The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific
Date: 2013-12-24T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Yachts -- Juvenile fiction; Telegraph; Wireless -- Juvenile fiction; Yachting -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific

Author: John Henry Goldfrap

Illustrator: A. O. Scott

Release date: December 24, 2013 [eBook #44503]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Demian Katz, Roger Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images
courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS ON THE PACIFIC ***

Half way to the shore a triangular fin came cruising near him.

THE
OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS
ON THE PACIFIC

BY

CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON

AUTHOR OF “THE BOY AVIATORS’ SERIES,” “THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS’
SERIES,” “THE OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC,” “THE
OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS AND THE LOST LINER,” “THE OCEAN
WIRELESS BOYS OF THE ICEBERG PATROL,” “THE
OCEAN WIRELESS BOYS AND THE NAVAL CODE,”
ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY
ARTHUR O. SCOTT

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1916,
BY
HURST & COMPANY

CONTENTS

I. | On the Broad Pacific | 5
II. | The Ocean in a Rage | 14
III. | A Long Night | 20
IV. | The Derelict | 26
V. | The “Centurion” | 33
VI. | A Mystery of the Seas | 39
VII. | An Old Enemy Oddly Met | 49
VIII. | “Land, Ho!” | 56
IX. | Through Hidden Dangers | 64
X. | Chumming with Savages | 72
XI. | The Cave of the Pearls | 78
XII. | A Trap! | 84
XIII. | On the Reef | 90
XIV. | Battling Man-eating Sharks | 97
XV. | A Message from the Deep | 104
XVI. | Alive on the Sea | 113
XVII. | An Encounter at Bomobori | 119
XVIII. | Donald Judson Again | 126
XIX. | He Tells a Strange Story | 132
XX. | A Traitor in Camp | 143
XXI. | A Memorable Night | 153
XXII. | Into the Jungle | 164
XXIII. | A Dangerous Tree | 171
XXIV. | Wireless at Work | 178
XXV. | A Jungle Hotel | 186
XXVI. | Prisoners of “Bully” Broom | 195
XXVII. | At the Old Fort | 203
XXVIII. | The Free-booter’s Demands | 209
XXIX. | The Rescue Party | 216
XXX. | In the Coils of a Python | 224
XXXI. | The Journey Resumed | 236
XXXII. | A Storm in the Jungle | 245
XXXIII. | The Giant Spiders | 260
XXXIV. | A Fight with a Hornbill | 272
XXXV. | The Heart of New Guinea | 280
XXXVI. | Found at Last! | 292

The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific.

CHAPTER I.—ON THE BROAD PACIFIC.

Twenty days out from San Francisco in the vast, heaving desert of the sea, twenty days of storm, sunshine and calm, the Sea Gypsy, the great white yacht of Jacob Jukes, head of the big Atlantic and Pacific Shipping Combine, was making her way lazily through the dreamy South Seas. The vessel was capable of great speed, being known as one of the fastest craft of her kind. But she was bound on a mission which might take a long time to consummate, and economy of coal, which was piled even on her decks, to re-enforce the supply in the bunkers, was necessary.

What this mission was remained, so far, a mystery to every one on board except Mr. Jukes himself, the iron-jawed and impenetrable organizer of the expedition. Up to this time he had shown no inclination to unburden himself of his secret, and although the craft was equipped with powerful wireless of the most modern type, the yacht had received no messages, nor had she sent any, under orders from Mr. Jukes.

On this particular evening Jack Ready leaned against the door of the wireless-room, a converted deck cabin, and covertly watched the heavy-shouldered, bull-necked form of the millionaire shipping man as the latter gazed over the rail across the vacant waters at the gorgeous sunset.

It was a true pageant of the heavens, such as is only to be seen in the Southern ocean. Great cloud-masses rose in wondrous forms, like glorified castle walls and turrets, glowing with purple and gold and red. Jack found himself following Mr. Jukes’ gaze. Although such spectacles had been almost nightly ones since they had steamed into the tropics, there was something wild and sinister about the present one that thrilled him.

Captain Septimus Sparhawk, the brown, gaunt captain of the yacht, whose thin face was decorated by two little dabs of grayish whiskers forward of each ear, passed by.

“Nothing to do but to look at the sky, eh?” he asked Jack, as a suspicion of a smile crept over his face.

“That’s about all, sir,” rejoined Jack, with a laugh. “I expect to see spiders spinning webs on my instruments every day. I haven’t touched the key since we sailed.”

The captain shook his head. He was an old and loyal employee of the shipping man, and not much given to words. But, apparently, now he felt called upon to express himself.

“It’s a queer business, lad,” he said, “and it may get queerer still before we find out what it’s all about. I’m as much in the dark as you or the cabin boy. But right now that sunset worries me more than anything else.”

“You’re on the look-out for a storm?” asked Jack, noting a sudden look of anxiety in the captain’s pale blue eyes, surrounded by a network of tiny wrinkles, due to long gazing into salty gales.

“Worse than that, Ready,” was the rejoinder. “This is the hurricane season in these parts and the glass,—I’ve just taken a squint at it,—is dropping as if it never meant to stop.”

“If I could use the wireless——” began Jack.

“We could probably get a weather reading from some other ship,” interrupted the captain, starting off, “but as it is, we might as well not have it on board at all. The thing’s got me stumped.”

He carried himself off on his long, thin legs but paused to speak to Mr. Jukes. The ship-owner, although Jack could not hear what was said, appeared to be agitated somewhat by the captain’s words, for he began puffing rapidly at his after-dinner cigar, sending out smoke like the exhaust of a locomotive funnel, a sure sign, as Jack had observed, that he was disturbed.

“I’ll make all snug, sir,” the boy heard the captain say, as he turned away, “and then we will be prepared for whatever happens.”

“Very well, Sparhawk,” answered Mr. Jukes, in a somewhat louder voice than he had used hitherto, “and be sure to see to it that the deck load of coal is secured safely. They tell me the bunkers are running low.”

As has been stated, the Sea Gypsy’s decks were piled high fore and aft with coal, kept in place by wooden bulkheads, which did not add to the appearance of the ship and encumbered progress from bow to stern. Only amidships, where the cabins were situated, was the deck clear. As the captain ascended the bridge he turned and gave an order to a petty officer and presently the crew could be seen at work lashing big tarpaulins down over the coal which was so important to keep the Sea Gypsy moving on her mysterious mission.

The news that the coal supply was running low in the bunkers was a surprise to Jack. He made for Billy Raynor’s cabin where the young chief engineer of the yacht was writing up his “log.”

“Yes, it’s right,” he rejoined to Jack’s question, “the loss of that deck load would be a serious matter. We’re a good many hundred miles from land and will have to tap the supply before long.”

“Billy, what on earth do you suppose is the object of this voyage?” demanded Jack abruptly.

“Blessed if I know, but I’m well satisfied with my promotion and job,” declared Raynor. “Cruising these wonderful seas in a yacht that’s a beauty, even if her decks are all littered up like a cattle boat’s, just about suits me.”

“That’s all right, you’ve got something to do,” complained Jack. “But look at my case. I have to polish up my instruments every day to keep them from getting rusty.”

“Serves you right for not stopping ashore and enjoying yourself,” chuckled Raynor teasingly. “Since you sold that ‘Universal Detector’ of yours to the government you could surely afford to.”

“Just as if I could kick my heels on shore doing nothing,” was Jack’s indignant reply, “but it does seem as if it’s about time we knew something of what this voyage is for.”

“Maybe it’s just a pleasure cruise to allow Mr. Jukes to get away from his business troubles,” hazarded Raynor.

Jack shook his head in decided negative.

“There’s more in it than that,” he declared positively. “Mr. Jukes is first of all a man of business. He wouldn’t come skylarking across the Pacific for three weeks if he was just out for a cruise. He’d go where he could keep in touch with the market and Wall Street.”

“That’s so,” Raynor was compelled to agree. “Well, I suppose when he gets ready to spill some information he’ll do it. In the meantime my job just suits me. But what made you ask about the deck coal?”

“Because Captain Sparhawk says we’re in for a bad blow, maybe a hurricane.”

Raynor’s usually cheerful face became suddenly serious.

“When did he say that?” he asked.

“Just now. They’re putting tarpaulins over it now. If we dropped it, we’d be in a bad fix, eh, Billy?”

“We’d have about coal enough left for two or three days,” rejoined Raynor.

“And after that——?”

“It would be a case of ‘merrily we drift along.’”

The door gave a sudden sharp slam. A puff of wind, sweeping suddenly over the hitherto breathless sea, had banged it shut.

Jack jumped up and swung it quickly open again.

“Here she comes,” he cried excitedly.

At the same instant the Sea Gypsy gave a sidelong lurch that sent both lads helter-skelter across the cabin. Outside came a sudden bawling of voices and a distant, disquieting roar that grew louder every second.

CHAPTER II.—THE OCEAN IN A RAGE.

Directly they recovered their sea legs, both lads made for the cabin door. A wonderful but alarming spectacle met their eyes. The sunset had been blotted out as if by magic. In its place was a ragged, inky-black cloud curtain that was being swept across the sky as if invisible, titanic hands were swiftly pulling it.

The sea immediately about them was heaving wildly in great swells that tumbled the Sea Gypsy, rendered less stable by her top-heavy load, from side to side. Far off, under the rushing black cloud, the forefront of which was almost over them by this time, was a jagged line of white.

Mr. Booth, the second mate, bundled up in oilskins, ran past the boys on his way to the bridge.

“Better get under cover,” he advised as he passed. “This is going to be a hummer.”

But, fascinated by the majestic sight, both boys stood still, clutching the rail and bracing themselves for the shock they felt was coming, for both had guessed that the jagged white line in the distance was a giant wave. Like a cliff of water it grew as it swept toward them, accompanied by a howling of the wind that sounded like a witches’ carnival. So swift was its advance that the boys had hardly time to run toward the cabin when it broke upon them.

The Sea Gypsy heeled like a ship that had been struck a mortal blow. For one instant she hung balanced as if she was about to capsize. The door of the cabin in which the boys had taken refuge was ripped from its hinges by the terrific force of the impact as if it had been matchwood.

The next moment both lads were struggling for their lives in a surging, sweeping smother of water that filled the cabin to the roof. Jack felt himself clutched by the hands of his chum. Fighting to keep himself above water, Jack saw that Raynor had been hurled against some object and been wounded. There was a jagged cut in his forehead.

He had hardly noticed this, when the Sea Gypsy staggered back to an even keel. As she did so the water swept out of the cabin like a millrace, carrying both boys helplessly with it.

Jack felt Raynor torn from his arms, and the next thing he realized he was struggling for his life in the waves that reared and roared above the floundering yacht.

A month before the events we are describing took place, Jack Ready, the young wireless operator of the Sea Gypsy, and his inseparable chum, Billy Raynor, had been summoned to Mr. Jukes’ New York office and told that they were detached from duty on the big Columbia, the crack liner of the Jukes’ ships, and ordered to pack their things forthwith and meet the ship-owner at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco within a week. Neither had demurred, supposing some interest of the ship-owners called for their presence there. But, much to their bewilderment, they had each been handed a substantial check by Mr. Jukes on his arrival in the western metropolis, told to outfit themselves for a long voyage, and nothing more. Two days later the Sea Gypsy cleared the harbor.

The acquaintance of Jack and Mr. Jukes had its beginning in certain events which took place near Jack’s quaint home, which he shared with an eccentric uncle on an old schooner in the Erie Basin in New York. The rescue by Jack of Mr. Jukes’ little daughter, and the result on his affairs, were fully detailed in the first volume of this series, which was called “The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Atlantic.” This is not the place to re-tell all the exciting adventures that befell Jack and young Raynor, who was third engineer on the steamer to which Jack was assigned, in fulfillment of his ambition to be a “wireless man.”

Nor can we do more here than to hint at the contents of the second volume. This was called “The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Lost Liner,” and set forth the fate of the Tropic Queen. In this book we found Jack and his inseparable chum steadily progressing in their chosen professions, and also met several other characters, all of whom had an important bearing on the events of the boys’ lives. Mr. Jukes took formal recognition of the part Jack played in the disaster that overtook the Tropic Queen, and inwardly resolved that his heroism and devotion to duty had made him a lad worth watching.

Still a third volume followed, describing the boys’ further adventures. In the “Ocean Wireless Boys of the Iceberg Patrol,” much interesting information about the manner in which the ocean lanes are guarded from the white menace of the north, was given. The boys shared in many thrilling adventures also, and ended by discovering something that an expedition, at the head of which was Jack’s Uncle Toby, had almost lost through the tricks of a band of hard characters.

The fourth book setting forth their doings was called “The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Naval Code.” Captain Simms of the U. S. N., after devising a novel code for the use of this government, through the machinations of a band of daring rascals, found himself robbed of it. Wireless played a big part in the recovery of the documents in the long run, Jack acquitting himself to the delight of the naval officials and the government by his work in this connection. Some of the miscreants, whose tricks Jack had helped to frustrate, were sent to prison but others got free. These latter the boys, though they little suspected it, were destined to meet again.

CHAPTER III.—A LONG NIGHT.

Blinded, choked and with a red mist before his eyes, and in his ears the roar of waters, Jack fought the undertow of the retreat of the giant wave with all his strength. All at once he felt some heavy object hurled against him.

The force of the collision almost knocked what little breath remained in his body out of his lungs. Instinctively he reached out for whatever it was that had struck him.

It was a human body.

The boy had hardly realized this before he found himself flung, panting and gasping, down upon the deck. Thanks to the stays of the foremost of the Sea Gypsy’s two masts, against which the retreating wave had pitched him, he had not been drawn overboard. Instead, as the pressure of water relaxed, it had dropped him and the mute burden he had clasped, to the deck.

For a few minutes Jack lay there panting, too much exhausted to exert a muscle or limb. The unconscious form hurtled against him by the swirling waters lay at his side. It was too dark for Jack to see then who it was, or if life remained in the motionless figure. By-and-by, as his strength came back, he got to his feet and dragged the limp form to a cabin. It proved to be the one which the great wave had swept from Jack so unceremoniously. Luckily, although the seas were thundering mountains high about the laboring yacht, none like that first terrific comber assailed her.

Steadying himself on the rocking floor with much difficulty, Jack fumbled for the electric switch. He found it at last and let on a flood of light. The radiance shed itself on a pale face with a deeply slashed forehead that lay at the boy’s feet.

“It’s Billy,” choked the boy. He got on his knees by Raynor’s unconscious form and gently raised his chum’s head. It fell back limply. A blood-chilling thought surged through Jack and he grew as white as the lad he held.

He put his hand hastily over Raynor’s heart and a great wave of relief went through him. His chum’s heart was beating, although feebly. It was not too late to save him. It was a hard task for Jack to stagger across that bounding, reeling floor, carrying the limp and unconscious Raynor, but at last he managed to accomplish it, and deposited the injured young engineer in the bunk that occupied one side of the latter’s cabin. Then he washed and dressed the injury as best he could.

“Now I’ll have to get help,” said the boy to himself. “The captain’s got a medicine chest and bandages, but we have no doctor. I’ll go and find the skipper.”

It was a hard task for Jack to stagger across that bounding, reeling floor, carrying the limp and unconscious Raynor.

Out upon the dripping decks, over which a wave crest would every now and then curl, with a roar like that of a waterfall, Jack once more emerged. Clawing at hand-holds and desperately clinging on now and then when a wave threatened to tear loose his grip, he wormed his way forward. As he reached the bridge deck, he heard a thunderous roar forward, and the Sea Gypsy, as if she had been freed of a burden, made a sudden plunge skyward, with her bow pointing almost straight at the obscured heavens.

“There goes the fore-deck load of coal,” thought Jack, as he made his way to where, in the lee of the pilot house some obscure figures stood huddled. Ten minutes later he and the gaunt form of Captain Sparhawk were bending over Raynor, as he lay white and still, in his bunk. With rough skill the captain dressed the wound.

“It’s a wonder that Mr. Jukes wouldn’t have brought a doctor along,” he muttered. “He’s carrying a rapid-fire gun, so why not sawbones, too?”

“Where is Mr. Jukes?” demanded Jack suddenly.

“In his cabin, I guess. I haven’t seen him since this ocean tantrum broke out.”

“The—the rapid-fire gun you spoke about?” asked Jack.

The other looked at him in some confusion.

“Confound my habit of talking to myself,” he exclaimed. “Did you hear that?”

“I couldn’t help it,” apologised Jack. “Are we going to fight any one?”

“You must ask Mr. Jukes that,” answered the captain, non-committally. “It’s up to him to tell what he wants to. All I know is that there is one on board. Maybe he brought it along to shoot clay pigeons with. Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“Well,” he added, “I’ve got to get for’ard again. I guess our young ship-mate will do now. He had a nasty crack though. Both of you are lucky you’re not in Davy Jones’ locker.”

All through the rest of that tempestuous night Jack sat by his chum, dozing off at times and then waking with a start to hear the uproar of the hurricane as they struggled through it. The dawn showed a troubled sea, leaping at the yacht as though to engulf her. The wind almost flattened Jack against the deck house as, Raynor having sunk into a deep sleep after an interval of consciousness, the young wireless man set out to see what chance there was for breakfast.

The companionway to the dining saloon on the deck below was in the after part of the ship. As he was about to descend an unusually big wave lifted the Sea Gypsy dizzily skyward, and then rushed her downward. There was a heave and a crash from the stern and Jack saw the after deck load of coal vanish like a black avalanche, to be swallowed up in the maw of the sea.

“Worse, and more of it,” he muttered, as some of the crew who had narrowly escaped being overwhelmed, set up a shout; “this will be bad news to give poor old Billy.”

CHAPTER IV.—THE DERELICT.

Two days later the hurricane had blown itself out. The storm-stressed crew were set to work putting things to rights and the yacht put on more of her normal appearance. But she had been sadly battered for all that. Two boats were stove in, ventilators smashed and stanchions bent and twisted by the fury of the waves.

The flat, oily sea that succeeded the wild turmoil of the hurricane, heaved gently without a ripple as Jack and Raynor, the latter recovered but still wearing a bandage round his head, stood looking over the rail into the glassy waters.

So transparent was the ocean that, under them, they could see great fish swimming about slowly and lazily, as if life held no hurry for them. Now and then a great shark glided by, nosing about the ship for scraps. His sharp, triangular dorsal fin stuck from his back like a blue steel knife cutting the surface and glistening like a thing of metal. About these great tigers of the deep, two smaller fish usually hovered. These were pilot fish, the strange sea-creatures that invariably accompany sharks, and are supposed by sailors to pilot them to their prey.

Then there were queer-looking “gonies,” with their flat heads winging their way above the water and every now and then dropping, with a scream and a splash, in a group of a dozen to fight furiously over some drifting morsel. After these tussles they appeared to “run” over the water to give their heavy, awkward bodies a good start upward. Then, having attained a certain height, down they would flop again, like weights shooting through the air, hitting the water with a heavy splash and sliding, with a white wake behind them, for some feet.

Schools of nautilus, too, gave them something to look at as the delicate little creatures, with their thin, membranous sails set, drifted by under the gentle breeze that hardly ruffled the water.

“Doesn’t look much as if this ocean could ever have kicked up the ructions it did, eh, Billy?” remarked Jack, after a long silence.

“It does not,” replied Raynor, with a rueful grin, “but I owe it this crack on the head.”

“And the loss of that coal,” chimed in Jack. “No wonder you look glum, old fellow. We’ll never make port on what’s below.”

“Not a chance of it,” was the rejoinder, “about all we can do is to use the sails if the worst comes to the worst.”

“Well, as we don’t appear to have any port in view, and nothing to do but to keep on drifting about like another Flying Dutchman, I don’t see that it much matters where we fetch up,” commented Jack, with some irritation.

It was at that instant that there came an interruption. The voice of the sea-man at the look-out forward broke the spell.

“Steamer, ho!” he shouted.

“Where away?” came a hoarse voice from the bridge, that of Mr. Jolliffe, the first officer.

“Three p’ints on the starbo’d bow.”

“Let’s go forward and have a look,” suggested Jack. “You’re not on watch for some time yet.”

“I’m with you,” agreed Raynor. “Anything for variety’s sake. Wonder what ship it is?”

“Too far off to make out yet,” said Jack, as, far off, they could just about see, by straining their eyes, a small dark speck on the distant horizon.

“I don’t see any smoke,” said Raynor. “Perhaps it’s a sailing ship after all.”

“We’ll know before long,” was Jack’s reply.

During an interval in which the Sea Gypsy drew steadily toward the craft that had, by this time, excited the attention of all on board, the boys saw Mr. Jukes emerge from his cabin and take his place on the bridge beside Captain Sparhawk. That bronzed mariner handed the millionaire his glasses and Mr. Jukes’ rather fat, pallid face took on an unwonted hue of excitement as he handed them back.

The boys standing on the main deck just below the bridge heard the owner of the yacht putting sharp questions. He showed more animation than he had at any time during the voyage. The sight of the other craft appeared to affect him curiously.

“She’s a schooner, Sparhawk.”

“Undoubtedly, sir.”

“But although she has her canvas set she is making no way.”

“That appears to be correct. But there is little wind. Odd though that she doesn’t signal us.”

Mr. Jukes snatched up the glasses again from the shelf where he had laid them down.

“Blessed if I can make out a soul on board her, Sparhawk,” he exclaimed presently. “Here, try what you can do.”

He handed the binoculars over to the master of the Sea Gypsy. Captain Sparhawk took a prolonged observation. When he, in turn, laid the glasses down his thin, mahogany-hued face bore a puzzled look.

“It’s queer, sir, but I don’t seem to be able to make out a living soul either.”

“A derelict, perhaps?”

“Possibly,” assented the captain, and no more was said as, with all eyes fixed on the strange schooner, the Sea Gypsy drew nearer. The boys could now make out every detail of the other craft. She was a trig-looking schooner, painted black, with a flush deck except for her after house and a small structure astern of the fore-mast. Her canvas was set but it flapped idly in the light breeze as she swung to and fro on the Pacific swells. No guiding hand could be seen at her wheel. Not a soul was visible on her deserted decks.

There is no more melancholy sight than a sea derelict, the aimless prey of winds and currents, drifting sometimes for years over the trackless wastes of the ocean. The boys felt something of this as all doubt as to human occupancy of the schooner vanished.

