injured man to the mainland that night. In fact, he was inclined to think that such a course might prove harmful. They all, therefore, determined to remain on the island all night. The boys were perfectly willing to adopt this course. They were all dog tired by the strenuous day which they had passed through, as were, indeed, all of the party. Dr. Sartorius sat sullenly in one corner of the shanty all the evening, only speaking in monosyllables, but the boys did not trouble themselves about him. After a hearty supper, all hands turned in and slept the sleep of the exhausted till morning.