“Deserted, I reckon,” hazarded Jack. “Although her canvas appears perfect, her hull sound and——”

He broke off sharply. From the abandoned ship there had suddenly come a sound which, under the circumstances, was particularly depressing and even startling.

It was the measured tolling of a bell, like a funeral knell.

CHAPTER V.—THE “CENTURION.”

“Hark!” cried Raynor, as the two boys exchanged glances.

“I have it,” exclaimed Jack the next instant. “That’s only the tolling of the ship’s bell as the schooner rolls on the sea.”

“My, it gave me a jump though,” admitted Raynor. “Hullo, they are slowing down. Must be going to board her.”

“Evidently,” agreed Jack, as the Sea Gypsy’s propeller revolved more and more slowly.

Captain Sparhawk descended from the bridge. The ponderous form of Mr. Jukes followed him. The millionaire’s face bore a look of strange excitement.

“Of course that can’t be the schooner,” the boys heard him say to the captain, “but still I can’t pass it unsearched.”

His eye fell on the boys.

“Lads, we are going to board that schooner and try to find out something about her,” he said. “Do you want to go along?”

These were the first words the boys had had with their employer in some days. Of course both jumped at the chance, and before many minutes passed, one of the yacht’s remaining boats was being sent over the sea at a fast clip toward the derelict. Close inspection showed the schooner’s condition not to be as good as it had seemed at a distance. Her paint was blistered and the oakum calking was spewing out of her sun-dried seams like Spanish moss on an aged tree. Her sails were mildewed and torn in many places and her ropes bleached and frayed. Mingling now with the incessant, melancholy tolling of the bell, came the monotonous creak of her booms and gaffs as they swung rhythmically to and fro.

No name appeared on her bow, although blurred tracings of white paint showed that one had once been inscribed there. But there was a yellow-painted figurehead; a stern, Roman-nosed bust of a man, apparently intended for an emperor or a warrior.

“We’ll row round the stern and take a look at her name,” decided Captain Sparhawk. “We’ll have to climb aboard from the other side anyway. There is no means of scrambling up from this.”

The boat was turned and rowed under the graceful stern of the derelict. On it, in bold, raised letters, surrounded by a fanciful design, stood out, in fading colors, the lost craft’s name.

“Centurion, San Francisco,” read out Jack, with an odd thrill. There was a sudden exclamation from Mr. Jukes, who had not yet been able to make out more than the first few letters.

“What’s that?” he exclaimed, in a voice so sharp and tense that the boys turned and stared at him, as did the boat’s crew and Captain Sparhawk.

Jack repeated his answer and, to his astonishment, Mr. Jukes, the iron-jawed, self-possessed business man, who had never shown signs of possessing any more emotion than a stone, suddenly sunk his head in his hands with a groan.

“Too late after all,” they heard him mutter unsteadily. But when he again raised his face, although it was ashy pale, he appeared to have mastered himself.

“Well, we’ve reached the end of our journey, Sparhawk,” he remarked in a voice that he rendered steady by an apparent effort. “Let us go on board, however, and see if we can find some trace of the unfortunates of the Centurion.”

The captain looked as if he would have liked to ask a great many questions, but something in Mr. Jukes’ face rendered him silent. He gave the necessary orders and the boat was pulled round to the other side of the schooner. Here they were glad to find some dilapidated ropes dangling which afforded a means of getting on board. Two sailors, after first testing their weight-bearing qualities, scrambled up them like monkeys, and, under the captain’s orders, went hunting for a Jacob’s ladder which would support Mr. Jukes’ ponderous weight. One was found and lowered, and soon all stood on the silent decks which for so long had not echoed the footsteps of a human being.

“Away forward and muzzle that bell, some of you,” ordered the captain briskly. “The sound of the thing gets on my nerves.”

“Send them all forward,” supplemented Mr. Jukes. “Tell them to search the forecastle, anything to keep them busy. We will examine the cabins and officers’ quarters.”

“Are we to accompany you, sir?” asked Jack hesitatingly.

For a fraction of a second the millionaire seemed plunged in thought. Then he arrived at one of his characteristic quick decisions.

“Why not?” he asked, half to himself it seemed. “Later I shall have something to say to all of you. You have wondered at the object of this cruise, no doubt?”

Captain Sparhawk nodded gravely.

“I have guessed you had some great end to serve in it, Mr. Jukes,” he said.

“An end which has now been reached, I fear,” said the millionaire solemnly. “But come, let us proceed with our examination.”

CHAPTER VI.—A MYSTERY OF THE SEAS.

At first glance Jack saw that the main cabin of the Centurion was fitted up with a luxuriousness not common to mere trading schooners. A silver hanging lamp of elaborate design, silk curtains at the stern ports, book-cases filled with handsomely bound volumes and the thick carpets on the floor, clearly indicated that whoever had occupied it had been above the class of the rough and ready South Sea trader.

In one corner stood a desk as handsome in its appointments as the rest of the furniture. But it had been roughly dealt with. The front had been smashed in, drawers pulled out and papers and documents scattered about all over the cabin floor. The door to a sleeping cabin leading off the main apartment was open. Within was the same disorder. Even mattresses had been ripped open in a hunt for something, the nature of which the boys could not guess.

Mr. Jukes hastily rummaged through the contents of the desk, selecting some papers, casting aside others as worthless, and gathered up on his hands and knees those on the floor. Then every cabin was searched and in each the millionaire took a few papers, but the look of anxiety on his face did not change, and the boys judged he had not found what he was in search of.

“Not a solitary clue,” he exclaimed with a heavy sigh as, dust-covered and perspiring from his exertions, he sank down at the long dining table in the main cabin. For a time he appeared lost in thought and the others stood about silently. To Jack it was almost awe-inspiring, to see this over-mastering man of affairs, who bullied whole corporations into his way of thinking, sitting there in the cabin of the derelict schooner utterly at a loss, and apparently defeated. At length Mr. Jukes spoke. His first words were a surprise:

“I suppose you all have heard of my brother, Jerushah Jukes?” he asked.

“The traveler and explorer?” asked Captain Sparhawk. “I guess every one in America knows of him, Mr. Jukes.”

Paying no attention to the captain’s reply, the millionaire went on.

“The papers reported some months ago that he had set out for Central Africa.”

“I read the account,” said Jack, “but——”

Mr. Jukes waved his hand. The boy fell into an abashed silence; in a second the millionaire had changed once more from a crushed, defeated human being into Jacob Jukes, millionaire and king of commerce.

“He did not go to Africa,” he said. “Instead, his destination was the South Pacific. He chartered this schooner, the Centurion, and the last I heard of him was when he set sail from San Francisco. If no news of him was received within a certain time I promised him to come in search of him. You see,” he added with a simplicity new from him, “he was my younger brother and I promised my mother on her death-bed always to look after him.”

There was a pause. In the silence of the long-deserted cabin they could hear the dismal creak of the neglected rudder and the bang-banging of the swinging spars above.

“We were poor then, miserably poor, and my mother never lived to see the rise of our fortunes, for as I advanced in business I helped my brother up, too. But his bent was not for finance. He had a streak of the adventurous in him. But I put it to paying purpose. I seldom lose on any venture.” Unconsciously as it seemed, the hard vein in Jacob Jukes had cropped out again. “I decided to put my brother on a paying basis. The results were good. Concessions in South America, gold mines in Alaska, and certain South African enterprises were put through, largely through his instrumentality.

“And now, to get down to the present time. The Centurion was chartered to obtain for Mrs. Jukes, who has a craze for expensive and rare jewelry, the ‘Tear of the Sea,’ the most famous pearl of the South Seas. I had obtained information of its whereabouts in the Pomoutou Archipelago through means which are not important to relate here. I thought that an expedition to purchase the ‘Tear of the Sea’ and, incidentally, other pearls, would be a good investment and keep my brother, who was getting restless, in occupation.

“In the meantime, however, a dishonest employee managed to get wind of what was about to take place and furnished the information to a firm of European jewelers with agents in New York and all over the world. From that moment, I rushed through the Centurion’s expedition with all possible speed, for I knew the conditions of competition in the Pacific. There is little more law among pearl traders than there is north of fifty-three. My brother knew this as well as I did and realised the necessity for haste. Moreover, we knew that the European firm was anxious to obtain, for a royal customer, the very pearl that I was after. In addition, this firm was known as one of the most unscrupulous in gaining its ends, and maintained, in the South Pacific, a system of spies and bullies which brought most of the pearl hunters’ prizes into their hands. Ugly stories have been told of their methods of gaining their ends—and—and I am afraid the fate of the Centurion will have to be added to the black list.”

“There is nothing in the papers to show what happened to your brother, sir?” asked Captain Sparhawk presently.

“Nothing. They are merely formal documents, ship’s papers, clearance bills and so forth. There is no memorandum relating to the pearl in any way.”

Captain Sparhawk knitted his brows. For a minute he appeared lost in deep thought.

“Do you mind telling us the name of that firm, sir?” he asked at last.

“There is nothing we can prove against them,” said the millionaire. “They work without their hands showing in any of their ugly transactions. Their name, however, is F—— & Freres.”

“Of Amsterdam?” queried the captain.

“The same. They have practically a monopoly of the pearl trade of Europe.”

“I know that, sir,” said the captain, clenching his hands. “They tried to work their tricks on a ship-mate of mine who went a-pearl trading. But, sir, to change the subject, did you ever hear of ‘Bully’ Broom?”

The millionaire shook his head.

“I have; and have good cause to remember him,” said the captain. “But none of that at this time. Sir,” he continued earnestly, “your brother may be as safe and sound as we are. He may have the pearl. But if neither of these things have happened, Bully Broom is the man to look for if we have to hunt him all over the Pacific. I’ve sailed these seas and know that ‘Bully’ Broom did F—— & Co.’s dirty work for them. He calls himself a trader, but, like lots of others doing business under that name in these waters, ‘Pirate’ would be a sight better name for him.”

“And you think that this man ‘Bully’ Broom, as you call him, has something to do with this mysterious disappearance of my brother?” asked Mr. Jukes, who had listened with deep attention, willing to hear of any clue, however slight.

“I ain’t dead sure,” said the captain, “but it’s my impression that if the firm you spoke of was after this ‘Tear of the Sea,’ then ‘Bully’ Broom knows where Jerushah Jukes is,” and he brought his lean, gnarled fist down with a thump on the table.

The old ginger came back into Mr. Jukes’ eyes, the wonted crisp authority into his voice as he snapped out:

“That being the case, we’ll find ‘Bully’ Broom.”

“No matter where we have to go?” asked Captain Sparhawk, raising his eyebrows.

“We’ll scour the whole Pacific if necessary. But nobody of the Sea Gypsy’s crew need accompany her against his will. All I ask is that they remain till we can touch at some civilised port, such as Papeiti or Honolulu and ship a man in his place. Do you boys wish to stick?”

“To the finish,” came from Jack, and Raynor, standing beside him, nodded his assent.

As for Captain Sparhawk, he simply reached out one of his brown hands toward the millionaire, who clasped it, and said:

“I’m with you till the bottom drops out of the ship.”

“Thank you, Sparhawk. It’s what I expected of you all,” said Mr. Jukes quietly, but his voice shook.

Thus, in the desolated cabin of the derelict Centurion, there was ratified a bargain that was to lead the boys into strange seas and stranger adventures.

CHAPTER VII.—AN OLD ENEMY ODDLY MET.

The lads stood on the stern deck of the Sea Gypsy, gazing behind them. On the horizon hovered a tall, black column of smoke. It marked the last resting place of the Centurion, for Mr. Jukes, after ransacking the cabin of everything associated with his brother, had decided to burn the derelict, which, if she had drifted into the paths of navigation, might have proved a dangerous menace.

“Well, Billy, the mystery is solved at last,” said Jack.

“Yes, and in a way I’d never have guessed in a thousand years. Mr. Jukes must be very fond of his brother. It’s a new side of his character to me.”

“Same here,” agreed Jack. “While he has always been just and kind, I thought him a regular man of business, with ice-water instead of red blood in his veins, and his heart in his enterprises only.”

“Just goes to show that you are liable to run up against a streak of sentiment when you least expect it,” said Raynor.

“I see now why an embargo was put on the wireless,” said Jack presently.

“I can’t figure it out. I should have thought he would have used it to try and locate the Centurion.”

“I guess he figured that if he did so, some ship might pick up the message and it would reach the ears of that Amsterdam firm and they would find out about this expedition in search of Jerushah Jukes.”

“Perhaps that’s it. But there’s one thing sure and certain, Jack.”

“And that is——?”

“That we can’t do much without coal.”

“Jove, that’s true; I’d forgotten that. What rotten luck! Where is the nearest coaling place?”

“Papeiti, in Tahiti, I reckon.”

“How close are we to that port now?”

“Well, to-day’s reckoning puts us in Latitude 29 degrees, 49 minutes.”

“I’ll have to look at the map, but that makes it quite a run.” The second mate came bustling up to Raynor.

“The skipper and Mr. Jukes want to see you in the captain’s cabin,” he said.

“Do you know what about?” asked Raynor.

“Coal, I think. How much have you got to keep those old tea-kettles of yours chugging?”

“Precious little since your gang on deck let that deck-load be washed overboard,” grinned Raynor, as he hurried off.

The consultation lasted a long time. But at length Raynor returned with the news that, for as long as possible, full speed was to be made with the coal in hand, and that then canvas would be spread, for the Sea Gypsy was schooner rigged and in addition carried a big square sail on her foremast.

For two days good time was made, but when Raynor, with a rueful face, announced that only a few shovelfuls more coal remained in the bunkers, they were still many weary sea-miles from their destination. However, sailors are proverbially inclined to make the best of things. The Sea Gypsy’s canvas was bent, and under a spanking breeze they glided, at a fair speed, over the sparkling waters, while in the engine room the fires were drawn and the engines grew cold.

But a steam vessel, while she will behave fairly well under canvas, is not designed for sail and makes an astonishing amount of what sailors call “lee-way,” that is, the wind, if it blows a’beam, constantly drives her side-ways, or crab-fashion, of a direct course, so that for every mile she makes in a forward direction a considerable amount of lee-way has to be deducted. For this reason all hands looked forward to a long and tedious voyage before the highlands of Tahiti were sighted.

Now that there was no doubt as to the fate of the Centurion, and no danger of her being captured, the Sea Gypsy’s wireless was set to work again. But they were traveling a lonely tract of the Pacific, and no answer came to Jack’s messages, nor did he “listen in” on any outside conversations.

Captain Sparhawk was in hopes of encountering an English, French or German cruiser, for all those nations keep war craft in these Pacific waters to watch out for pearl pirates and other law-breakers, but the wireless failed to pick any up, although Jack worked it assiduously.

For two days the favoring breeze that was helping the crippled Sea Gypsy along held. Then there fell a flat calm, and the glass began to drop ominously. Captain Sparhawk went about with a grave face. Jack gathered from a few remarks the reserved seaman had let fall, that he expected another hurricane. Situated as she was, the Sea Gypsy’s predicament would be a serious one if such a tornado as the one she had safely weathered were to strike her now. The sailors stood about in little knots discussing the situation and casting anxious glances at the horizon. Mr. Jukes and the captain and officers spent long hours on the bridge in careful consultation.

Before the sun set, the question as to whether or no the Sea Gypsy was in for a second fight with the elements was definitely settled. Thunder and lightning deafened and blinded the voyagers. Rain descended as only tropical rain can, flooding the decks and blinding the look-outs and the officers on the bridge. The Sea Gypsy’s canvas was reduced, only enough being kept on to keep her from literally rolling her hull under the towering water mountains.

The crew clawed their way about the decks by holding fast to life-lines which Captain Sparhawk had ordered stretched when the storm broke. Raynor, coming on deck to report that all was well below, met Jack on his way back to the lower regions of the ship.

“Well, old fellow, this is a corker and no mistake,” he observed, raising his voice in order to make it audible above the frantic battle noises of the storm.

“It’s the worst yet,” Jack agreed.

“And it will be worse than ever before it gets better, according to the way Captain Sparhawk put it when I reported to him,” said the young engineer.

“Hullo, what’s that?” exclaimed Jack suddenly.

“We hit something,” shouted Raynor. “Look at the watch running forward.”

“Storm or no storm, I’m going forward to see what’s up,” ejaculated Jack, and, followed by Raynor, he hurried toward the bow where several of the oil-skin coated crew were already clustered.

CHAPTER VIII.—“LAND, HO!”

It was a fight every inch of the way, but at last they reached the bow and found the sailors bending over the recumbent form of a youth.

“What has happened? What did we strike?” asked Jack of one of the sailors.

“Struck a small boat,” was the reply. “How it ever lived in this sea is a wonder. This fellow was in it.”

“Is he all right?”

“No; about half dead,” rejoined the third mate. “Carry him aft, men, and put him in one of the spare cabins. With care he may pull through. I’m going to notify the captain,” and he hurried off.

Several men picked up the form of the rescued one. Jack suddenly saw his face, pale as death, with his wet hair hanging over his forehead.

“Great guns, Billy!” he gasped.

“What is it? What’s the matter? Do you know him?” queried Raynor.

“Know him? I should say so. So do you. It’s Harvey Thurman.”

“Impossible.”

“Not at all. Take a look at him yourself.”

“By George, you are right. What a strange happening,” declared Raynor, after taking one glance at the youth the crew were bearing off.

“What in the world can he be doing in this part of the ocean in a small boat?” wondered Jack.

“I’ve no idea. We’ll have to wait till he comes to, if he ever does. I remember hearing now that he had got a job on a Pacific steamer. Perhaps it had been wrecked and he was a castaway.”

“Possibly,” agreed Jack. “I’m glad we saved him, although he has made a lot of trouble for us in the past.”

As readers of “The Ocean Wireless Boys and the Naval Code” will recall, it was Harvey Thurman who was assistant wireless man on the Columbia and whose dislike of Jack and Billy resulted in his joining their enemies in an effort to discredit them. After the stolen code was recovered, Thurman was not, like the rest engaged in the rascally business, sent to prison, but was allowed to go free at the boys’ behest, as they believed he had been badly influenced more than anything else.

“So you know him?” said Captain Sparhawk, as they all stood in the cabin to which Thurman had been taken and restoratives were administered to the unfortunate youth.

“Indeed we do,” said both boys, and they told the captain something of their experiences.

“He is not a desirable character then?” said the captain.

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Jack. “We thought he was influenced by bad companions. But at any rate he had no liking for us. Is he going to get better?”

“I think so. See, he is opening his eyes.”

Thurman’s face, under the influence of the restoratives, had become suffused by a faint flush of color. He looked wildly about him. As his gaze rested first on Jack and then on Raynor he looked like a sleeper newly awakened from a night-mare.

“Gracious, am I dreaming?” he gasped.

“No, my lad,” said the captain, “but you had a close call from going into a sleep from which you never would have awakened.”

“But Ready and Raynor! What are they doing here?”

“Oh, we’re solid enough. Nothing ghostly about us,” Jack assured him, extending his hand. “Congratulations on your narrow escape from death, and—and we’ll let bygones be bygones.”

“I never meant to be really bad,” said Thurman weakly.

“Say no more about it,” advised Billy. “But tell us how you came to be adrift in such a fearful storm in that dinky little boat.”

“Better let him eat some soup first,” said the captain, taking a steaming bowl from the steward, from whom he had ordered it for the relief of the castaway, “he’s half starved.”

The way in which Thurman gulped down the grateful food showed that this statement was no exaggeration.

“That’s the first food I’ve had in two days,” he declared. “You see, when the Galilee, that was the schooner I was on board of, sank in the storm some days ago, I escaped in the boat. We launched two altogether, but I guess the other one was lost.”

“Begin at the beginning,” suggested Jack.

“All right then. It was this way, Ready: After my—er—my little trouble with you I came west. I got a job as assistant wireless man at a lonely station on one of the Caroline Islands. But I couldn’t stand the life and resigned. No regular steamers touch there, so I got passage on the Galilee, a little trading schooner for Papeiti. She sprang a leak and sank, and there was only a loaf of bread and a few cans of meat in the boat when I shoved off from the sinking hulk. It was all I had time to put in. What happened after that till you bumped into me and saved me is like a bad dream. I guess I was crazy most of the time. I never expected to be saved, and—and I guess it has been a good lesson to me.”

“If it has made you resolve to reform, it will not have been wasted,” said Jack. And he then told Thurman something about themselves. Captain Sparhawk promised that as soon as Thurman was stronger he would find a job for him, for the boys’ old enemy was penniless, having left his wallet behind him in his haste at fleeing from the sinking schooner.

All that night the tempest raged with unabated fury. At times it seemed as if the yacht must go to pieces, so sadly was she wrenched and buffeted by the giant combers. There was little sleep for any on board that night and the day broke wildly on a worried, harried-looking crew. Shortly before noon the foresail tore away from the bolt ropes, and split with a noise like the explosion of a cannon. This accident was almost immediately followed by a shout from the lookout.

“Land, ho!”

This cry, ordinarily one hailed with delight by sailors, was not thus received on the Sea Gypsy. Captain Sparhawk had been unable to get an observation during the days of storm, and what with this, and the heavy lee drift made by the yacht, he had no idea of his whereabouts.

At the shout all hands clambered to points of vantage to see what islands they could be approaching. As the Sea Gypsy rose dizzily on the top of a great wave Jack saw, with a flash of alarm, that they were headed straight for a large island dotted with tropical verdure and tall, wind-bent palms about which rocks bristled menacingly like hungry fangs awaiting to penetrate the Sea Gypsy’s stout hull.

CHAPTER IX.—THROUGH HIDDEN DANGERS.

Critical moments followed. Captain Sparhawk navigated the Sea Gypsy among the rocks with marvelous seamanship. Time and again a shout of dismay went up from the sailors as the yacht almost grazed some huge black rock or scraped a coral reef. But the passage was negotiated with safety, and finally the sea-battered yacht lay snug and safe in the lee of the island and all hands drew a long breath of relief.

“Let go the anchor,” came the command, and the cable roared out of the hawser holes with a savage shout, as if of joy, at the ship’s delivery.

“Where under the sun are we?” asked Mr. Jukes of Captain Sparhawk, as soon as these maneuvers had been completed.

“I have no more idea than you, sir,” was the reply. “But it looks to me as if this island must be one of the Pamatous.”

“One of the pearl islands?” asked the millionaire.

“The very same. But I cannot be sure. Islands are sown pretty thickly in this part of the Pacific.”

“Are the Pamatou people cannibals?” asked Jack.

“I don’t think so,” said the captain, “but before I send a boat ashore I am going to deal out arms to the landing party. We want to run no risks. I shall also put a guard on the ship, for these savages are great thieves and they might see a chance for some piratical tricks in our dilemma.”

“The machine gun will come in handy then,” said Mr. Jukes.

“Yes, indeed, sir. I’ll give orders to have it mounted at once in a conspicuous place so if any of the gentry ashore have any rascally designs they can see we’re ready for them with a dose of cold lead.”

Jack, after some difficulty, secured permission for himself and Raynor to go ashore with the landing party. Mr. Jukes, who remained on board, was unwilling that they take the risk of a hostile attack, but at last he yielded, and the boys, in high glee, buckled on cartridge belts and selected rifles from the ship’s armory.

“Keep the rifles in the bottom of the boat,” ordered the captain, as they shoved off, “and don’t use them unless you absolutely have to.”

Although the place where they lay was sheltered, the storm was still howling and shrieking above the island and the sea ran rather high. The inclement weather, no doubt, explained why no natives had so far been seen.

A landing was successfully made in the surf, the men leaping from the boat and dragging her ashore, waist-deep in water. Dense foliage, among which could be seen the huge fronds of the banana, and broad-leaved breadfruit trees grew almost down to the dazzlingly white beach. Further back great palms, laden with cocoanuts, towered majestically above the tropic growth.

“There seems to be no sign of a village here,” said the captain.

“Perhaps it is on the other side of the island,” suggested Jack.

“Well, we’ll tramp along the beach and see what we can find,” decided the man in command of the “expedition.”

Four men were told off to guard the boat, with orders to fire three shots if anything out of the way occurred. The party in search of the village was to signal in the same way if anything untoward happened and they needed help.

“Shall we carry the rifles?” asked Jack.

“Yes; but try to conceal them as much as possible,” counseled the captain.

They set off along the beach, walking briskly, for the sand was firm and hard. Looking back at the anchored yacht, they could see the glitter of the machine-gun with a man stationed beside it. The gun was trained on the shore ready for instant use against any possible attack. After traversing a short distance they came in sight of what appeared to be a pathway. The condition of it showed that it was much traveled and probably it formed the high road to the village.

Captain Sparhawk decided to follow it. In single file the adventurers advanced along the track which wound in and out, dodging trees and rocks in a manner peculiar to most savage trails whose makers would rather go round an obstacle than clear it out of the way. There was a gloomy sky overhead and the wind boomed dolefully among the palms, making a noise like sheets of rain falling as their big fan-like leaves rustled and scraped against each other.

A hundred rods or so from the coast they found themselves in a ravine which towered up steeply on each side of the track. This canyon appeared to penetrate the centre of the island, the interior of which was hilly.

“I guess the village, if there is one, must be clear round the other side of the island,” said Billy Raynor, between bites at a banana he had picked from a bush at the side of the trail. Others of the party were munching on oranges and a fruit the captain called a “custard apple,” the latter a large, brown-colored “apple,” filled with a yellow paste that looked and tasted like custard.

“There’s one thing certain, the high cost of living need never worry these fellows,” remarked Jack.

“Not if they’re content to be vegetarians,” said Billy.

“They don’t need to be that,” said the captain, “the seas hereabouts teem with fish—and look there!”

There was a rush and a clatter of falling stones just ahead of them as a flock of goats, half-wild creatures, with wonderfully agile legs, leaped up the sides of the canyon and then, at a safe height, stood gazing down at the invaders of the island.

“These South Sea islanders prefer goat’s meat to anything except pork,” said the captain; “in fact, the cannibals pay the doubtful compliment to human flesh of calling it 'long pig.’”

This mention of cannibalism made the boys feel rather uncomfortable. Although the captain reassured them and they knew that the horrible practice of eating human flesh had all but died out in the South Seas, except in some remote islands, they did not know but the one they were exploring might prove to be one of the latter. It was just as their minds were busy with these disquieting thoughts that Jack gave a sharp exclamation and came to a halt.

The fronds of a banana tree had parted suddenly in front of the lad who was in advance of the party.

Between the green leaves a hideous face, daubed with red and white paint, suddenly glared out at the boy and then, as swiftly, vanished.

CHAPTER X.—CHUMMING WITH SAVAGES.

So quickly had this happened that none of the others had seen it. But Jack quickly apprised them of his discovery.

“If the man’s face was painted, would that mean he was on the war-path?” asked Billy rather nervously.

“Not necessarily,” rejoined the captain, “but still, he might be hostile. On feast days the natives paint themselves up and that may have been the reason for his decorations.”

“Ugh! He was hideous enough to stop a clock or scare a locomotive off the track,” exclaimed Jack.

“The village must be near at hand,” said the captain presently. “Let us press on.”

They had reached the end of the ravine now, having crossed almost the entire island. The path widened and others branched off from it. But they stuck to the main thoroughfare and in a few moments came in sight of a native village lying not far back from the shore and amidst a grove of magnificent palms.

The rhythmical throbbing of tom-toms reached their ears and they could see natives dancing in their peculiar swaying manner to the sound of the skin drums. Suddenly the dancing ceased. The natives in a swarm, among them the man with the painted face, descended on the travelers. Many wore flowers in their hair and others added to these decorations by brass rings in their noses and ear-rings composed of old china door knobs. The men were remarkably handsome and the women pretty.

After the first uncertainty as to their reception, there was no doubt of their friendliness as they pressed about. Several of them could talk English and the captain soon learned that they were indeed on one of the Pamatou group, as he had surmised. The village, which was celebrating a feast day, was one of two on the island occupied by pearl fishers. The natives were civilized; schooners and ships frequently touching there. To the south of them they said were “bad men,” meaning cannibals, and the boys were glad they had not landed on one of them.

Nothing would do but that the white men must sit down and partake of the feast which was just ready. The boys stuffed themselves with roast pork, goat-meat, sweet potatoes, yams, roasted bread-fruit, fish and fruit. They washed this down with cocoanut milk. During the meal, a young Pamatouan attached himself to each of the boys. Each of these lads was about sixteen and wore, like most of the rest, a single white garment, although some of the natives sported trousers, and a few even had shoes—which they carried in their hands!

The two lads, who had thrust their services on Jack and Billy, informed them that they were their friends and would be so all the time the Sea Gypsy lay at the island. They waited on the amused boys hand and foot, not letting them do anything. Jack’s acquisition was called Bolabola; Billy’s savage servitor was called, so he said, Anai. Each could speak a little English and they informed the boys that they were “their friends for always.” From the captain the lads learned that this is a common custom among the islanders who value the friendship of a white man highly, and think it an honor and a credit to wait on him. He suggested giving them some little presents. Jack presented Bolabola with a pocket-knife and Billy gave Anai a fountain pen, having nothing else with him. Anai promptly stuck the pen through a big hole bored in the lobe of his ear and capered about delighted with his new ornament.

When it came time to go back to the ship, the friendly natives could not hear of the adventurers trudging back on foot. A great war canoe was launched and paddled by fifty strapping natives, singing musically, and so they were paddled round the island in state. On their arrival at the ship, the boat which had been left under guard was signalled to return, and presents of calico, straw hats, cheap cutlery and glass beads and fish-hooks and lines,—the latter highly prized,—were dealt out from the yacht’s stores. The natives swarmed all over the ship and it was hard to induce them to leave at all. As for Bolabola and Anai, they refused to go till they had extracted promises from their “friends,” Jack and Billy, to visit them ashore and visit a pearl cave they knew of along the coast.

This exactly suited the boys, and their delight, when Mr. Jukes decided to stay at the island for some days, was unbounded. The reason for the decision to remain there was arrived at after the millionaire had held a consultation with Captain Sparhawk. Tahiti was not far off, and that night Jack was ordered to raise the wireless station on the French island and find out if a small vessel could not be despatched at once with coal to replenish the Sea Gypsy’s exhausted bunkers.

The next morning Jack had the satisfaction of informing Mr. Jukes that the details had been arranged and that a small tramp steamer might be expected to come to their relief in a few days. The expense was considerable, but this did not appear to bother Mr. Jukes, who chafed at the delay in his search for the survivors, if any there were, of the Centurion.

CHAPTER XI.—THE CAVE OF THE PEARLS.

Two days later, following the arrival at the island of the coal ship—a small, rusty tramp steamer—the boys set out for the village to meet their friends, who had swum out to the ship almost daily, despite the sharks, to see the white youths. As they left the yacht they saw Thurman, who had been put to work in the crew, laboring with the other blackened “hands” at getting the fuel on board.

“He doesn’t look as if he liked his job much,” said Jack.

“He ought to be glad he’s alive,” supplemented Billy Raynor. “I wonder if he has really mended his ways or if it was just the effect of his scare that made him promise to reform.”

“Impossible to say,” replied Jack, “but time will show, I guess.”

The boys found their friends on the beach with a long, cranky-looking canoe, paddled with wonderfully carved paddles. In the canoe were bananas, roast pork and other delicacies; also several empty cocoanut shells.

“What are those for?” asked Jack, looking at the latter.

“We put um pearl in them if so be we get any,” grinned Anai.

“Do you really think we’ll get any?” asked Billy.

“No can say. Think cave good place. You ready?”

“Whenever you are,” said Jack, taking his place in the canoe, while Billy followed his example. The two native lads shoved off and sprang on board with wonderful agility, driving the canoe through the surf and up onto the summit of a huge wave, where it hung poised for an instant like a bird. The next moment they had shot with powerful strokes through the rollers and were out beyond the danger line of the surf.

They passed through a noisy fleet of fishers, all of whom greeted them, and then the canoe was headed for a green headland some distance down the coast. The sun glowed fiercely overhead, the surf boomed unceasingly on the beach and the reef beyond, the water hissed along the sides of the canoe as the two athletic young natives urged forward amid shouts.

Looking over the side, Jack could see the coral bottom as clearly as if an inch instead of many feet of water separated it from the frail canoe. It was almost as if they were floating in the air. Fish of brilliant colors darted about and once a dark, sinister shade appeared beneath the canoe. The Kanaka boys shouted and beat the water with their paddles. The dark shadow melted away.

“Him very bad shark,” said Anai. “White men call him tiger shark. Worst kind of all shark.”

“I’d hate to bathe around here,” observed Jack.

“Oh, him all right, most generally scare him away, kick, splash, makee big noise, he go 'way.”

“Yes, but suppose he refused to be scared,” objected Billy.

“Then maybe he takee off leg, arm, maybe swallow you all up.”

The long, curved point soon hid the fishers in front of the village from view. Rounding it, they found themselves skimming along a coast of surpassing beauty. Steep, majestic cliffs arose from the clear water and long green creepers from the forest above trailed over them.

At last the prow of the canoe was turned and the boys saw that the furious paddlers were heading at top speed for the cliffs.

“Hey, stop that, you’ll smash the canoe!” cried Jack, as, without any diminution of speed, the canoe was urged with wild shouts from the paddlers right at the rocky escarpment.

“They’ve gone crazy,” exclaimed Billy, “they——”

He did not conclude what he was going to say. Instead, he set up a cry of alarm as the prow of the canoe was hurled at the cliff at a spot where a regular curtain of lianas and other forest trailers depended from above.

Swish, whoosh, went the canoe, as it shot through the parasites and creepers. The boys instinctively ducked their heads. Instead of being dashed to destruction against the cliff, the frail craft had been guided into this singular cave, one of many along the coast, through the greenery portal. Both the Kanaka boys set up a shout of laughter at the expense of Jack and Billy, who looked rather sheepish at their late alarm.

They were in a dark passage that led into an inner water cave filled with an eternal sunless twilight that was very refreshing to them after the heat and glare outside. The canoe shot through the passage and into the cave itself, the boys uttering a shout of admiration the while.

“Look,” said Anai, pointing upward.

Overhead was a marvelously perfect, natural dome, with a large hole in the centre through which shafts of sunlight fell into the cave and were reflected from the water with a greenish light.

“Look,” ordered the Kanaka boy again.

The boys obeyed and gazed over the side of the canoe. Below them, through several feet of crystal-clear water, they could see bowers of coral, white and pink, with fish darting in and out of the chinks and crossing prismatically, while others hung motionless as if suspended, fanning the water incessantly with their gauzy fins. It was the most wonderful water picture the boys had ever seen.

CHAPTER XII.—A TRAP!

“We eat. Then we go get pearls,” decided Anai.

The boys, whose appetites had been sharpened by the trip, were not averse to this, and they made a hearty meal. After it the two native boys produced leaves in which betel nuts had been carefully wrapped up and offered them to Jack and Billy, both of whom declined them. But Anai and his friend began chewing the spicy nuts with great zest.

A canoe-length from where they floated a clear rill of water stole noiselessly down from above, mingling its sweet waters with the sea. After demolishing their betel nuts, the chewing of which is a well-nigh universal custom in the South Seas, the two native boys stood erect and then bound their long black hair in knots on the top of their heads.

Then, with a shout, they balanced gracefully for a second on the edge of the canoe and plunged over. They floated for a minute or two and then dived, after inhaling immense breaths. To the boys, watching the divers through the clear water, it looked as if they were literally climbing down, head first, through the pellucid depths.

Then they saw both the Kanaka lads wrenching oyster shells from their hold on the coral with furious energy. It seemed impossible that they could stay under water as long as they did, but at length, even their wonderful endurance gave out and, laden with shells, they shot back to the surface.

Reaching the canoe, the two divers hung almost exhausted on the outrigger, regaining their breath after they had thrown several oysters into the canoe, which the boys opened eagerly, but only two small pearls rewarded them. The two Kanaka boys showed plainly the stress of the long time they had stayed down. Their eyes were bloodshot and their faces suffused. Their veins stood out on their bodies like cords.

The boys begged them not to go down again, but they insisted.

“How often do you mean to dive?” asked Billy.

“One, maybe two, three time,” said Anai.

“Nobody can dive more than three time,” declared the other. “Him bad if dive too many time. Makee much sick.”

“I should think so,” said Jack. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible for any one to stay down so long. It’s wonderful.”

The next two dives yielded three more pearls from a dozen or more oysters. None of them were of any great value but the two divers insisted on presenting them to the boys.

“Me try get you very good pearl some udder day,” promised Anai, and his companion nodded to show that he meant to help in the enterprise.

“Hullo, what’s that?” asked Jack suddenly, after they had chatted and rested for some time and began to think about returning. There was a booming sound in the air and the waters of the cave began to become agitated, rocking the canoe dangerously.

Overhead, through the dome, they could see that the sky had darkened.

“Me think storm come. Better get out of here,” said Anai, looking troubled. “Him bad time of year for storms.”

“Goodness, I should say so,” declared Jack. “We’ve been in two bad ones already.”

“That’s how we got blown here,” added Billy.

“We thinkee that good storm blow you here, white boys,” said Anai.

The sky grew darker, and every now and then a big roller entirely filled the mouth of the cavern, blinding them with spray. Having spent its fury, these great waves retired with a concussion that was deafening, dragging the canoe with fearful velocity toward the mouth of the cave by its suction. At such times they only saved themselves from being swept out to sea by grasping the hanging curtain of creepers and vines. Anai and his companion baled the canoe with a big shell, but the boys felt that their position was an awkward and even a dangerous one.

Another great wave burst, sealing up the cave as if it was an air-tight compartment, and making the waters of the cavern boil and seethe furiously. The pressure of air caused by the sudden rush of water affected the boys’ ears as if they had been suddenly placed in a caisson.

“This is terrible,” cried Jack.

“Something will have to be done,” said Billy. “We can’t last in here much longer.”

“Are we in danger, Anai?” asked Jack.

“We in very bad fix; but we getee out all right,” the Kanaka assured him, stopping his bailing.

“They’ve got some plan in their head,” decided Jack, and sat down in the bottom of the cranky, frail canoe to see what the next move was to be. It was a startling one. The two youths seized their paddles and then, as the next wave receded, they shot out of the mouth of the cave like a bomb from a mortar, before either Jack or Billy could guess their intention or stop what seemed sheer madness on the Kanakas’ part, and placed all their lives in grave danger. Outside they found themselves in the teeth of a howling gale. Spray blinded them, flying over them in sheets.

Nothing more was said, nothing seen. The air was darkened with flying spume. It seemed impossible that the canoe could live a minute.

CHAPTER XIII.—ON THE REEF.

The two lads crouched, drenched through, on the bottom of the canoe, while the Kanaka boys paddled furiously. Giant waves, true mountains of water, hung above them threatening to engulf them, but the canoe rode them with what appeared incredible buoyancy.

How long this kept up, neither Jack nor Billy ever knew. It seemed like years. Dizzy and sick from the riotous motions of the canoe as it swung wildly between sea and sky, they lost all count of everything. But the struggle was nearing its end.

Suddenly a giant comber caught up the dugout, turtled it skyward and then rushed it sickeningly down. It lifted the craft over the reef and into the open sea. For one instant it hesitated and then spun round in the trough of the sea. The next moment it was smashed into slivers against the reef while an avalanche of waters carried all its occupants down into the depths before they had time to even shout their consternation. More dead than alive, Jack shot back to the surface again. Not far from him was a projecting point of the reef. He managed somehow to crawl to it, but as he made his progress along the lower lying portions of the coral wall he was swept time and again by waves and compelled to exert all his strength to avoid being dashed off. At length, with hands cut and bleeding from the rough coral, and his clothing in shreds, he reached his refuge and was almost immediately joined there, to his great relief, by Anai and his comrade, who had rescued Billy Raynor.

But it was a miserable refuge they had found. The projecting point of rock hardly gave room for all of them, and frequently waves swept over it. At all times they were choked and blinded with spray.

“Well, this is the limit,” declared Billy. “Never again for me so far as pearl hunting is concerned.”

“Nor for me either,” said Jack. “Still, it was our fault for not watching the weather.”

“How long will the storm last, Anai, do you think?” inquired Billy, a little later.

The Kanaka boy looked at the weather with a practiced eye.

“Him get better soon,” he said. “Him not bad storm.”

“Not a bad storm!” exclaimed Jack. “Well, if this isn’t one, I never want to see one.”

“Sometimes hurricane season come blow whole village away,” Anai assured him.

“I hope this won’t be a hurricane,” said Jack.

The Kanaka shook his head.

“Bimeby him go way,” he assured them. “Look blue sky way off there now.”

Sure enough, in the far north-west, from whence the hurricane had come, a shaft of sunlight was striking the sea. Behind them they could see the storm retreating. Before long the sea had quieted down and the wind dropped almost completely.

“Well, we are better off in one respect,” said Jack, as they lay about on the reef, basking in the hot sun and drying their wet garments, “but how are we to get ashore?”

The question was answered by Anai.

“Me swim, get canoe. Soon back,” he said.

The next moment his lithe brown form was in the water. To protect himself against sharks, he carried a long knife, fashioned out of iron wood, which was slung round his neck by a lanyard. It was as tough and hard as steel, and he appeared to have no doubt that he could protect himself with it against the great fish.

Half-way to the shore a triangular fin came cruising near him and the boys dreaded to see a tragic end to their island friend. But Anai set up diabolical yells and kicked up a great splashing in the water and the sea monster sheered off again.

“Shark him big coward,” said Anai’s friend, who had remained behind with the boys. Directly Anai landed he turned and waved and then set off at a sharp run along the beach. Before they expected him he was back again with a canoe, and thus an adventure which might have had disastrous consequences ended safely. But it was a long time before the boys ever forgot it.

The next morning Jack and Billy were leaning over the rail of the Sea Gypsy, chatting and watching the sharks that swum around the ship eagerly watching for scraps from the galley. The coal was nearly all unloaded from the small, rusty tramp that had brought it, and all hands were looking forward to a resumption of the journey.

In the meantime, Mr. Jukes had been investigating ashore and learned, from some natives, that the “Tear of the Sea” had actually been bought by his brother, and that just after the purchase, the Centurion had sailed away. Not long after, ‘Bully’ Broom’s ship arrived, and the sea rover was informed of the sale. He was furious as it appeared that, in accordance with his usual practice, he intended to raid the village and take possession of the wonderful pearl by force. Mr. Jerushah Jukes’ arrival ahead of him had, of course, frustrated this plan. According to the best information he could get, the millionaire learned that “Bully” had at once put to sea in pursuit of the Centurion. The finding of the empty derelict left little doubt that he had attacked the schooner and imprisoned, or worse, perhaps killed, all those on board her.

This, in its way, was well enough, but it left the fate of the party still a mystery, and their whereabouts unknown, for “Bully” had half a dozen retreats scattered through the South Seas where he might have taken them, for even Captain Sparhawk did not believe that the ruffian would have dared to kill them.

CHAPTER XIV.—BATTLING MAN-EATING SHARKS.

“Like a chance to catch one uv them bastes, Mishther Riddy?” asked Tim Muldoon, the Irish quarter-master of the Sea Gypsy, who paused near where the boys were standing watching a mighty commotion in the water made by two great tiger sharks fighting desperately over a piece of spoiled pork that had been thrown overboard.

“What would we do with it when we had it?” asked Jack with a smile.

“Shure there’s a certain part of the cratirs that makes illigint ateing. Meself and several other la-ads in ther crew wouldn’t have iny objictions at all, at all to a bit of shar-ark steak if so be y’u’d loike to hook one.”

“What do you say, Billy?” asked Jack.

“That it would be good fun. But what sort of a rig do you use? No use taking an eight-ounce rod and a dry fly or a hand line to those fellows.”

“Shure oi’ve got a foine shar-ark hook up forward. I’ll go git it fer yez,” declared Muldoon, hurrying off.

He was back before long with a hook that looked like one of those used by butchers on which to hang whole carcasses. Attached to this was a length of steel chain with a swivel, and above a stout rope some hundred feet in length. Billy Raynor went below to the cook’s quarters and soon came back with a big chunk of pork which was stuck on the hook.

“How’ll we haul him out if we do get one?” Billy wanted to know, as the bait struck the water with a splash.

“Just give a holler and I’ll git some uv ther byes uv ther crew to lind yez a hand,” declared Muldoon. “Sure 'tis foine spor-rot ye’ll be hivin’ intirely—wow! murtha! Watch yersilf Misther Raynor!”

There had come a sudden vicious rush of one of the sea-monsters at the hook. Turning its hideous jaws upward, the ravenous creature had literally swallowed “hook, line and sinker.” It happened that at that precise moment Billy alone had hold of the rope.

As the shark’s jaws gripped the hook and its sharp point sunk into his flesh, the creature made a mighty rush. It caught Billy unprepared as he stood by the rail, a section of which had been removed while the crew polished the brass work.

Before he realised what was happening a coil of the rope entangled his legs. Like a bullet from a gun, he was whisked off the deck and through the air into the sea, which Jack knew was alive with sharks. It had all happened so suddenly that the last of Muldoon’s alarmed cries had not left his lips before poor Billy was towed away from the ship by the maddened shark, unable to make a move to extricate himself. He was barely able to breathe, in fact, being half submerged.

Paralyzed for an instant, Jack regained his faculties with an effort. Captain Sparhawk, who had seen the whole affair, was the first to take definite action, however. He issued an order for a boat to be lowered at once and then dashed into his cabin for a pistol.

“Hurry, Sparhawk, for Heaven’s sake,” urged Mr. Jukes, who had also been a witness of the accident. “The poor lad will be drowned or eaten alive by the other sharks if we don’t act promptly.”

But the captain was already out of earshot. Muldoon and two other sailors were at the oars of the boat as he tumbled into it, followed by Jack, who, in his haste, did not stop to ask permission to come. Luckily, the shark, instead of taking a straight course out to sea, was dashing round and round in circles. This gave them a chance to save Billy’s life, for had the great fish pursued a straight course, Raynor’s fate would undoubtedly have been sealed.

“Row for your lives, men,” urged the captain, standing erect, pistol in hand, awaiting the first opportunity for a shot at the shark.

“Shure thare’s no nade to till us thot, captain, dear,” cried Muldoon. “We’ll git the poor lad if we have to pull our own heads off.”

The shark now made a swift dash for the bow of the Sea Gypsy. Behind him, at a distance of about seventy-five feet, poor Billy’s body could be seen being rushed through the water with a “wake” behind it like that of a fast steamer. Jack could see his chum’s face, which was ashen white. But from the glimpse he had of it, the young wireless man was sure that Billy was still alive, marvelous though that seemed. For half the time, owing to the manner in which he was attached to the shark, the unfortunate lad’s head was under the surface of the water.

Bang! Captain Sparhawk’s pistol spoke as the shark crossed the bow of the boat which had been instantly turned to follow the creature’s new tactics.

“Missed,” he groaned.

“No,” cried Jack, an instant later. “See, the water is red behind him! You hit him.”

“Yes, but I fear not mortally. These creatures have an amazing grip on life,” was the despondent reply.

And now a fresh element entered into the scene. Round the bow of the yacht, toward which the shark, with its human burden, was dashing, there suddenly appeared a long, slender canoe with two lithe young native figures propelling it. It was Anai and his friend, the sworn allies of the boys.

For an instant, as the extraordinary scene presented itself to them, they stood like bronze figures. Then the full meaning of the impending tragedy appeared to strike them. With a simultaneous cry each grasped his great iron-wood knife and without the slightest hesitation leaped overboard.

“They are going to save him!” cried Jack exultingly, as the two Kanaka boys fearlessly clove the shark-infested water to attack the monster that had abducted Billy.

“And lose their own lives,” exclaimed the captain as several dark fins appeared in the water about the two intrepid youths.

CHAPTER XV.—A MESSAGE FROM THE DEEP.

The scene that ensued was one that lingered long in the recollection of those who saw it. Uttering loud yells, the two native boys bore down on the shark that had poor Billy in tow.

Each taking a side they dashed upon it with fury. As they gained its flanks their arms flashed up and the next instant their great iron-wood knives were buried hilt-deep in the tough skin. The watchers saw the great shark give an upward leap and the water was dyed crimson.

“They reached his vitals. Hurrah for them,” cried Captain Sparhawk. “Bear down on Billy, lads. I reckon the shark is done for.”

They were none too soon. After being disentangled from the rope that had caused all the trouble, Billy was hauled into the boat just in the nick of time. The rope had grazed and chafed his legs cruelly, but except for the great amount of water in his lungs he had suffered no other injury.

But no sooner had this been done than another necessity arose. The brave Anai and his companion were surrounded by a school of sharks attracted by the blood of the creature the two young Kanakas had despatched. So far, by splashing furiously, and screeching at the top of their voices, the native youths had succeeded in keeping the monsters at bay, but it was doubtful for how long they could do so.

“To the rescue, lads,” cried Captain Sparhawk, replacing the cartridge he had discharged. “Give way with a will. I wouldn’t wish to see either of those brave lads harmed.”

In a few seconds they were in the midst of the school of sharks that had assembled as if by magic, ravenous for the flesh of their dead brother. The captain’s pistol spat lead right and left, and at that short range the effect of the bullets was deadly. In a few minutes five of the sea monsters were dead. But far from being scared off the rest fell furiously upon these, making upward rushes, exposing their huge mouths with their triple rows of needle-like teeth.

Leaving them to their cannibal feast, Anai and his companion were hauled on board and at Muldoon’s special request the body of the brute that had almost caused Billy’s death was taken in tow.

“I’ll make you byes some handsome watch-charms out of his teeth fer remimbrancers,” he promised.

“As if we needed anything to remind us of it,” shuddered Jack.

“Just think, if it hadn’t been for Anai here and Bolabola I’d have been past saving by now,” cried Billy, warmly ringing their hands.

“You may well say that, lad,” agreed the captain. “They saved you from visiting Davy Jones, without a doubt.”

“We your friends. Must save you even if it cost our lives,” said Anai, looking embarrassed.

“Shure an’ thot’s more than many a white man wud say,” approved Muldoon warmly. “Byes, give us yer flippers. Ye may hav’ black skins, but be jabers yer hearts is pure gold entoirely.”

The canoe was taken in tow and the whole party returned to the yacht, where they received more congratulations from the others on board who had watched the whole affair spell-bound with alarm and then with admiration at the Kanaka boys’ brave act. The decks rang with cheers as they came on board, Captain Sparhawk and Jack supporting Billy, who was still white and shaky.

Mr. Jukes’ enthusiasm for Anai and Bolabola knew no bounds. The millionaire wanted them to accept a handful of gold pieces each. But the lads shook their heads. Gold was of little use to them. But other presents which were showered upon them they accepted gladly. There was almost a canoe-full of them, ranging from gaudy neckties to a broken concertina, the latter being presented by Muldoon. It could emit, upon coaxing, a few wheezy notes, and the brown boys appeared to prize it quite above any of their other gifts.

In the meantime, on the foredeck, to which the body of the great shark had been hoisted by slings, the members of the crew, who understood such operations, assisted by Muldoon, were cutting up the monster. From time to time they flung useless bits of offal over the side. A scramble from such of the sharks as had disposed of the dead bodies of their companions instantly ensued. Sharks are the most rapacious of any creatures on land or sea, and their appetites appeared to have been slacked in no important particular by their cannibal meal.

“Bad luck to yez,” exclaimed Muldoon, shaking his fist at them after one of these rushes, for every sailor hates a shark. “There’s many a thrue lad gone to his long rickonin’ through yez or yez mates. Bad cess to all uv yez, says Tim Muldoon.”

An interested group, among whom were Jack and Billy, watched the proceedings from the bridge. Mr. Jukes was no less interested than the rest. He attentively watched the sharks as they fought. Perhaps their feverish rapacity reminded him of certain “big business” operations at home in the States where great corporations have been not unknown to gobble up their small competitors as hungrily as any tiger shark.

“Hullo, they seem to have found something interesting,” said Jack, as a murmur arose among the butchers who suddenly crowded round Muldoon, chief of the dissectors.

“It’s a bottle,” cried Billy Raynor.

“Look here what I found in the hongry divil’s stomach,” exclaimed Muldoon, holding up his find. “Be jabers, he must hav’ a digestion a dispiptic millionaire would invy to ——”

He stopped short, covered with confusion, as he suddenly recalled that Mr. Jukes suffered from the very complaint he had mentioned.

“Bring that bottle here, Muldoon,” ordered Captain Sparhawk, in order to save what threatened to be an awkward situation, for Mr. Jukes had turned as red as a turkey-cock and the boys had had to turn away to hide their smiles.

The quartermaster hastened aft with the bottle. It was encrusted with deposits apparently caused by the acids of the shark’s stomach. But when Captain Sparhawk held it to the light, he could see that contained within it was some object.

“There’s something inside it,” he said.

“By jove, perhaps a letter from some shipwrecked sailors,” exclaimed Mr. Jukes.

“Such messages are often frauds, sir,” observed the captain. “If it should prove to be such, I’d be wary about replying to it.”

“Well, let’s have a look at it, whatever it is,” said Mr. Jukes. “This is really interesting.”

They all crowded about, even the Kanakas, as the captain smashed the bottle on the rail. A rolled-up paper dropped on the deck. Jack, at whose feet it had fallen, picked it up. He opened it and saw that it was scribbled on with pencil.

“It seems ——,” he began, when a sudden exclamation from Mr. Jukes checked his further utterance.

“Let me look at that paper,” commanded the millionaire, who, they now noticed, was breathing quickly and whose eyes shone with feverish excitement.

Jack handed it over, while they all regarded the millionaire’s agitation curiously. With hands that shook, the financier scanned the letter and then made an electrifying announcement in a voice that was tense and self-controlled, but yet betrayed the excitement under which he labored as he spoke.

“Gentlemen, the age of miracles has not passed,” he said. “When Ready first opened the paper, I thought I recognized a peculiar handwriting. I was not wrong. This message was written by my brother!”

CHAPTER XVI.—ALIVE ON THE SEA.

“Incredible!” exclaimed Captain Sparhawk, unable to think of anything else to say at the astounding information.

“But, nevertheless, true. Sparhawk, this message confirms the truth of your theory about ‘Bully’ Broom. That rascal attacked and overcame the unsuspecting crew of the Centurion, and obtained the 'Tear of the Sea’.”

“The infernal scoundrel,” breathed Captain Sparhawk. “There is not another man in the South Seas who would have dared such a coup. But does the message give any clue to your brother’s fate, sir?” he added respectfully.

The millionaire’s face glowed and suddenly lost its careworn look.

“That’s the best part of it,” he explained. “But come to my cabin, captain—yes, Ready, you and Raynor may come, too,” he added as he intercepted anxious looks on the boys’ faces.

Inside the cabin the millionaire spread on the table the yellowed, scribbled bit of paper that just then meant more to him than any document he had ever seen in his life.

“I’ll read aloud,” he said, and then, in a clear voice, he recited the contents of the missive.

“Any one finding this please notify my brother Jacob Jukes of New York, who will reward him lavishly for the trouble. This is being written on board ‘Bully’ Broom’s schooner, South Sea Lass. We are all prisoners and the 'Tear of the Sea’ is in the ruffian’s possession. We are being taken, as I overheard, to Bomobori, in New Guinea, with what object I cannot say. May Heaven help us in our desperate strait. I am throwing this, with a prayer to Heaven that it may be found, from the window of the cabin in which I am confined.

Jerushah Jukes.”

“I know Bomobori well,” exclaimed Captain Sparhawk, as Mr. Jukes finished reading. “I was there in '87 and again in '89.”

“What sort of a place is it?” inquired Mr. Jukes.

“Not much of a town,” was the reply. “It is at the mouth of a river that penetrates a wild country. If ‘Bully’ Broom wished to hide his captives, he could not have taken them to a better place.”

“Sparhawk,” and the millionaire’s voice was vibrant with determination, “how long will it take us to get there?”

“I should say not more than a week. But we should have to re-coal at Tahiti if we are to make the run at top speed. How about that, Raynor?”

“You’re right, captain,” said the young engineer. “I’ll guarantee to run the Sea Gypsy’s engines faster than they were ever run before, but I’ve got to have the coal to do it with.”

“That steamer is through coaling us now?” asked the millionaire, after he had made a few calculations on a scrap of paper.

“They emptied the last of their load an hour ago,” said Captain Sparhawk.

“Good,” was Mr. Jukes’ response. “Send the captain to me and I will give him my check. Raynor, how soon can you have steam up?”

“In an hour, sir,” responded the young engineer.

“Splendid; make all the time you can. Every moment is valuable now. Ready——”

Jack was all attention. Into the millionaire’s manner had come a snap and a grip of affairs that had not been there since they had sailed. He had something tangible to go upon now, and was plainly prepared to make the most of it.

“Ready,” he went on, “I want you to raise Tahiti at once. Order coal to be ready for us when we arrive and have a force of men engaged to hustle it on board without loss of time.”

“Yes, sir,” rejoined Jack, hurrying from the cabin.

Within a few minutes the entire atmosphere of the ship appeared to be charged with electricity and bustle. Black smoke volleyed from the stack and the roar of escaping steam soon came from the relief pipe. Anai and his companion, almost in tears at the thought of parting with the boys, were sent ashore, and final preparations made for the start.

Shortly before sun-down Raynor reported all ready in the engine room.

“Very well, captain,” said Mr. Jukes, “you may get up your anchor.”

The necessary orders were soon given and as the chains rattled home through the exhaust pipes the yacht swung her bow gracefully seaward. A big crowd of canoes and the small tramp, which had also taken up anchor, accompanied her some distance out to sea.

The natives raised their voices in melancholy songs as they paddled, and from time to time cried out:

“Come back, white men.”

Among them Jack and Raynor recognized Anai and the other young Kanaka. Both lads felt a genuine regret at leaving the brave, likeable young natives, but ahead of them they felt lay experiences which for the time being put all other emotions out of their minds. The Sea Gypsy, rushing ahead at top speed, soon left the rusty tramp, her consort, far behind. By dark only the summit of the island was visible on the horizon. It sank quickly from sight, and when the first stars appeared the Sea Gypsy was alone on the sea.

CHAPTER XVII.—AN ENCOUNTER AT BOMOBORI.

It was on a clear day a little more than a week later that the lookout announced land dead ahead. All on board knew that it must be New Guinea, the wild and little known country where Mr. Jukes had confident hopes of finding his lost brother. Captain Sparhawk made an excellent “land-fall,” as sailors call it, and by night they came to anchor off Bomobori.

It was a beautiful scene. The waves dashed against a golden strand. Behind lay vast and mysterious forests, looking dark and uninviting in the evening light. Beyond the forests rose great mountains veiled in the bluish mist of the far distances. As darkness fell, the lights of Bomobori began to twinkle, casting reflections in the still waters of the harbor and river, the mouth of which latter could be seen to the north of the town.

“Well, I’m ready to go ashore,” remarked Raynor, as he joined Jack on deck at the conclusion of his duties in the engine-room. “It will certainly feel good to put foot on shore once more.”

“Indeed it will,” agreed Jack, warmly. “I’m anxious to get a look at New Guinea too. It’s a country about which very little is known—I mean so far as the interior is concerned.”

“Well, we are likely to have plenty of opportunity for exploration,” said Raynor. “I heard Mr. Jukes telling the captain that he believed, from what he had heard about ‘Bully’ Broom at Tahiti where he is well known, that the rascal has a secret hiding place in the interior somewhere.”

“Then it’s likely to take a long time to locate him,” said Jack. “This is a pretty big country and very densely wooded, with big mountains and rivers galore. I’m afraid it’s a needle and hay-stack job.”

“I expect Mr. Jukes means to get a clue in Bomobori, where Broom is probably well known,” hazarded Raynor.

“That is probably his idea,” said Jack. “Anyhow, he is not a man who would give up his purpose for any ordinary difficulties.”

It was decided not to leave the yacht till the morning. It can well be imagined then that the sleep of the boys that night was not as sound as usual. Both lay awake wondering what lay before them, and whether they would succeed or fail in the mission, for that evening Mr. Jukes had appointed them members of the expedition, and declared that he would rely upon them to the uttermost to aid him.

It was then that Jack had made a suggestion. The yacht was to be left in the harbor with a crew to guard her, but communication with her might be important, even necessary, if they were driven to some other part of the coast and were unable to return to Bomobori.

Jack’s suggestion was that, with the spare parts of the ship’s wireless, of which a big stock was carried, he should construct a portable radio apparatus by means of which they could at all times be in touch with the yacht. He had an idea that he could do this easily. Thurman, who had been conducting himself in an irreproachable manner, could be left in charge of the Sea Gypsy’s plant with perfect safety, the boy felt confident. And so, subject to his success with a portable set, it was arranged.

“This doesn’t appear to be much of a town,” observed Raynor, as they landed the next day, a little before noon, in a warm, gentle shower of rain such as frequently swept across the island at that time of the year.

“Well, you could hardly expect to find it a New York or London, you know,” rejoined Jack.

In truth Bomobori was a very fair specimen of a town in that section of the world. Along the water front, back of which squatted a line of tin-roofed warehouses, were moored native craft from up the river with bamboo cabins and great lattice sails that housed a whole family of natives. In spite of the rain it was warm and steamy, and a strange assortment of odors greeted their nostrils as the boat was run up to the principal dock and made fast.

The population was a very mixed one. Pallid white men, who looked like Frenchmen for the most part, rubbed elbows on the water front with Chinese, Lascars, Malays, Javanese and the wild-looking Papuans from the interior with their frizzed hair and ornamental cloaks of bird skins and long spears. Here and there a stout German in white ducks waddled by with a sun-helmeted Englishman. There appeared to be quite a lot of trading going on.

But they were anxious to hurry on to the hotel where Mr. Jukes hoped to begin the inquiries which he was sanguine would result in his finding his brother. The hostelry for which they were bound lay some squares back from the water front. It was situated, like most tropical hotels, in a park in which flowers and shrubs of all kinds grew luxuriantly, and bright colored birds flew with harsh cries, like (bright) jewels, among the brilliant foliage. It was a two-story affair in front of which a fountain plashed coolingly in the hot, heavy air. Verandas, upon which every room opened, completely surrounded each story.

They entered the office where the hand baggage they had brought was picked up by barefooted, white-garmented servants. Mr. Jukes was bending over the register writing his name and those of his party when Jack caught sight of somebody lounging in a bamboo chair in the reading room that nearly took his breath away.

“Well, if that isn’t——”

“What is it, Jack?” asked Billy quickly.

“Look at that chap there reading a paper. It’s Donald Judson—Donald Judson, as sure as you’re a foot high!”

CHAPTER XVIII.—DONALD JUDSON AGAIN.

Jack was right; the boy sitting in the reading room was indeed the formerly ne’er-do-well son of the man who had headed the plot to steal the naval code, though what he could be doing in Bomobori neither of the boys could guess. But so changed was he in appearance from the flashily-dressed, aggressively-conceited Donald Judson they had known, that for a moment both boys doubted the evidence of their eyes.

Donald had always, in the past, been inclined to dudishness in his clothes. Now his clothing was dilapidated and torn, his shoes were old canvas ones that looked ready to fall apart, and he had a scarecrow of a battered straw hat on his head.

Moreover, his face was careworn and his cheeks hollow and one eye appeared to have suffered a blow of some sort for it was blackened and swollen. Altogether he was a most woebegone looking specimen of humanity, and the boys wondered he was suffered about the hotel. Donald’s presence there, however, was later accounted for, although this, of course, the boys did not know, by a long tale of disaster and suffering he had sustained while gold hunting in the interior. Donald said he was expecting remittances from America and on this account had been accommodated with quarters.

“My gracious, what a change,” exclaimed Billy under his breath. “He looks like a regular scarecrow.”

“He must have been in mighty tough luck,” rejoined Jack. “But what beats me is what he is doing here. It’s a very odd coincidence that we should run into two of our old enemies on this trip.”

“It is, indeed. But see, he is looking at us. I suppose we ought to speak to the poor chap.”

Donald had dropped his paper and was staring straight at the two lads as if they had been ghosts. Then he got to his feet and came toward them.

“Jack Ready!” he exclaimed, “where did you come from?”

“We might ask the same question of you, Judson,” said Jack, “but—er—you’ll excuse my saying so, but you look as if you’d been in hard luck lately.”

“I have been, oh I have been,” said Donald, in a voice far different from his old bragging one. “I got out of a job and shipped for a sailor. I’d heard it was a fine life. The ship I was on sailed away from Honolulu while I was still ashore after overstopping my leave. Then I got a job on a schooner that had a bad reputation, when I was nearly starved, but I had to live somehow. The captain of the South Sea Lass was a brute. He——”

“Here, hold on,” cried Jack, seizing his arm which was thin and bony, “was his name Broom——”

“Yes. ‘Bully’ Broom. He is little better than a pirate. He treated me worse than a dog, and finally, after blacking my eye, put me ashore here several days ago. He——say, hold on, what’s the matter?”

Jack and Billy had seized him one on each side and were dragging him across the floor of the hotel office.

“There’s somebody here we want you to tell your story to,” explained Jack. “It’ll be worth something to you, but be sure to tell the truth.”

“As if I could lie, no matter what I said about that wretch, ‘Bully’ Broom,” declared Donald. “I’m sure he was mixed up in some illegal business. Why we put into an island called the Pommer-Pommer——”

“The Pamatous?” came from Billy.

“That’s it.”

“And some men were taken prisoners from a schooner called the Centurion?” demanded Jack.

“Yes, but see here Ready, how in the world——?”

“Never mind that. What became of those prisoners?”

“He locked them up in cabins. He said that they were bad men and pearl robbers and that he was bringing them to justice.”

“Did you ever talk with them?”

“No; except one, and I never got a chance to say much to him. Broom watched me very closely. He’d have murdered me if he’d thought that I was trying to pry into his affairs.”

“What was the name of the man you talked to?”

“He was a kind of a leader of the party, I guess,” was the reply. “I used to take him his meals and there were precious few of those too, for we were on short rations ourselves.”

“But his name—his name?” demanded Jack.

“Oh, Flukes—something like that, anyhow. I never was good at names.”

“Was it Jukes?”

“That was it,” cried Donald, snapping his fingers.

“Well, boys, what’s the matter?” demanded the missing man’s brother as he finished with the register and turned amazedly to face his two young followers grasping Donald’s ragged figure on each side as if they had a prisoner in custody.

“Mr. Jukes, this boy has seen and talked to your brother within the last two weeks,” was the announcement from Jack that sent the millionaire staggering back against the hotel desk, for once in his life giving way to uncontrolled amazement.

CHAPTER XIX.—HE TELLS A STRANGE STORY.

“Bless my soul,” he exclaimed, when he found breath, “you boys are always digging up somebody. Who is this?”

He regarded the ragged figure of the unfortunate Donald with some disapprobation. Jack explained, and then Donald, stumbling and stuttering somewhat under Mr. Jukes’ steady eye, told his story.

“But you have not told us the most important part of it all,” said the millionaire, as he concluded. “Where was my unfortunate brother taken to by this ruffian?”

“That’s just what I don’t know, sir,” rejoined the boy. “You see, they took good care I shouldn’t know too much about their operations. All I know is that I heard them saying something about 'up the river.’”

“Meaning this river—the Bomobori?” asked Mr. Jukes.

“I suppose so.”

“Do you know where the schooner is now?” was the millionaire’s next question, but Donald did not. All he knew was that, after landing him in Bomobori, ‘Bully’ Broom had departed under cover of night. Where he had headed for was a mystery.

Jack whispered something to the millionaire when Donald had concluded his narrative and Mr. Jukes put his hand in his pocket and drew out some coins. Then as he moved off Jack rather hesitatingly said to Donald:

“You’ve had a hard time of it for money, I suppose?”

“Hard? That’s no name for it,” exclaimed the other. “That rascal Broom never gave me a cent, though when he shipped me he promised me wages. If you hadn’t arrived I don’t know what I should have done.”

“Well, we are willing to let bygones be bygones,” said Jack.

“It wouldn’t be fair to be rough on a fellow who is down on his luck,” muttered Donald rather grudgingly. “And—and I guess I’ve learned a lesson, fellows.”

“By the way, Donald,” said Jack, handing the boy the coins Mr. Jukes had given him, “here is something from Mr. Jukes to help you along for the present. I am sure he will see to it that you do not suffer any more hardships in return for the valuable information you have given us.”

The destitute lad’s face brightened wonderfully. The money—about twenty dollars—was more than he had seen in a long time. He fingered the coins greedily.

“I—I’m much obliged to you and to your friend, too,” he muttered rather shamefacedly, “and—er—I’m sorry I ever played you mean tricks.”

“Never mind about that now,” said Jack, cutting him short. “My advice to you is not to hang about here, but to get a job on the first ship that touches here and go home.”

“I’ll go down to the shipping offices right now and see what the chances are,” promised Donald, and with a new spring in his step he started out of the hotel.

“What a change,” exclaimed Jack, when he had gone. “I never thought Donald Judson could become so humbled.”

“He is certainly blue, and that is hardly surprising,” agreed Billy. “But the question is whether his seeming repentance is sincere.”

“Let’s hope all that he has been through has taught him a good lesson,” said Jack.

“It surely ought to have,” said Billy, and then the subject was dismissed by a tall, half-clothed native striding into the lobby and beating stridently on a huge brass gong inscribed with queer characters.

“What’s that for?” asked Jack of the clerk behind the desk who looked like a German.

“Dot iss for Riz Tavel,” replied the clerk.

“For Riz who?” asked Billy.

“For Riz Tavel,” rejoined the man impatiently, as if surprised at their ignorance. “Riz Tavel, dot means lunch.”

“Oh, I see,” replied Jack. “Well, I’m ready for it whatever they call it.”

At the summons of the gong several guests of the hotel came into the lobby, appearing as if they had just got out of bed. The boys were amazed to see that many of the male guests wore pyjamas, while the women were in negligee. This, however, applied only to the half castes and Dutch residents. The Germans and English, who did most of the trading at Bomobori, wore tropical suits of conventional make.

They were waited on by barefooted Malays who set before each of the boys and their shipmates, when these latter appeared, big soup plates full of rice.

“They call this the 'riz-tavel,’ that means the rice table,” explained Captain Sparhawk, thus clearing away the secret of the mysterious words. “Rice is a staple all through the East, just like bread is at home.”

Having filled their plates with rice, as they saw everybody else do, the Americans waited for the next move. The waiters had all vanished after depositing the rice, and Jack was moved to remark whether that was all they were going to get.

His question was answered by the re-appearance of the barefooted servitors. They bore numerous dishes piled with fish, duck, chicken, pork, omelette, onions and peppers. The guests all piled portions of every one of these dishes on the top of the rice, and the visitors seeing that they were not expected to ask for more plates were fain to do the same. The boys, however, balked at a thin curried sauce which was supposed to be poured over this hodge-podge of edibles.

Having disposed of what in itself was a mighty meal they then found that they were expected to despatch beefsteaks, salad and fruit.

“Well, they don’t starve you here, that’s one thing sure,” said Jack.

“You must remember that their 'breakfast,’ as they call it, is eaten in the cool of the morning and usually only consists of coffee and fruit,” said Captain Sparhawk.

A groan from the dyspeptic Mr. Jukes, who had eaten a hearty meal, was followed soon after by the breaking up of the party. There was much to be attended to, but Captain Sparhawk said it would be useless to try to transact business till the late afternoon when the sea breeze sprung up. The interval between riz-tavel and that hour he said was set aside for sleeping, and nobody ever dreamed of interfering with the custom. In fact, he would have found nobody to transact business with.

He warned the boys against walking about in the scorchingly hot afternoon sun also, as it was said to induce fevers. There was nothing left for them to do, therefore, but to pass the afternoon in their rooms, although they would have preferred exploring the town.

When they came down again they found Donald Judson in the lobby. He appeared very disconsolate. He said that no ships for American ports would call at the port for a long time.

“I guess I’m stuck here for the rest of my life,” he complained, and then made a sudden suggestion.

“Say, why can’t you take me with you on that expedition?” he asked, for the boys had told him something about the object of their presence in New Guinea.

“Um—er—I don’t know that Mr. Jukes wants anybody else along,” hesitated Jack.

“I’d work hard and do anything I was told to,” said Donald pleadingly. “Won’t you ask him about it? It’s awful to be stuck here like a bump on a log.”

“Well, perhaps we might see about it,” relented Jack, really feeling sorry for the unhappy plight of their former enemy, mean and despicable as he had proved himself to have been in the past.

“Thanks, awfully,” exclaimed Donald, gratefully, and he went off through the gardens, saying that he was going to get himself a pair of new shoes. Soon after Mr. Jukes, having got over his attack of dyspepsia, appeared, the boys laid Donald’s request before him.

“I really don’t know,” he hesitated. “Of course, the lad is in hard luck, but somehow I don’t exactly like his looks and I don’t see what use he could be to us. I’d rather leave money here to pay for his living till some ship arrives he could get a berth on.”

“If you left him money in a place like this he might fall back into his old bad ways,” suggested Jack.

“That is true. I wouldn’t wish to push any one down the hill when there was a chance of helping them up,” said the millionaire, musingly. “Well, I’ll see about it,” he added after an interval of thought. Just then, as Captain Sparhawk came up, the incident was ended and the two elders set out for a trading store to arrange for supplies and other necessaries for their dash into the interior, for Mr. Jukes had resolved to act on Donald Judson’s unexpected clue and make his way up the river.

“I’ve got a notion that if we did take that fellow Donald along that he would make trouble for us,” said Raynor as soon as they were out of ear-shot.

“I don’t see how he could, or what object he would have,” doubted Jack. “Still, I myself wouldn’t trust him very far, in spite of his declarations of reform.”

But as it so happened neither of the boys need have troubled themselves over the matter, for that evening, when Mr. Jukes sent for Donald to have a talk with him, the boy’s manner had changed entirely. He was no longer servile and cringing as he had been earlier. In fact, he intimated very plainly that he wanted nothing more to do with the Jukes party.

There was a reason for this, a reason that none of the party naturally was able at the time to guess. Donald’s change of front was not due to any mere caprice. A deep-seated reason lay behind it, and that reason was rooted in an encounter he had had just after he left the boys in the hotel garden.

CHAPTER XX.—A TRAITOR IN CAMP.

Donald’s encounter had been with no less a personage than ‘Bully’ Broom himself, whose spies in the town had informed him that a party of Americans had arrived on a yacht and had been making inquiries about a missing man named Jukes. Broom at once knew that the half-suspected had happened, and that a strong party in search of the missing man had, by some inexplicable (to him) chance, arrived in Bomobori.

He perceived at once that Donald’s presence at the hotel, where he had abandoned him to his fate, might result disastrously for him and he congratulated himself that the boy did not know more of the fate of Jerushah Jukes than he had already told our friends. But even that meager information, Broom foresaw, might be used to great advantage, so he posted himself in a resort frequented by men of his type of whom there are many in the South Seas, and despatched some of his crew to look for the boy he had cast off.

It was not long before Donald who, to do him justice, came unwillingly at first, was presented to Broom by two villainous-looking half-caste Malay sailors, for Broom had few white men in his crew.

“They talk too much,” he was wont to say.

As soon as Donald appeared, the ‘Bully’ reversed his usual tactics and tried to make himself as pleasant as possible. He was a huge-framed ruffian with a tangled black beard, and burned brown enough by sun and wind to be taken for a negro. Donald soon saw that he had nothing to fear from Broom now, and being a sharp boy he proceeded to take the initiative after some verbal sparring.

“You’ve got an awful nerve sending for me after the treatment you gave me,” he observed. “What do you want, anyhow?”

“Now see here, boy,” bellowed Broom, in his gruff voice which he tried to render amiable without much success, so used was he to ruling his band with an iron hand, “I’ll admit that I may have used you a bit roughly, but that was the way of the sea. A fine young fellow like you, though, oughtn’t to mind that. A little knocking about is good for you.”

“Yes, and it was good for me to be left stranded in this hole, too, I suppose,” said Donald.

“I didn’t leave you stranded. I was merely out of funds and was coming back to pay you up and get you out of trouble,” protested Broom, with an earnestness that appeared genuine. “See here.”

He plunged his hand into his pocket and drew out a handful of gold and then let it fall trickling on the table.

“That doesn’t look as if I wasn’t able to do it, either, does it?” he demanded. “Now, see here,” he went on, “I’ve got a proposition to make to you. You’re a smart lad, a clever lad, and one that’s bound to get on the world. I’m going to help you, too.”

“Well, what do you want?” demanded Donald, who was very susceptible to flattery, and who had a weak nature, easily played upon by any one skillful enough to touch the right chord.

“That gang that arrived on the yacht? What about them?” came from Broom.

“They are going to cook your hash if you don’t look out,” said Donald. “That’s Jukes’ brother, and they’re going to find him wherever you’ve put him and then nab you.”

“So that’s the program, eh?” muttered the ‘Bully.’ “Now see here, Donald, I want you on my side and I’m not afraid to pay for it. A smart and clever boy like you could do me a deal of harm if you were sided with the enemy. You’ll be no loser by it. You haven’t told them anything about our little deal with the Centurion yet, have you?”

Donald did some quick thinking. He was sharp enough to see that Broom was afraid of what he might have said, for even in Bomobori there was law and if it were known to Mr. Jukes that Broom was in the vicinity it would be immediately invoked. He balanced his two opportunities against each other. Cupidity, greed for money, had always been his main fault, and now he thought he saw a way to make more out of Broom than he could out of Mr. Jukes. Besides, although he had appeared so humbled before the boys, and ashamed of his past conduct, his hatred still rankled, for the reason that he blamed all his troubles on them and had often brooded over plans of revenge.

“No, I haven’t told them anything about the Centurion,” he said at length, fearing that if he told Broom how much the Jukes party knew the freebooter might withdraw from any deal he was about to make. “I simply gave them a cock-and-bull story about myself when they were astonished to find me here.”

“Ah! So you know them, then? They are friends of yours?” exclaimed Broom.

“Hardly friends,” muttered Donald. “I knew them in America.”

“You’ve no particular affection for them, though?”

“How do you know?”

“Your tone told me that, my young friend.”

“Well, I might as well admit it. I don’t like them. They wronged me in America and that’s why I am here now. I’ve treated them in a friendly way because I’m out of money.”

Broom’s deep set eyes flashed.

“You’ve got a good head boy, very good,” he said, approvingly. “Now to get down to business. I’ll give you a handsome sum to stay on my side.”

“Spot cash?”

“The money on the nail. I want you to do a little job for me in return. Keep your mouth absolutely shut, but find out all you can about their plans. You will always find me here when you want to report. Here’s something to start with,” and he pushed over the gold which lay on the table.

Donald’s eyes sparkled greedily as he counted it.

“All right, I’ll do what you say,” he remarked, as he pocketed it, “but tell me one thing: Where is Jerushah Jukes?”

“Ah, that is for me to know and for them to find out,” was Broom’s reply, “but I’ll tell you all about it in proper time.”

“It’s a wonder you are not afraid to be seen in the town,” said Donald. “Any one might tell them about your being here.”

“Nobody knows about me but my friends, and there is no danger of their talking.”

“But your schooner, which is as well known in this part of the ocean as a mail steamer?”

Broom smiled.

“You don’t think I’d be fool enough to bring my schooner in here after I heard about the arrival of Jukes’ yacht?” he asked. “The South Sea Lass is safely hidden up the coast. I came here on a native canoe.”

“Well, you ought to be good at covering up your tracks, you’ve had enough experience,” said Donald, with a sort of grudging admiration for the ruffian.

“One thing more,” said Broom, acknowledging what he chose to take as a compliment with a grin. “Jukes is very rich. Has he much money with him this trip?”

“I guess not. Jukes is pretty foxy with his money. If he has much it would be in some form that is not negotiable. He is not the sort of man to take chances.”

Broom nodded his massive head ponderously. He was evidently revolving some plan in his mind. Presently he brought down his heavy fist with a crash on the table.

“Jukes has poked his nose into this business,” he exclaimed, “and it will cost him something to get out of it before he gets through.”

“What do you mean?” asked Donald.

“If he was made a prisoner for instance, he would pay handsomely to be released.”

“I should say so. He’s worth about $20,000,000.”

Broom smacked his lips.

“Some of that’s as good as ours if you do what I tell you,” he exclaimed.

“Ours?” A greedy look crept into the boy’s face.

“Yes, when he pays up you’ll get your share and get even with the people you dislike at the same time.”

When Donald left the place with one of his ragged pockets bulging with unaccustomed wealth, a compact had been formed that was to cause our friends a great deal of trouble in the near future.

CHAPTER XXI.—A MEMORABLE NIGHT.

“It’s very peculiar that Donald should have undergone such a sudden change of front,” said Jack later that evening, following the boy’s strange way of receiving Mr. Jukes’ proposal. “He certainly appeared to want to go along the worst way a few hours ago.”

“I can’t help thinking that he has been up to some mischief,” replied Billy. “He’s got himself a new outfit somewhere and I saw him paying his hotel bill.”

“Well, at any rate that’s a laudable act,” laughed Jack. “After all, we are not much concerned with anything that he does now.”

“No, that’s true. By-the-way, how is that wireless idea of yours for a portable set getting along?”

“First rate; I’ve got it all worked out on paper and have cut the weight down to fifty pounds without the aerials.”

“Good for you. I’ve got a notion we can make a lot of use of it.”

“At any rate it won’t be much of an extra load and it might get us out of a tight place, who can tell?”

After some further talk the boys decided to turn in, as they had to be up early the next day. It was a hot, close night when the heavens seemed to be pressed down like a brazen lid on a pot. Far off, flashes of lightning illuminated the distant sky toward the mountains where, for all they knew, the millionaire’s abducted brother might be concealed.

“Phew! It’s warm,” exclaimed Jack. “I guess I’ll take a bath before I turn in.”

The boys’ bedroom was typical of hotels in that part of the world. Its floor was bare except for a strip of matting. There were two beds in it, hung with mosquito netting curtains, and a tiny wash basin and jug. An old-fashioned bell-pull hung near one of the beds and Jack decided to give it a tug and order a bath, when one of the native “bell boys” appeared. After a long interval, one of the barefooted functionaries of the hotel arrived. Jack made his wants known and the man hurried off again without a word.

“That’s odd,” commented Jack, “but I guess he’s gone to fill it and will be back directly to say it’s ready.”

They waited for some time before a soft patter of bare feet was heard in the hall and two of the native servants entered carrying between them a barrel. Another followed with a sort of dipper made out of a cocoanut.

The boys stared in amazement as the men advanced to the middle of the room and solemnly set down the barrel and then stood about waiting with an expectant look on their faces.

“What in the world is all this?” demanded the amazed Jack.

“Him your bath, boss,” came the answer, “you gettee in him ballel, we washee you.”

“I’ll be jiggered if you do,” exclaimed Jack. “Get out of here,” and the men hurried off, first staring at the boy as if they thought he was mad. “Well, a New Guinea bath certainly accounts for the appearance of some of the natives I’ve seen about,” he laughed, as soon as they had left. “But I suppose I must make the best of it.”

So Jack’s bath consisted of dipping water out of the tub and pouring it over himself, trying not to flood the room. But apparently he did so, for soon a loud and indignant voice was heard at the door.

“Who is there?” demanded the boys.

“Sapristi! Eet is I. Zee landlord. You flood zee place. Zee water drip on me.”

“Sorry,” sang out Jack, cheerfully, “but I’m doing the best I can. You see, I’m not used to the customs of the country yet. I don’t understand your way of bathing.”

“What do you mean zee bathing?”

“I’m trying to get a bath in this barrel that you sent me up.”

“Taking a bath!” shouted the landlord in a startled voice, “a bath at zees time of zee night. You must be crazee. Anyhow, you drop no more of zee water on me. I sleep zee room undaire.”

“Well, he doesn’t look as if a little water would hurt him,” commented Billy, as the landlord’s footsteps retreated down the passage.

The boys were soon in bed, but not to sleep. Their exciting day amid new scenes had rendered them wakeful and then, too, the beds of the Hotel Bomobori were not couches of roses. The sheets and pillows smelled abominably of camphor and mildew, and the latter appeared to have been, or so Billy declared, stuffed with corn cobs. The same applied to the mattresses. But as if this was not enough, there came a sudden shrill cry from somewhere in the room:

“Beck-ee! Beck-ee! Beck-ee!”

“What in the nation was that?” cried Billy, considerably startled.

“Somebody calling for 'Becky,’” laughed Jack, “but Rebecca won’t answer. Go to sleep, Billy, if you can, on these miserable beds. It must be some insect.”

“I hope it isn’t anything venomous,” muttered Raynor.

“Better keep your curtains close drawn and then it can’t get at you, anyhow,” advised Jack.

“But then it shuts out all the air and I almost suffocate,” complained Billy.

“Wow!” he yelled a moment later, in a tone that roused Jack, who was almost asleep.

“What’s the matter, Billy?” he asked anxiously.

“Ugh, something soft with legs on it just ran over my face,” cried Raynor. “For goodness’ sake get up and get a light. It may be something that bites or stings.”

Jack lost no time in getting hurriedly out of his bed, and as he shook the curtains something was dislodged from them and went whirring and banging round the room, blundering heavily against the ceiling.

“What the dickens——!” exclaimed the boy, considerably startled, when another cry from Billy split the air.

“Ouch, for the love of Mike. A light, quick. Something just nipped my toe.”

Jack fumbled for the matches; but, as is usual in such cases, he located every object in the room before he found them, finally colliding with the washstand and sending it with a crash to the ground floor. An instant later there was the noise of slamming doors below and the landlord came racing up the stairs to the boys’ room.

“Ciel! What is zee mattaire zees time? First you try drown me, zen you make zee beeg crash like zee tonnaire!”

“It’s all the fault of your old hotel,” exclaimed Jack angrily, going to the door. “This room is full of some kind of animals. It’s a regular menagerie.”

He opened the door and the landlord, with a curious-looking night-light, composed of a wick floating in a tumbler full of some strong-smelling oil that gave out a powerful odor of sandal wood, came inside. Instantly there was a mighty scuffling and several ugly looking lizards darted off across the floor and a huge bat (no doubt the creature that had vacated Jack’s bed-curtains with such a prodigious flapping) went soaring out through the open lattice-work doors which led out on the verandah, but which the boys had left open for coolness. There were also a dozen other specimens of unclassified insects, both winged and legged, which went scuttling off at the sight of the light. Then the landlord’s eye fell on the open doors.

“Sacre!” he cried, “nevaire did I such a foolishness see.”

“What’s the matter now?” demanded Jack. “The only foolishness I can see is in our coming to this hotel.”

The landlord shrugged his shoulders as if in despair.

“What else do you expect but zee bat, zee scorpion, zee centipede, zee leezard, zee chigre, zee——”

“What makes a noise like 'becky, becky, becky’?” asked Billy, breaking in on the catalogue.

“Ah! Zee biting leezard 'ee do zat.”

“Then that fellow that nipped my toe and the one that sang out for Rebecca must be the same individual,” cried Billy indignantly, “but go on with your catalogue.”

The landlord looked puzzled.

“Zere was zee cat and zee dog 'ere, too?” he demanded.

“No, I said the catalogue. The list of insects you were rattling off.”

“Oh, well, I was going to say to you not to leave zee porch doors open in zee night. And also nevaire go to bed wizout lighting one of zees lights.” He tapped the peculiar-smelling night-light he held. “See, here eez one 'ere on zees table.”

“Well, you can’t blame us for not knowing what it was,” protested Jack, as he lighted it. “I thought it was some peculiar kind of drink. It’s the first time I ever saw light served in a tumbler.”

“Zee light veree good,” said the landlord, as he was leaving the room. “Zee animal no like zee light, also they no like zee smell.”

“I don’t blame them,” said Jack, after the man had left, and the odd tumbler lamp was burning with a sputtering, smoking flame, “especially the smell part.”

“Anyhow, anything is better than sharing your bed with you-don’t-know-what creepy-crawly things,” declared Raynor.

“Yes, and lizards that go round hollering girls’ names,” agreed Jack. “I fancy we’ll sleep better now. But, after all, we’ve got to get used to it all for we may meet worse in the jungle.”

CHAPTER XXII.—INTO THE JUNGLE.

The next day was busily spent by the boys. Jack had his portable wireless to assemble. Raynor was assigned as “chief of baggage,” and Captain Sparhawk and Mr. Jukes, with Muldoon, who spoke the Papuan dialect after a fashion, occupied the time rounding up the native bearers and finding a suitable “head man.” The latter was very important to the success of the expedition, both to keep the other natives up to their work and to find trails and, if necessary, act as interpreter. Through the good offices of Jabez Hook, a “smart Yankee” who ran a “general store” at Bomobori, and was a warm friend of Captain Sparhawk’s, they finally found just the man they wanted. He was a tall, up-right Papuan with an exceptionally intelligent face, who spoke fair English, knew the country thoroughly and appeared about thirty years old. Salloo, as he called himself, agreed to have everything in readiness for a start into the interior by the next morning. He held out hopes that from some of the interior tribes they would get news of the lost ones, for among the natives news travels fast, and if ‘Bully’ Broom had conveyed prisoners into the inland some of the tribesmen would be sure to know about it.

When Jack returned from the Sea Gypsy, where he had set up his apparatus, he reported that all was well on board and everything going forward smoothly under the command of the first officer. Thurman appeared to be delighted with his chance to vindicate himself, but acting under Mr. Jukes’ advice, it had been deemed prudent to refuse him shore liberty till the party returned. Thurman did not seem to resent this, and told Jack that after all he had gone through, a “soft berth” and good meals on the yacht appealed to him. He had seen enough of the tropics, so he declared, to have no especial desire to go ashore at Bomobori.

It was not till eleven o’clock that night that they turned in. But when they did so it was with a satisfied feeling that every detail had been attended to. Not the least satisfactory result of the day had been Jack’s achievement of perfecting the portable wireless which would keep them at all times in touch with the yacht.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. The boys were up before any of the rest of the party, dressed in khaki suits, sun helmets and stout leggings, for much of the way would lie through ragged bush. Each lad carried a water canteen, a pocket filter, compass, knife, and wore a service revolver attached to a cartridge belt. In these “uniforms” they looked very business-like, and capable of giving a good account of themselves in any emergency. Soon after the other members of the party appeared somewhat similarly attired. Mr. Jukes’ pockets bulged with boxes of dyspepsia pills, and Muldoon wore his sailor uniform with the addition of leggings and a sun helmet.

“Shure I look like a sea soldier no liss,” was the way he summed up his appearance, and the boys couldn’t help agreeing with him.

While they were at breakfast, Salloo and his “bearers” presented themselves.

Salloo greeted them with a low “salaam,” and volunteered the information that:

“Him welly good day for makum start. Go many miles. Good trail for first part of journey.”

“Well, the further we go, the quicker we’ll get back,” commented Muldoon in true Irish style.

At eight o’clock they were off. Nobody in the town knew the true object of their expedition, but supposed they were off on a hunt for entomological specimens, for New Guinea swarms with rare forms of insect life and many intrepid collectors have found it a happy hunting ground, some of them paying for their devotion to science with their lives.

At first the question of traveling on horse-back had been mooted. But Salloo promptly vetoed this. The country was too rough and thickly grown to make horse-back travel feasible for more than a few miles, he declared. They might have used the river, but it was only navigable for a short distance when the swift current and the shoals made it dangerous for up-stream travel. Natives coming down it always abandoned their dugouts, which were simply hollow trees, at Bomobori, and went back to their villages on foot.

The town was soon left behind and they struck into a trail which was broad and well trodden. On all sides were dense groves of tropical vegetation, towering palms, spreading mangoes laden with golden fruit, that ever-present banana and fragrant guava and lemon trees. From the tall lance-wood and cotton trees great creepers and lianas, looking like serpents, twined and coiled. There was a moist, steaming heat in the air.

“It’s just like being in a big conservatory at home,” said Jack, and indeed the air had just the odor and closeness of a glass-house.

“This is fever territory,” declared Mr. Jukes, administering a large dose of quinine to himself. “There is to be no sleeping on the ground, remember.”

“I guess not, after the experience we had in our room at the hotel last night,” said Raynor, and amidst much laughter he narrated the details of their uncomfortable night.

As they pushed onward, there came from the river, which glinted like molten lead in the sunshine at their left, a long-drawn cry which startled all the white members of the expedition. It resembled the human voice and appeared to be the appeal of someone in agony.

“Shure there’s some poor soul in throuble over yonder forninst the river,” declared Muldoon, and before any one could stop him he had left the trail and was making for the water.

“Hi you white man, you comee back,” cried Salloo.

But he was too late. Hardly had Muldoon left the trail than he sank up to his knees in black, oozy mud which held him like liquid glue.

His struggles only made matters worse, and soon he was up to his knees in the evil-smelling, glutinous mass which bubbled about him as it sucked him down.

“Help! Murther! Shure, O’im kilt intirely!” cried the frightened man, waving his arms frantically.

CHAPTER XXIII.—A DANGEROUS TREE.

All this time, from the river, came the same weird cries that had mystified them. What with these cries and Muldoon’s lusty yells for help, had there been an enemy within a mile they must have heard them, but luckily they were in a territory known to be peaceable, although Salloo was not quite so sure of some of the tribes who had a bad reputation as “head hunters.”

“He’s stuck in the mud!” exclaimed Jack, and was starting forward to Muldoon’s assistance when Salloo grabbed his arm.

“No go,” he warned, “him mud velly bad. Make drown in mud plitty quick no get helpee.”

The native began making his way by a circuitous route toward the luckless Muldoon. In his hand he had a long rope. He leaped from tuft to tuft of the hummocks that appeared above the black soil. As soon as he got close enough to Muldoon he threw the struggling boatswain the end of the line, which Muldoon had presence of mind enough to place under his arm-pits. Then Salloo skipped nimbly back to the trail and all laying hold with a will they soon hauled Muldoon out of his disagreeable predicament, although he was a sorry sight to look at.

“But faith,” he exclaimed, “it’s glad enough I am to know O’im not dead intirely. A little mud will soon dry and clean off, begob.”

“Tropical places are full of just such treacherous swamps,” declared Captain Sparhawk. “It will be well for all of us to be very careful and not leave the trail except by Salloo’s advice.”

But now the strange wailing sound which they had for the moment forgotten in the excitement of Muldoon’s rescue again startled them. The cause of it was quickly explained by Salloo.

“Him dugong, allee samee sea-cow,” he said.

“Oh, I know now—like the manitou they have in Florida,” cried Jack.

“Me no know 'bout man or two,” said Salloo, “but him big an’mul. Live in river. Makee noise like heap cryee allee timee.”

“It sounds as if somebody was being murdered,” commented Raynor. “However, I guess we’re not the first people to be scared by the dinner-gong, or whatever you call it.”

The halt for the noon-day meal was made in a pleasant grove of tropical trees which stood on safe rising ground to one side of the trail. All the white members of the party were glad enough of the chance to take a rest, but the wiry natives appeared to be perfectly fresh and strong as when they set out, despite their heavy burdens. While the natives began cooking their rice and salted fish, with a sort of curry sauce, Salloo set about making a fire for the whites. With marvelous dexterity he twirled a stick between his outspread hands against some dry tinder and soon had a good blaze going. The boys scattered to get wood, of which they soon had a sufficient quantity. Then, determined to make the most of their halt, they flung themselves down under a peculiarly fine tree with wide, dark green leaves, glossy as polished leather.

They were chatting about the incidents of the trip so far when Jack all at once felt something strike him on the arm. His first impression was that it was a stone. But on looking at the place where he had been struck he saw that the sleeve of his shirt, for he had laid aside his khaki coat, had been ripped in parallel lines as if a curry comb, with sharp teeth, had been drawn down it. He felt a sharp pain moreover, and then he saw blood on his arm.

Billy had sprung up in alarm at his sharp exclamation of pain, and was peering into the brush in the dread of seeing savage faces peering at them. His shout of alarm brought them all, including Salloo, on the run to Jack’s side. The boy explained what had occurred and the faces of the whites grew grave. If they were attacked at this early stage of the journey it augured ill for the remainder of their adventure.

But Salloo speedily solved the mystery. Lying on the ground beside Jack was a green, oval-shaped ball, about the size of those projectiles that one sees stacked by memorial cannons in our country. But this missile was covered with sharp spikes like the spines of a hedgehog. Salloo pointed up into the beautiful tree under which they had cast themselves down to rest.

“Nobody throw him,” he explained, “him big fruit, some callum Durion nut. You comee way from there. One hittee you headee your blains getee knocked out.”

“They deserve to be for getting up a scare like that,” laughed Jack, who, like Billy, stepped hastily from under the dangerous tree. “It seems to be a pretty good idea in this country to be always on the look out. Even nature seems to have it in for you.”

Jack’s arm was doctored by Captain Sparhawk, for it was quite painful, but luckily the spines of the durion, sometimes called the Jack fruit, are not poisonous and it was soon all right again. But during the noon-day meal, which was then ready, when they heard the crashing of nut after nut from the durion tree, both boys felt they had had a very lucky escape from having their skulls fractured.

“Be jabers,” commented Muldoon, “shure o’ive been in a hurricane where the blocks and tackle that was ripped from aloft made yez skip around loively to dodge thim, but this is the first toime thot iver I heard of a three throwing things at yez as if ye was a nigger dodger at a fair.”

“You’ll discover stranger things than that, Muldoon, before we have been very long in New Guinea,” said Captain Sparhawk.

“Faith, so long as they’re not snakes, oi dunno thot I care much,” said the Irishman. “Begob, o’im thinking that St. Pathrick would be a good man to have along in a counthry where the craturs are. Wun wave uv his sthick and away they’d all go, bad luck to thim.”

CHAPTER XXIV.—WIRELESS AT WORK.

For two days they traveled thus, making fresh discoveries constantly. Once, for instance, Billy triumphantly pounced on what seemed like a fine bit of fire-wood for the noon-day halt. But he dropped it with a yell, as the “stick” suddenly developed legs and on being dropped walked off.

“Begorrah, there’s a shillalegh come to loife, so it has,” yelled Muldoon, as he observed the phenomenon; but the “shillalegh” was only one of those strange “stick insects” that abound in that part of the world and sometimes fool even the natives.

At noon of the third day they found themselves approaching a settlement, as cleared ground, where grew maize, sugar cane, yams and other plants, testified. The village proved to be a large one where white traders and animal collectors often stopped and there was a native hostelry in it conducted by a greasy-looking Frenchman who had a native wife as dirty-looking as he was. The native huts were all of bamboo hung with cocoanut mats. Natives squatted in front of them chewing betel nuts, the juice crimsoning their lips and chins. All ages and both sexes indulged in the habit, which is universal throughout Polynesia and the South Seas generally.

There appeared to be a lot of rivalry among the men as to who could grow the fuzziest, most outstanding crop of hair.

“Faith, a barber would starve to death in this country,” declared Muldoon.

Just then a young woman came down the “street,” if such the muddy track between the huts could be called. She held something in her arms that they thought at first was a baby. But it turned out to be a young pig!

“We’ll rest at the hotel here,” said Mr. Jukes, “till it grows cooler. My dyspepsia is bad again. It comes from traveling during the heat of the day as we have been doing.”

The mid-day meal was cooked on a sort of altar built of stones. The boys watched the operations in this open-air kitchen with interest. At least twenty natives assisted in the culinary demonstration and the chatter and laughter was deafening. They made a hearty meal on the native fare, which they were astonished to find was quite as good as anything they had tasted at home.

As Mr. Jukes did not wish to go forward at once after the meal they took it easy in several grass hammocks stretched under a large, shady, tree. The fact that the natives kept coming up and peering into their faces and that babies, chickens and pigs wandered about under the hammocks did not disturb the boys after a while, and they dropped off to sleep.

“I don’t wonder the natives here are lazy,” remarked Jack, when Muldoon awakened him with a yell of “All hands on deck to see it rain.” “I rarely slept in the day-time, but here I just dozed off without knowing it.”

“Same here,” chimed in Raynor. “I didn’t have to even half try.”

“This climate is very enervating, boys,” declared Captain Sparhawk, joining in the conversation. “That is why this part of the globe makes so little progress toward civilisation. Men who are hustlers in their own country come here determined to make the dirt fly, but after a few months their energy oozes out of them like—well, say like tar out of the seams of a hot ship’s deck.”

“That’s a good comparison,” laughed Jack.

Once more everything was stirring in the adventurers’ camp, and soon they were on their way again. The Frenchman, whose “hotel” they had left, had told them that by evening they would reach another village, the last one they would encounter before plunging into the really wild jungle, where there was another “hotel.”

“As it will be our last chance for many days to sleep under a roof, I propose we stay there to-night,” said Mr. Jukes, swallowing a pill.

This suited the rest of the party and they struck forward at a brisk pace after their refreshing rest and sleep. The jungle was filled with countless birds, but there were no feathered songsters among them. The air was filled with nothing but discordant shrieks and cries that set the teeth on edge. Once the boys had the thrill of seeing a bird of paradise, with its glorious plumage and wonderful tail feathers, flash across their path.

The village they stopped at that evening resembled in almost every respect the one in which the noon-day halt had been made. There were the same huts, the same swarming pigs and chickens, and the same fuzzy-headed Papuans, many of them returning from the fields with corn and yams.

The proprietor of the “hotel,” which had no more pretensions to the name than the other hostelry, proved to be a Portuguese half-caste, lacking one eye, and sporting a pair of huge brass ear-rings. His wife was a giant negress. However, they welcomed the party warmly, as they had good reason to do, not having had any guests for some time, and pigs and fowls were at once killed for supper, everything in such places being ordered “on the hoof,” so to speak. Mr. Jukes delighted his native followers by ordering an elaborate meal for them also, in celebration of the fact that on the morrow they would leave “civilization” behind them.

Jack, at Mr. Jukes’ request, set up his wireless plant, stringing the aerials from a tall tree up which one of the natives swarmed like a monkey to make the long wires fast. As he worked, he and Billy talked.

“I guess we’ll sleep with one eye open to-night,” said Jack in an undertone, for they were surrounded by a curious crowd watching the white boy “make conjure medicine.”

“Yes, those hotel people are a crafty-looking couple,” rejoined Billy, “and in a country like this it’s a good thing to regard everybody with suspicion till you find them all right.”

Muldoon sauntered up to them as they chatted and worked and had his word to put in too.

“Begorrah, that Portugee don’t look like no angel,” he said, “and his wife looks like the ould Nick himsilf.”

“Just what we were talking about, Muldoon,” said Jack. “It will be a good thing if we keep our eyes and ears open.”

It was some time before Jack got a reply, but at last he received Thurman’s answering call.

At last Jack got everything ready, and Raynor started to turn the hand-crank of the generator, for of course a gasoline engine for that purpose could not be carried into the jungle. When the storage batteries were charged, Jack began to pump out the Sea Gypsy’s call. At the first crackle and whip-snap like explosion of the spark the natives scattered with yells. Even Salloo, who was looking on, and had to stand his ground to maintain his dignity before his men, looked uneasy and shifted about nervously.

It was some time before Jack got a reply, but at last he received Thurman’s answering call.

Everything it seemed was O. K. and there was no particular news from his end except that another party had started up-country right on the heels of Mr. Jukes’ expedition. It was thought they were traders, Thurman said. Jack gave his news and then flashed “Good-night.”

He told Mr. Jukes of the conversation and of the start of a second party.

“I heard nothing in Bomobori of a second expedition,” mused Mr. Jukes, on receipt of this information. “But no doubt they are traders. It seems odd, though, that they didn’t join with us if they were coming this way, as is the general custom.”

CHAPTER XXV.—A JUNGLE HOTEL.

The hostelry was divided into half a dozen rooms walled with bamboo, and all on the ground floor. Rough mats of cocoanut cloth alone interposed between the sleepers and the ground, and cockroaches and singing lizards abounded. But by this time the lads had become pretty well used to the night noises of the jungle, which are far more tumultuous after dark than in the day-time, and as for the hard beds, they were too tired to mind much where they slept.

Jack had not slept long when he was awakened by someone calling to him. It was Muldoon. The Irishman was plainly agitated by some excitement as he stood in the grass-curtained door-way.

“Whist!” he exclaimed, holding a finger to his lips, “is thot you Misther Riddy?”

“Yes, what’s the trouble, Muldoon?”

“Shure o’ive made a discovery, sor.”

“What?”

“Thot other party. Ther ones you was tiligraphing about.”

“Well, what about them?”

“They’re here, begob.”

“Where, in the hotel?”

“No, in the woods back of the house.”

“Camping there?”

“No, bejabbers. There’s something looks queer to me about the whole thing, that’s why I called yez. They’ve sent for the Dago that runs this shabeen, sor.”

“Maybe they want to get accommodations?”

“Thin why wouldn’t they stip up like min and ask for ’em?” was Muldoon’s unanswerable retort.

Just then Mr. Jukes, rubbing his eyes sleepily, appeared in the door-way. Behind him stood the giant negress. The millionaire had evidently dressed hastily.

“I’ve got news, Ready,” he exclaimed in a rather excited voice. “This woman has just told me that her husband wants to see me outside. I gathered it’s on some matter connected with my brother.”

“Yassir,” grinned the hideous negress, showing a double row of sharply filed teeth, “dat’s it, sah. It’s 'bout yo’ brudder.”

Raynor had awakened by this time and was sitting up on his mat listening sleepily. He eyed the woman narrowly as she spoke and an uneasy conviction entered his mind that all was not well.

“You’d better be cautious, sir,” warned Jack, who also felt an undeniable feeling of suspicion, “something may be wrong.”

“What can be wrong,” demanded Mr. Jukes, rather impatiently. “I’m going outside to see. If it’s about my brother it’s my duty to do so at once.”

“Then if you’re going I’ll go with you,” said Jack, hastily throwing on the garments he had divested himself of, and strapping on his revolver.

“And begorrah o’i second the motion,” declared Muldoon.

“Wait a moment for me,” begged Billy.

“No, stay here,” said Jack. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll fire three shots.”

A minute later, followed by the native woman, the three left the place. As they reached the door she took the lead and conducted them through a bamboo grove to a thick growth of trees under which her husband and a big man with black beard were conversing.

“You wish to see me?” asked Mr. Jukes, addressing the bearded one.

“Yes; zees gentleman say zat 'e ave good news for you,” said the landlord, spreading his hands.

“Begorrah, oi don’t see no gintilmin here excipt oursilves,” muttered Muldoon.

“Muldoon, be quiet,” ordered Mr. Jukes, then turning to the black-bearded man he went on with, “Well, sir, what is it you wish?”

“You are Mr. Jukes?” asked the other, in a deep, gruff voice.

“I am, what of it?”

“I want to see you. I have news for you.”

“But—but I don’t know you. Why didn’t you come to the hotel if you had anything to say to me?” asked the millionaire in a puzzled way.

“I wanted to talk to you in private about your brother,” was the reply.

“My brother! Why, we are searching for him now. That is the reason of our presence in the jungle. Do you know anything about him?”

“I do. It was he who sent me here.”

“Jerushah sent you?” the millionaire was fairly amazed now. “He is then alive?”

“Yes, but he is a prisoner and very sick. Through natives he heard of the arrival of your expedition and sent me even at this hour to bring you to him.”

“That is a strange story, my man,” said Mr. Jukes suspiciously. “I might say it is almost incredible.”

“I’ll admit it does sound strange,” said the other, “but strange things happen in this part of the world. I might add that the other Mr. Jukes wants to see you alone. Something about a pearl, I believe.”

Jack gave a tug at Mr. Jukes’ sleeve. The lad had been peering about him through the dark trees and had seen something the others had not. If his eyes had not deceived him, and Jack did not believe they had, several forms were moving about in the gloom beneath the interlaced branches.

“Mr. Jukes,” he whispered, “I don’t believe this man. I think we are in some sort of a trap. Why didn’t he come to the house with this cock-and-bull story?”

Mr. Jukes hesitated. It was strange that this man of great affairs, before whom board meetings quailed, and who ruled almost supreme among the great money kings of New York, appeared to be lost now that he was out of his little world and among the great elemental things of the untraveled jungle.

“I’m sure I don’t know, Ready,” he replied.

“Ask him,” suggested Jack, with his hand on his revolver. He felt that a crisis of some sort was at hand, but it was too late to retreat now.

Mr. Jukes, with some of his old pomposity, put the question. The bearded man’s reply was brief and to the point.

“That is beside the question,” he snapped. “Are you coming with me?”

Before any reply could be made the bearded man’s eye caught the glint of Jack’s weapon. Instantly a shrill whistle sounded. From the trees leaped a dozen or more men.

“Howly saints! A trap!” yelled Muldoon.

“A trap!” echoed Jack. He raised his pistol to cover the black-bearded man. But before he had it leveled both he and Mr. Jukes were thrown from their feet by a combined attack and in a twinkling both the millionaire and the boy were helpless.

“Run for the house, Muldoon. Warn the others. Come after us as quick as you can.”

“Hold your horses there,” roared the black-bearded man, who, as our readers will have guessed, was ‘Bully’ Broom himself, with his band of renegade followers. He tried to block the boatswain’s path as Muldoon darted off.

Biff, the old seaman’s knotted fist shot out and caught the redoubtable ‘Bully’ between his eyes. He staggered but did not fall.

“Take that, you murtherin’ spalpeen,” shouted Muldoon, as he darted off among the trees and was speedily lost to sight. Three or four of the band pursued him, but ‘Bully’ Broom called them back.

“We’ve got the fellows we want,” he said; “bind and gag them and if they show fight don’t be too gentle with them.”

CHAPTER XXVI.—PRISONERS OF ‘BULLY’ BROOM.

Jack fought desperately, but as he was helpless, and in return for his struggles received only a rain of brutal blows, he deemed it wiser to remain quiet. Soon both he and the millionaire had their hands tied behind their backs and gags of dirty grass were thrust, none too gently, into their mouths.

“Now march, and behave yourselves or you’ll be shot,” snarled ‘Bully’ Broom, whose temper had not been improved by the blow Muldoon’s strong fist had given him.

As it would have been folly to have resisted, situated as they were, the two prisoners did as they were told. Jack wondered where they were being taken and why they had been attacked. Even his acute mind did not connect their captors with ‘Bully’ Broom and his gang. The boy thought they had fallen into the hands of one of those bands of free-booters, known to frequent parts of the bush, holding up helpless travelers.

He felt sorry for Mr. Jukes, though. The millionaire was stout and accustomed to his ease. After his tiring day this night march must have been cruel exertion to him. But if he lagged, the man of millions received a vicious jab in the back with the stock of a rifle.

Even in this trouble, Jack could not help reflecting on the strange turn of the wheel of fortune that had brought Jacob Jukes, man of millions, into the heart of a lonely jungle, a shirt-sleeved, perspiring prisoner, in the hands of a band of men of undoubtedly desperate character. He wondered, too, if the millionaire himself was not contrasting this cruel march through the forest with his magnificent town and country houses, his automobiles, his lavishly furnished offices and his elaborate entertainments. If he were doing so, Jack surmised that his thoughts must be bitter. In thinking thus, Jack contrived largely to keep his mind off his own misfortunes.

A journey of some hours, at the close of which Mr. Jukes began to give every outward sign of deep physical exhaustion, brought them to a clearing, once cultivated, but now neglected, overlooking the river. Here, on a bluff about fifty feet above the water, in years gone by, a trading company had maintained a post. It had been built in the days when the natives were troublesome in that section and it was a strong structure like a fort. It was almost overgrown with rank tropical vines, but evidently the way to it was not unknown to the men conducting Mr. Jukes and Jack.

Lanterns were lit and when the two captives had been ushered in both were made fast to the logs that formed the walls of the place. Jack glanced at Mr. Jukes. The millionaire was assuredly a pitiable-looking object. His fine white shirt was torn almost to ribbons by thorny vines encountered along the path, his carefully groomed appearance had given way to a general disreputableness that would have gained him recognition by any tramp as a member of the fraternity, his face was almost purple, from his enforced exertions and the gag in his mouth.

“Gracious, he looks as if he might have apoplexy at any minute,” thought Jack, who, although he was in as bad a plight, characteristically did not spend any sympathy on himself. Perhaps the members of the band that had captured them noticed what Jack had, and feared fatal consequences, for Mr. Jukes’ gag was soon removed and so was Jack’s.

When this had been done, and before Mr. Jukes could recover his breath enough to speak, the rascals withdrew to the other end of the building, which was like a long mess hall and may indeed have been used at some time as such.

“What does this outrage mean?” demanded Jack, as the black-bearded man strolled off last of all, after looking them over with a cynical smile.

“You would like to know, eh, Jack Ready?”

“So you know my name?” exclaimed Jack in some surprise.

“Yes, and that of your companions who will join you here before long. We hope to have the pleasure of your company for quite a long time.”

“You abominable ruffian,” cried Jack, overcome by indignation, “you will pay dearly for this some time,” but at the same time the boy did not believe that the rest had been caught napping and captured. They were a strong party and, led by Muldoon, he knew they would put up a stiff fight.

“I wish you had taken my warning, Mr. Jukes,” Jack could not help saying, as soon as they were left alone.

“You wish it no more fervently than I do, my boy,” was the despondent reply. “Wall Street and New York seem like a dream to me. Only this horror is real.”

“I would like to know what it all means,” said Jack. “These men can’t be just common robbers; they appear to have a regular hang-out here.”

“I can’t help thinking that I’ve seen some of these ruffians loitering about Bomobori,” said Mr. Jukes.

“That struck me, too. At any rate they must be the party Thurman wirelessed to me about as leaving just behind us. They’ve followed our trail pretty closely, too. We should have been more on our guard.”

Slowly the hours wore by till daylight began to show in the narrow windows of the old barracks. The positions of both prisoners were most uncomfortable. The strain on their arms from the tightly tied cords was almost unbearable.

“And to think I used to complain of discomfort if my chauffeur allowed my car to bump over a rut,” groaned Mr. Jukes, with a comical pathos that would have made Jack smile had they been in any other situation.

All the men had left the place, but they could hear the murmur of their voices outside. A smell of wood smoke drifted in and then the tantalising odors of frying bacon and the aroma of coffee combined to remind both prisoners that, in spite of their sufferings, they were both hungry and thirsty.

“I wonder if we are going to get any breakfast?” asked Jack, after a silence broken only by Mr. Jukes’ pathetic groans.

“I’d risk a month of dyspepsia for a plate of beans and bacon right now,” wailed the unhappy millionaire.

“Yes,” thought Jack. “There are decidedly situations where all the millions in the world wouldn’t do you much good, and this, apparently, is one of them.”

At last footsteps were heard approaching from the opposite end of the ramshackle building.

“Somebody at last,” cried Jack.

He had hardly spoken when ‘Bully’ Broom stood before them, followed by—Donald Judson.

CHAPTER XXVII.—AT THE OLD FORT.

Jack found it difficult to credit his eyesight as he gazed at the boy who formerly had made so much trouble for them and the gigantic ruffian who stood beside him.

“Judson! Is it possible?” he gasped. “What brought you here?”

“Are you a prisoner, too?” demanded Mr. Jukes.

“A prisoner?” laughed Judson. “Well, that’s a good one, I must say. Only fools walk into traps.”

“Well, what are you doing here then, boy?” demanded the millionaire, recollecting his former kindness to Donald. “You ask him, Ready. He’s a friend of yours.”

“He’s no friend of mine, Mr. Jukes,” denied Jack. “Can’t you see it all?”

“See what?”

“Why, the contemptible turn-coat is in with these rascals.”

“Impossible!”

“So, Judson,” went on Jack, “this is how you repay our kindness to you?”

“Your kindness,” sneered the boy. “I want none of it. I’m in with a good crowd now. Besides, I told you in Bomobori I didn’t want to go with your old expedition.”

“But you didn’t refuse the money I got you from Mr. Jukes,” said Jack.

“Oh, he’s made of money,” chuckled Donald, “and we mean to get some more of it.”

“You miserable young whelp,” panted the helpless millionaire, purple with rage, “if I had you in America——”

“And anyhow,” continued Judson, thoroughly enjoying this, “you are only getting what’s coming to you, Ready. In the States you tried to have me put in pris—er that is you wanted to tell lies about me.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t have you locked up, now,” said Jack bitterly. “I suppose you put this gang of scoundrels on our trail.”

“You can suppose anything you want,” was the rejoinder, but a bit of the old boastfulness crept into his tone, “and you’re going to pay up, too, before you get out of this. Have you had them searched, Captain Broom?”

“What——?” shouted the millionaire, almost beside himself at this sudden revelation of the black-bearded man’s identity, “are you ‘Bully’ Broom?”

“My name’s Broom all right,” was the surly reply, “but I want my proper handle, which is Captain.”

“What have you done with my brother, you infernal rascal?” stormed the millionaire.

“Now you ain’t going to get along any better by cutting up rough and losing your temper like that, pard’ner,” was the cool reminder. “You may be my guest for quite a time, so let’s you and me get along peaceable. Otherwise we’ll find a way to make you keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“Did you have them searched?” repeated Donald greedily. “If you did I want my share of it.”

“They were searched, Judson, but they only had a few dollars; not more than a hundred at most.”

“Bah!” growled Judson; “then they left some behind at old Baroni’s place. If we don’t capture the others, then——”

“Never mind that, now,” commanded Broom; “you tell ’em what I told you.”

“All right,” assented Judson, and then, turning to Jack, he said:

“Do you know why you were brought here, Mr. Fresh?”

“To be robbed, I suppose. I see no other explanation to it,” was Jack’s reply, with a steady look at Judson that made the other drop his eyes. “I always knew you were a bad lot, Judson, but I never thought you were as bad as this.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m as good as you,” stormed Judson, although he looked uneasy. Jack’s shot had told. “To be brief, we want to make money out of you.”

“In what way?”

“First of all, you must answer our questions.”

“That’s the way,” approved ‘Bully’ Broom, stroking his huge beard. “How much money did you bring with you from America?”

“Very little cash,” replied the millionaire, who had found it more prudent to control his temper, “most of the money is in the form of a letter of credit.”

“Where is that letter of credit?” demanded Judson, interfering.

“It is in Bomobori with the bankers,” was the reply, and Jack rejoiced to think that Mr. Jukes had managed to tell him that, as most of the money had been left behind at the hostelry with Captain Sparhawk, who had been appointed a sort of pay-master to the party.

“Well, now we’ll come down to brass tacks,” growled Broom, after an interval of thought. “How much is your liberty worth to you?”

“So that’s your game, is it, you rascally blackmailer?” sputtered the infuriated millionaire. “You won’t get a cent out of me.”

But ‘Bully’ Broom only smiled.

“Perhaps in a few days you’ll sing a different tune,” he said, and something, not in the words, but in the way they were uttered, sent a cold shiver down Jack’s spine.

CHAPTER XXVIII.—THE FREE-BOOTER’S DEMANDS.

“Well, what do you demand?” was the millionaire’s next question.

Donald Judson drew ‘Bully’ Broom aside and whispered to him. The other nodded.

“The least we will take is one hundred thousand dollars,” he said.

The millionaire grew purple.

“What?” he almost shouted.

“That is for the liberty of both,” said ‘Bully’ Broom coolly. “Fifty thousand for the boy and fifty thousand for you. If you don’t want to take the boy, you can pay up fifty thousand and we will keep him.”

“What would you do with him?”

“Well, the river is full of hungry alligators——” grinned the wretch.

“You scoundrel,” thundered Mr. Jukes, “do you suppose I’d leave him behind, anyway?” Jack cast him a grateful look. “But what have you done with my brother, you ruffian?”

“Ah! I was coming to that,” said the rascal with an insolent smile, “but you can also have him for the very insignificant sum that I have already mentioned as being the price for you and the boy.”

“You’re worth a whole lot more than that, Jukes,” put in Judson, with an equally insolent air. “You’re a regular old money-bags, you know.”

“You’ll never get my money,” raged the millionaire.

“We won’t, eh?”

“Never.”

“Hunger makes a lot of difference, Mr. Jukes,” smiled Broom.

“So you mean to starve us into submission, eh?” demanded Jack. “I don’t see how such rogues can exist. Judson, you are the worst young hound I ever heard of.”

In high rage the boy’s enemy stepped up to him and deliberately struck him a heavy blow in the face, which Jack was, of course, powerless to return.

“Yes, a cowardly trick like that is in perfect accordance with what I know of your nature,” said Jack with menacing quietness.

“You dare say that again,” screamed Donald, beside himself with anger, “just you dare and I’ll——” He ended with a shake of his fist.

“Oh, you can’t scare me, even if I am tied,” said Jack scornfully.

His perfect calmness added fuel to the fire of Judson’s rage.

“I’ll fix you,” he yelled, “I’ll——”

“Judson, be quiet,” ordered Broom, and the boy subsided. “Now,” went on the free-booter to Mr. Jukes, “your best plan, if you don’t want to lose a few pounds, will be to make out a check for that money. Of course, we’ll have to keep you here till it’s safely cashed, otherwise you might, and probably would, stop the check. But——”

“Don’t pay a cent, Mr. Jukes,” interrupted Jack.

Judson stepped suddenly forward and struck the helpless lad another stinging blow. It was such a hard one that Jack’s senses swam for a minute.

“Shame on you, you young villain,” cried Mr. Jukes. “He is helpless, otherwise you wouldn’t dare lay hands on him.”

“Who says so? I could lick him any day,” swaggered Judson imprudently.

“Have you people no sense of right and honesty in your compositions?” demanded Mr. Jukes.

But this appeal had no more effect on Broom than it would have had on adamant.

“We’re no worse than you millionaires, if all the papers say is true,” he retorted. “You rob in your way, we rob in ours. We’re not quite so refined about it, perhaps. That’s the only difference, Mr. Jukes.”

“You ruffian! Do you compare business,—legitimate business,—with your rascally trade?”

“My rascally trade, as you please to term it, is business,—legitimate business,—to me,” returned Broom.

“Are we to have any food?” demanded the millionaire abruptly.

“When you listen to reason, yes.”

“And your idea of reason is that I consent to pay that preposterous ransom?”

“Your insight does you credit, Mr. Jukes. Sign that check and you shall have all you want to eat within the poor limits of my larder, and reasonable liberty till it is cashed. After that you are free to go where you will.”

“Our friends will raise a hue and cry for us,” declared Jack. “They’ll find us and put you where you belong, behind the bars.”

Broom and young Judson turned away and left the hut by another door from the one by which they had entered.

“You think they will pay?” asked Broom, with some anxiety in his voice.

“I’m sure they will. Even a tight-wad old millionaire will pay up when it comes to a choice between that and starving.”

“Then you think they are sure to give in?”

“Without a doubt. Then it is only a question of waiting for the money and getting out.”

“I don’t mind that. But I didn’t like what they said about their friends following us here.”

“Why you said nobody knew the way here through the swamps but yourself along that path we came last night.”

“That’s true, but then there’s the river. However, it would be impossible to see the old fort from below and anyhow the cliff is fifty feet high and easily guarded.”

“Of course you are foolish to worry. However, perhaps if they don’t give in in a day or two we had better be moving along. That young Ready’s chum, Billy, has given me trouble before.”

“Well,” said Broom, “we’ll see how things come out. If they don’t want to perish in the swamps they’ll have to come by the river. From now on I’ll have that cliff guarded.”

“Yes, and if any rescue party comes they’ll get a big surprise,” was young Judson’s reply.

CHAPTER XXIX.—THE RESCUE PARTY.

“I wish I’d gone along with them,” muttered Raynor to himself as he slipped on his socks and boots so as to be ready instantly in case of alarm. “I don’t like the look of this thing at all.”

For some minutes he sat there listening intently. But no sound came from outside.

“I guess I’ll just join them anyhow,” he resolved to himself, getting on his feet. “This waiting is too nerve-racking. I’ll——”

The boy halted where he stood. A loud shout from the jungle reached his ears.

“Something has happened!” cried the boy.

He reached for his pistol, and hastily buckling it on, he was about to rush out of the hostelry when a wild figure appeared.

“Help! There’s murther goin’ on. Help!”

It was Muldoon, fleeing before three of Broom’s followers. But as the pursuers came in sight of the hotel they halted. The next moment they were in active retreat.

“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” gasped Raynor.

“Those spalpeens out yonder. They’ve captured Misther Jukes and Jack Riddy.”

“We must rouse the others at once and go in pursuit,” decided Billy.

He hurried off to awaken Captain Sparhawk, while Muldoon aroused Salloo, who in turn, soon had his native followers astir. It did not take Captain Sparhawk much longer to get into his clothes when he heard Billy’s alarming news than it did for the natives, who were not embarrassed by garments, to adjust what few they did wear.

It was well they had hastened, for the rascally landlord of the place had, by this time, aroused all the half-castes in the place and as, headed by Captain Sparhawk, they set off into the jungle, there was a scattering firing of shots behind them. Nobody was hurt, however, and they hastened forward to the place where Muldoon told them the capture had taken place.

Salloo was consulted and he made a careful examination of the surroundings. It was considered quite safe to make this halt, as the tumult behind them had died out and was probably only incited by the hotel owner in order to get them out of the village.

“Must wait till light come,” decided Salloo at last, “no can make out trail in dark.”

It seemed a whole eternity till dawn, but at last it grew light and the Malay darted hither and thither in the vicinity. At last he announced to Captain Sparhawk that he thought he knew, from the direction the trail took, the place to which the prisoners had been conveyed.

“Me think they take um to old fort on river,” he declared.

“Then let us go there at once,” said Captain Sparhawk eagerly. “Is it far?”

“No velly far through jungle. But Salloo no know trail. Velly bad swamp in there and if no know trail get in tlubble plenty quick.”

“Then we can’t reach them,” said Billy with a groan.

“Salloo know other way,” was the reply, “we go round by ribber. Then climbee cliff, find fort at top.”

“Then let’s start at once,” said Captain Sparhawk. “I don’t want to lose a second of time.”

“No, begorry, those spalpeens may have taken them further on by the time we git there if we don’t put a good foot forward,” said Muldoon.

Salloo glanced up at the sky. A light, fleecy haze overspread it.

“Nuther reason we hully,” he said. “Salloo think big storm come to-mollow. Rain washee out the tlacks.”

They set off along a narrow track that Salloo said would bring them to the river, whose course they must follow to the deserted fort. The jungle contained every kind of tropical growth, and huge ferns as big as trees waved over the path. But the atmosphere was close and feverish, with a humid heat that was very tiring. At times they encountered vines which had grown across the trail and had to be cut. Some of these were thin and wiry and could cut like a knife; others were as thick as a man’s arm and bore brilliant, though poisonous-looking blossoms of every color.

“Bad traveling,” remarked Captain Sparhawk, “still I suppose we must expect that on a seldomly frequented trail.”

“Him get velly bad further on,” was all the comfort Salloo could offer, “but not velly far to ribber once we strike udder trail.”

Before long they came to the track he had referred to which branched off at right angles to the one along which they had been traveling.

Several miles were covered, however, when it became time to halt for lunch. They made a hasty meal of canned goods instead of stopping to light fires, as Salloo thought it would be inadvisable to advertise their whereabouts by smoke columns in case the “enemy” had scouts out. They had hardly resumed their wearisome journey when they were startled by hearing a cry from a distance. Salloo came to an instant halt.

“Keep out ob sight, all of you,” he said, “Salloo go see what makee noise.”

He glided off into the dense vegetation with the silent, undulatory movements of a snake.

“Begorry, I wonder what that critter was?” said Muldoon in a low voice.

“I don’t know. I only hope it wasn’t a band of natives who might prove unfriendly,” muttered Billy.

“Well, so far we have had more trouble with white men than with natives,” said Captain Sparhawk, a remark of which they all felt the truth.

“It might have been monkeys chattering,” suggested Raynor, after a pause, during which they all listened for some sign of Salloo.

“And spaking of the divil,” exclaimed Muldoon, “look, there’s a monkey looking at us now. See those two black oys back in the threes?”

He pointed with his forefinger and they all gazed in that direction. It was Billy who first discovered the nature of Muldoon’s monkey.

“That’s not a monkey. It’s a big snake! Look out for yourselves!” he yelled.

“A python!” cried Captain Sparhawk.

He started back and the others did the same. But Muldoon tripped over a bow and fell sprawling headlong. As he scrambled to his feet a serpent’s form appeared above him as it swung from a big tree. The next instant there was a cry of horror from them all.

The serpent had made a sudden lunge and a cry broke from Muldoon as, before he could make a move to help himself, he was enwrapped in the spiral folds of the great python.

Captain Sparhawk seized his revolver from his belt and leveled the weapon. But the next moment he lowered it. To have fired would have been to imperil Muldoon’s life, and there might still be a chance of saving him.

The monstrous reptile that had the unfortunate boatswain in its grip was large, even judged by the standards of the immense pythons of the New Guinea and Borneo forests. It must have been fully thirty-five feet long.

Billy could not endure the sight and put his hands in front of his eyes. When he removed them it was to behold a stirring sight.

CHAPTER XXX.—IN THE COILS OF A PYTHON.

From the jungle there had darted a lithe figure. It was Salloo. He had traced the source of the mysterious cries to a troop of monkeys. He was returning when Muldoon’s despairing cry broke on his ears.

The Malay, guessing that there was serious trouble, glided through the jungle at the best speed of which he was capable, making his way swiftly through thickets that a white man could not have passed at all. There is one weapon with which a Malay is always armed—his kriss, a razor-edged sword about two feet long, with a “wavy” outline. This kriss Salloo now drew from under his single garment.

One instant it flashed in the sunlight and the next, during which it was impossible to follow its movements, so swift were they, the python’s head was severed. But instantly, by a convulsive movement, its coils tightened and Muldoon emitted another pitiful cry. But, fortunately, the life of the snake had departed and soon its coils relaxed and its gaudily-colored body slipped in a heap to the ground.

They all sprang forward to Muldoon’s aid, for the man, powerful and rugged, was almost in a state of collapse as the result of his terrible experience. An examination by Captain Sparhawk soon showed that no bones had been broken, as they had at first feared, and after restoratives had been administered, and after a short rest, Muldoon announced that he was ready to march on again.

“That was a close shave, Muldoon,” remarked Raynor, as they pressed onward, after Muldoon had nearly wrung the hand off Salloo in expressing his thanks for the Malay’s courageous act, which had undoubtedly saved the boatswain’s life.

“Ouch! Don’t say a wurrud,” groaned the Irishman, “I thought I was a goner sure. Divil a bit more of snakes is it I want to see.”

That evening they reached the river, and leaving them camped, Salloo set off on a scouting expedition. It was a long time before he returned, but when he came in he brought good news. He had located the old fort and reported that the ruffians who had carried off Mr. Jukes and Jack were all there enjoying themselves round a big fire and apparently in no fear of an attack.

“Me see um white boy there, too,” he added. “Same boy hang round hotel at Bomobori all time.”

“Donald Judson!” exclaimed Billy. “How can that be possible? I can’t fit him into this at all.”

“Well, the question is, now that we have tracked the rascals, what’s the next move,” said Captain Sparhawk.

“Me think now good time attack,” counseled Salloo. “They no think anyone near. Give ’em heap big surprise.”

“Begorry, that’s well said, naygur,” approved Muldoon, “I’m aching to git a good crack at thim.”

After some consultation it was decided to make the attack at once. If they delayed they would have to wait till the next night in order to surprise Broom’s band and there was no telling what might happen during the twenty-four hours that would elapse.

Luckily, there was a moon, though it was somewhat obscured by the haze which Salloo had drawn attention to as presaging a storm. The party, piloted by Salloo, started off up the river, which was low, as the weather had been dry and there was plenty of room for them to pass between the bank and the water’s edge.

At last they arrived in sight of the cliff and Raynor’s heart gave a bound. At the top they could see the red glare of the camp fire, though they could not see any of the men.

“There’s one good thing, the ascent of the cliff will be easy,” said Billy, in a whisper, as he drew attention to the knotted and twisted vines that hung down it.

“Yes, we’ll need no scaling ladders,” rejoined Captain Sparhawk.

“No need for usum vines,” declared the Malay. “Salloo know a path to top.”

Telling them to remain where they were, the faithful fellow set off on another scouting expedition. His kriss glittered menacingly in the moonlight as he went on, trying to keep in the shadow of the cliff. Arrived at the path he knew of, he glided noiselessly up it, although it was a steep and tortuous one, and soon was at the top of the cliff. Through the gloom he made out a solitary figure sitting on a rock far removed from the campfire, about which the rest were gathered. The Malay guessed it was a sentry, although the fellow was not keeping a very careful watch and appeared to be half asleep.

“Me fixee you one minute,” grinned the Malay to himself.

He cast himself on his stomach in the long grass that grew on the cliff-top and began worming his way round the sentry so as to approach him from the rear. He scarcely made a sound as he moved with wonderful rapidity.

The sentry appeared to shake off his drowsiness suddenly and rose to his feet just as Salloo was within a few inches of him. But he left his rifle leaning against the rock on which he had been seated. Instantly Salloo leaped from the grass and the next instant the kriss was at the thunderstruck sentry’s throat.

“You no speak or me killee,” grated out the Malay, and one glance convinced the sentry that Salloo would carry out his threat.

Salloo stooped and picking up a small pebble cast it over the cliff. It fell almost at the feet of Captain Sparhawk and Billy, who were anxiously on the look-out for this signal, which had been prearranged.

“Forward,” ordered Captain Sparhawk, who was in the lead. Next came Billy, then Muldoon and last the natives, some of whom had spears, and others the peculiar blow-pipes used by the Papuans to shoot poisoned darts.

The advance was made in silence, and at the top of the cliff they found Salloo waiting for them. He was garmentless, having used his single cloak to tie up the sentry with. Grass stuffed in the man’s mouth had effectually gagged him.

“Good for you, Salloo,” said the captain approvingly, to which the native replied with a grin.

“Now we take him down below and find out some things from him,” said the Malay.

The helpless prisoner was bundled back down the trail and brought to the camp at the foot of the cliff. Here he was roped to a tree and the gag taken out of his mouth. But the sight of Salloo’s ever-ready kriss kept him from making any outcry.

Yes, he said, the old, fat man and the boy were all right. They had not been fed though, and wouldn’t be till a ransom was forthcoming.

This made the whites boil with indignation. Questioned as to how many were in the band, he said he did not know, and as he stuck to this it was thought best not to waste any more time questioning him.

After a consultation the gag was replaced, but the ropes were loosened so that with a little exertion the man could set himself free.

“If, for any reason, we couldn’t come back, and we left the ropes tight, he would perish,” said Captain Sparhawk, “and we want no human lives to our account.”

“Me leave him there starve to death plitty quick,” growled Salloo, with a scowl at the crestfallen prisoner.

At the foot of the cliff all was now dark and silent as the grave. The moon was obscured by a cloud and it was an ideal moment for the dash on the camp to begin.

“We go plenty slow or maybe take big tumble,” advised Salloo.

He was in advance but Billy was close at his heels. Cautiously they ascended, taking great care not to dislodge loose stones which might have been fatal to their plans. At last the stream was far below them and the summit of the cliff within reach.

It was at this moment that a torch flashed above them, glaring into their upturned faces.

“What’s all this, who are you?” a voice demanded.

“Silence if you value your life,” came from Captain Sparhawk.

“It’s Donald Judson!” exclaimed Billy.

“Billy Raynor,” cried the other in his turn. “How did you——?”

“Don’t utter another word,” ordered Captain Sparhawk. “Put your hands above your head, you young rascal.”

“Not much I won’t!” exclaimed Judson.

He flung his torch full in Billy’s face and then started at top speed for the camp fire, yelling the alarm at the top of his lungs.

For a minute Billy was in peril of losing his balance as the torch struck him. But Salloo caught and held him firmly. The torch dropped with a splash and hiss into the waters of the river below.

By this time Salloo scrambled to the cliff summit and made off after young Judson. Both reached the camp fire at about the same time. The others, following close on Salloo’s heels, saw Donald turn, catch sight of the glittering kriss, and then, with a yell of dismay, tumble headlong. He lay quite still and had apparently been stunned by the violence of the fall.

“Help! Help!” It was Jack’s voice from the fort and was instantly recognised by Billy.

But by this time the men about the fire, headed by ‘Bully’ Broom, were on their feet. There was no time for them to get their weapons, which had been left inside the fort so that they would not rust in the damp night air. The battle was a brief one, although some shots were fired, none of which, in the excitement, took effect.

Billy, by a clever ruse, brought the engagement to a speedy termination. In the midst of the fight he turned toward the cliff and then raising his voice as if summoning help, he shouted:

“This way, captain. Bring that company up here. Let the others guard the river.”

“Get out of here, boys,” roared Broom, completely taken in. “I’ll settle with you later on,” he cried, shaking his fist as he turned and followed the rout of his followers, who, imagining they were being pursued by great numbers, made off at top speed for the jungle, which soon swallowed them up.

CHAPTER XXXI.—THE JOURNEY RESUMED.

“Thank Heaven that is over,” said Mr. Jukes, as he sat on an old bench in the fort after he and Jack had been released. “You may depend upon it that I shall not forget the part that Salloo and all of you played in our rescue.”

It was some two hours after the “battle,” if the rout of the rascals who had captured Mr. Jukes and Jack could be termed such. The kidnappers’ larder had been ransacked and a good meal enjoyed by all hands, especially, as may be imagined, by the two captives who had been without food for almost twenty-four hours.

Donald Judson, looking hang-dog and abject, was huddled on a bench in a corner of the room. He had been picked up after the fray, having shammed insensibility to avoid being injured, and was easily captured by the victors.

“You certainly came in the nick of time,” said Jack. “From what I could hear them saying, that scoundrel Broom was actually contemplating torturing us if that check was not signed by Mr. Jukes.”

The millionaire shuddered. His experiences had greatly affected him.

“That young ruffian over yonder,” he nodded his head toward Judson, “was the instigator of the idea to get money out of me, I believe,” he said. “He ought to be punished severely.”

“I didn’t,” whined Judson miserably, “I—I—that fellow Broom did it all.”

“What’s the use of your lying, Judson,” exclaimed Jack, “you met Broom at Bomobori. It’s as plain as day now, and furnished him with an account of as much of our plans as we had confided to you.”

“Well, maybe I did,” mumbled Judson sullenly, “but I didn’t put him up to getting money out of you.”

“Nonsense,” said Captain Sparhawk, “you are as bad as Broom is—worse, in fact, for you are a lad of decent upbringing.”

No more was said to Judson that night, and they retired to catch a few hours sleep, leaving the “carriers” under Salloo on guard. The Malay amused himself by making hideous faces at the unfortunate Donald and flourishing his kriss under his nose. By daylight the wretched prisoner was half dead from fear. Captain Sparhawk sternly warned Salloo not to tease him any more, at which the Malay appeared to be much surprised.

“Him enemy,” he said, “why no can do what like with him?”

Breakfast, of which Donald was given his share, was eaten in the fort, and after that meal the natives were sent down to the river to bring up all the supplies which had been left there. They reported that the prisoner Salloo had made had succeeded, as they intended he should, in loosening his bonds during the night and had vanished.

As soon as the boxes containing the wireless apparatus and the hand-generator arrived, Jack lost no time in setting them up and as soon as he raised the yacht sent a full account of Broom’s rascally conduct to her. The first officer at once left to notify the authorities and ask that a keen lookout be kept for Broom’s schooner.

“Broom will never guess that we have any means of communicating with Bomobori,” the boy explained, “and if he returns there, will bungle into a fine trap.”

“Begorry, I hope he does,” commented Muldoon, “shure that wireless is an illigant invintion entirely.”

“If Broom is captured, as many other criminals have been, by its aid, it will have proved its splendid usefulness once more,” declared Mr. Jukes. “Ready, you might flash another message saying that I will give $1,000 to anyone who captures ‘Bully’ Broom.”

After this had been done, the question arose of what to do with Donald Judson. They had no desire to have the young rascal as a traveling companion, but at the same time they did not see how they could very well turn him loose in the jungle in which he might starve to death. It was a problem that they were still discussing when Donald himself spoke up in the timid, fawning voice he affected when in trouble.

“See here,” he said, “if you won’t make trouble for me maybe I can help you out.”

“In what way?” sharply asked Mr. Jukes.

“Why I saw Broom put a map or something that looked like one in a cupboard in the room that door opens into,” said the boy, pointing to the end of the room. “I thought maybe it might have something to do with your brother, Mr. Jukes.”

“Come here at once and show me,” ordered the millionaire. “I don’t suppose it was anything of great importance,” he added.

“Perhaps not,” whimpered Donald, “but if it is will you let it count in my favor?”

“I shall consider that later,” said Mr. Jukes sternly, as they all followed the boy into the room he indicated. In one corner was a rough cupboard. Mr. Jukes opened this and took out a rolled-up paper. He spread it out on the table and they all pressed about him.

“It’s a map!” cried Billy.

“Yes, and of this part of the country, too,” cried Jack. “See, there’s that village, Taroo, where we stopped two nights ago.”

“And what’s this leading along the river from this place marked 'Fort’ on the map?” asked Mr. Judson, his eyes shining as his forefinger traced a red ink line that zig-zagged along till it left the river and struck inland to what appeared to be intended to show a range of mountains. “The Kini-Balu Mountains,” he read out.

“The Kini-Balu Mountains!” echoed Salloo, “me know them. Me bet your brother up there. One time ‘Bully’ Bloom he helpee Kini-Balu men fight big battle 'gainst Tariani tribe. Kini-Balus win and now heap like ‘Bully’ Bloom hide your brother up there.”

“It is possible,” mused the millionaire, “and—yes, by jove! Look here.”

Indicated on the map in red letters, at a spot in the heart of the Kini-Balu country, was a place marked “Cave.”

“Do you think it possible that that can be ‘Bully’ Broom’s hiding place for the other Mr. Jukes?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know, but it appears probable,” rejoined the millionaire.

“Me membel now sometime ‘Bully’ Bloom go way from Bomobori long time,” said Salloo, “nobody know where he go. That time when cruiser come look for him. Maybe he hide up there.”

“It seems worth trying at any rate,” said Mr. Jukes, in the manner of one who has reached a decision.

“It seems reasonable to suppose that if Broom had taken your brother and his men anywhere on the island it would have been to some such inaccessible spot as that,” said Captain Sparhawk.

“Well thin, what’s to privint us going up among the 'balloon’ men, or whativer they call thimsilves?” asked Muldoon.

“It may be attended by some danger,” said Mr. Jukes. “From what Salloo said the Kini-Balu men are a very war-like tribe. They might attack us. How about that, Salloo?”

The Malay’s reply was not one calculated to reassure them.

“Kini-Balu men head hunters,” he said, “Maybe they no hurt us. But maybe take our heads. Salloo no 'fraid, though.”

“Then, by golly, neither are we,” declared Muldoon.

After more discussion, it was decided to advance cautiously into the Kini-Balu country and then do some scouting to see how matters lay. If the natives were hostile, and if they were convinced that Mr. Jukes was really a captive among them, guarded by their warriors at ‘Bully’ Broom’s orders, then they would return to Bomobori without risking their lives and come back with a strong force. If everything appeared to be pacific, then they would seek out the place indicated on the map and settle the question of whether or no it was actually the place of the pearl hunter’s confinement.

CHAPTER XXXII.—A STORM IN THE JUNGLE.

Two days later, before they turned away from the river, they heard some news of the Kini-Balus from a party of natives bound down-stream in dug-outs. Salloo learned from them that the tribe was at war, at least so it was supposed by the canoeists from the fact that they had heard that the chief of the Kini-Balus had been making levies of cattle and corn among his subjects.

“That sounds bad,” said Mr. Jukes, when this news had been interpreted to the party.

“No, him good,” asserted Salloo positively.

“How do you make that out?” asked Jack.

“If Kini-Balus makee war, they leave only women and old men at home. They no fight us,” argued the Malay, and they had to admit that there was a good deal of truth in what he said.

“We’re all going to get killed anyhow,” whimpered Donald, who had been taken along by the party, much against their will, in consideration of the services he had rendered in showing them the hiding place of the map.

“Him heap big coward,” muttered Salloo. “Boy’s body, girl’s heart.”

It was on the afternoon of the second day that the storm that Salloo had predicted overtook them. They were passing through a dense forest of magnificent trees when the eternal twilight that reigned under the great branches deepened till it was almost totally dark. Astonished at this phenomenon, for it was long before the proper hour for night to descend, they questioned Salloo.

“Big storm come,” he said, “me thinkee we better get out of here. Lightning hit a tlee maybe he killee us.”

The birds of the jungle screamed discordantly, as if warning each other of what was coming. Troops of monkeys swung through the trees as if seeking refuge, and the almost deafening chorus of insects and lizards gave way to total silence. It seemed as if nature was holding her breath preparatory to some great crisis.

“We had better look for some safe place to stay before it breaks,” counseled Captain Sparhawk. “A hurricane in the jungle is a serious matter. Trees are rooted up and struck by lightning and in the forest it is very dangerous for anyone to be caught by such a storm.”

“Me findee place,” said Salloo, and struck off down a dim trail leading toward the river. “Follow me, evelybody, and hully up.”

They needed no urging. The gloom and quiet of the forest was overawing. It had begun to get on their nerves. Under Salloo’s guidance they soon found themselves at a great mass of rocks on a high bank overlooking the river. The great masses of stone were piled in such a way that the crevices among them formed regular caves.

“We getee in here,” said Salloo, indicating the largest of them. “I send my men in annuder one.”

“I’m not going in there,” declared Donald, “there might be snakes or wild beasts inside.”

“You’d better come in or be blown away,” said Captain Sparhawk.

He had hardly spoken, before the storm broke in all its fury. Donald, with a cry of alarm, followed the others into shelter.

“Gracious, this beats anything I ever saw, even that storm off the Pamatous,” shouted Jack, above the shrieking of the wind.

“Him blow more big bimeby,” said Salloo, “him big storm this. You see.”

The trees swayed violently, and before long, from their shelter, they saw a big one torn up by the roots and hurtled from the bank into the river. The wind grew more violent. The dark air was filled with flying branches, leaves and sticks. Birds, large and small, were swept by, powerless to contend with the furious gale. Donald was crouched back in a far corner of their shelter, too frightened to do anything more than mumble and whimper.

The river began to rise and add its mighty voice to the other sounds, although no rain had yet fallen where they were. The darkness increased, but suddenly everything was lit up in a livid glare that made them all blink.

“Lightning,” exclaimed Salloo, “now him comin’.”

Then down came the rain. It literally fell in sheets, blotting out everything like a fog even when the constant flashes illuminated the scene. The water began to pour into their shelter from above, making it a very uncomfortable place. Soon the water was up to their knees and in the cave occupied by the carriers the men stood upright with their burdens on their heads to keep them out of the water.

“Gracious, I never saw so much water come down in my life,” exclaimed Jack. “It’s a regular—my!”

There had come a flash, a red ribbon of flame, so blinding that for an instant they could not see. It was followed by a crack of thunder that seemed to have split the sky. Donald gave a yell of alarm.

“Him hittee something close by for sure,” declared Salloo. He was right. Presently they saw a tall ceiba tree burst into flame like a torch. Fanned by the wind, it blazed fiercely even in the downpour. Its red glare lit up their faces in a ghostly manner, for it was not more than a few feet from their place of refuge.

“My, this is awful,” muttered Raynor. “Thank goodness we got out from under those trees in time.”

“Amen to that,” said Captain Sparhawk solemnly.

It rained for the rest of that night and in the morning they were sorry-looking objects. Everything was wet, and although they had tried to light a fire during the night, after the first violence of the storm had abated, they had not succeeded. But when, shortly before noon, the sun did come out, it shone down with a heat that made the whole wet earth steam. Clothes were spread out on the rocks to dry, as was the rest of the outfit. Fortunately, the bags the carriers bore were mostly of waterproof material, so not much damage was done to the contents.

It was a scene of havoc on which they gazed. The river ran high and its surface was littered with the bodies of dead monkeys, snakes, great trees torn up bodily, and other debris eloquent of the violence of the hurricane.

All round them lay big trees and the bodies of countless birds that had been dashed to death. It was some time before Salloo could persuade a fire to burn, but among the rocks, in crevices the rain had not penetrated, he found old dried leaves and sticks which made capital kindling and at last they cooked a hot meal, in need of which they all stood badly.

Then it was off on the long trail again. Late that afternoon, just as they were making camp, a party of natives came along the trail. They carried the skins of numerous beautiful birds that they had brought down with their blow-pipes. They were friendly and the boys bought some of the skins. Afterward Salloo had a long talk with them and, this being concluded, they kept on their way while our party went on with its preparations for spending the night.

Salloo had some news to disclose, he said. The natives he had been talking to knew the Kini-Balu Mountains well and told him, after he had described the cave they were looking for, that it was a very bad place. Nobody liked to go near it.

“On account of the Kini-Balus?” asked Mr. Jukes.

“No, on account um ghosts,” rejoined Salloo; “ghost of Taratao, old-time chief of Kini-Balus haunt him.”

“Begorry, so long as the ghosts ain’t got a punch it’s sorra a bit I care for ’em,” declared Muldoon valiantly.

That evening Salloo had a novelty for supper in the form of the flesh of a huge lizard, or iguana. At first the boys and their companions did not want to touch it, for in life it had been a hideous looking monster. But being pressed by Salloo, they consented, and found it very good eating. Its flesh tasted like chicken, though even more delicate.

It was about an hour after the meal when they were preparing for bed that Jack complained that he was feeling poorly. He said he had a headache and a feeling of vertigo. The others then admitted experiencing the same symptoms. Nausea soon succeeded these and ere long they were all convinced that they had been poisoned by eating the iguana. The natives, who camped some distance off with Salloo, experienced no such illness but then they had eaten none of the iguana which, to Captain Sparhawk’s mind, made it all the more certain that it was the giant lizard’s flesh that had made them ill.

Salloo was called from the native camp and bitterly reproached for inducing them to eat it. He protested that it could not have been the iguana that had made them ill. Had he not himself eaten it? But in the end he returned to the native camp with his head hung down, completely crushed by what he deemed the injustice of his white friends in blaming him for their illness. At first they were not greatly alarmed, not deeming it possible that they had actually been poisoned, and Captain Sparhawk administered remedies from the medicine chest. But, to their alarm, instead of decreasing in severity, their sufferings grew more acute as the night wore on.

Their ideas became confused, and as in sea-sickness in an acute stage, they lay about, not caring whether they lived or died. If they tried to rise, their heads swam, their feet tottered. Thus it was that Salloo found them in the morning when he came from the native camp.

The faithful fellow was seriously alarmed and set up a mighty wailing which soon brought his followers running over. But the sufferers only turned dull eyes upon them and moaned in their pain. Plainly they were in such a serious condition that unless something was done soon to relieve them, death itself might put an end to their misery. Salloo looked about him wildly, hoping to catch some solution to the mystery of this sudden illness. He raised his eyes upward and his lips moved as if he were invoking the aid of some heathen deity.

But suddenly the expression on his countenance changed. His eyes were fixed on the leaves of a tree under which the sufferers had passed the night. For the first time, too, he became aware of a peculiarly sickening odor in the air. It smelled like carrion. As some huge scarlet flowers which grew on the tree began to open to the daylight (they had been closed at night) this terrible stench became stronger. Salloo uttered a single shout of comprehension.

“Upas!” It was echoed by his companions, whom Salloo at once directed to pick up the sufferers and carry them to some distance. When the last had been transported, Salloo got water from a forest pool and poured it over them. One by one they began to revive. Jack, who was one of the first to come to, rose dizzily to his feet and tried to walk. But Salloo gently made him lie down again. After an hour or so all felt better and partook of some soup and weak tea.

“Salloo, you are forgiven,” said Captain Sparhawk, “but never persuade us to eat lizard again. You came near being the death of us all.”

“Faith, oi was niver so near the Pearly Gates before,” declared Muldoon emphatically.

“Him no lizard hurt you,” declared Salloo vehemently; “lizard heap good. Upas he hurt you. If I no see it and have you moved away you plitty soon have died.”

“What do you mean, Salloo?” asked Mr. Jukes. “Do you mean our sickness had anything to do with the tree we camped under?”

“Ebblyting,” was the reply; “him tree was the upas.”

“I see it all now,” exclaimed Captain Sparhawk. “That tree was the deadly upas of which you may have heard. Every one in the Indian Archipelago knows of it. Within its great red blossoms are the sepulchre of birds and insects whose bodies, lying rotting there, give out that terrible odor which ought to warn all travelers against it. But we camped when it was getting dark and the flowers were closed, keeping the noxious reek from escaping and warning us. Salloo is right, and if he had not had us dragged from under it we should have perished miserably.”

“I remember reading somewhere of the upas,” said Jack, “but I always thought its deadly qualities were exaggerated. After our last night’s experience I’ll know better.”

“I suppose the heat of our camp fire under the branches had something to do with it, too,” said Billy.

“Undoubtedly,” declared the captain. “And then as we sat around after supper we were, unknown to ourselves, inhaling the deadly vapor till we grew sick. Instead of moving away before we grew worse, as we certainly would have if we had known the cause of our malady, we made ourselves worse by lying down to sleep with that poisonous breath as our only atmosphere. Salloo, your lizard is vindicated, and to show you it is, the next one you shoot I’ll volunteer to eat.”

But although recovered, they still felt weak from the effects of their terrible night under the upas, whose Latin name, if any one wishes to know it, is antiaris toxicaria. In fact, their feelings were very like those of persons just getting over sea-sickness. They felt buoyantly well and happy, but not yet quite strong enough for the hard work of the trail. So they remained where they were till the next day and then pushed on once more on their quest.

CHAPTER XXXIII.—THE GIANT SPIDERS.

When they resumed their journey the next morning they encountered a new form of obstacle in the form of the webs of huge red bird-catching spiders, whose nets stretched from tree to tree in the forest, looked like seine nets in a fisherman’s village hung out to dry, or to make another comparison, miles of mosquito netting hung between the tree trunks. Through these webs they had to make their way for a long distance.

The boys did not like it at all, and Donald Judson, who was particularly averse to spiders, slunk in the rear till the natives, with shouts and yells, cut down the webs that hung across the trail. The soft silky substance of the webs struck them in the face and clung glutinously and covered their clothes with a coating of white fleece.

As they forced their way through this repulsive feature of New Guinea forest travel, they could, from time to time, see the hideous forms of the huge and venomous spiders that had spread the webs peering at them from dark retreats in the crevices of trees or else scuttling off on long, hairy legs to safety. It did not require much imagination to picture their anger at this ruthless destruction of their homes. That night they camped near the edge of a big swamp, and the two boys, weary of the monotony of the long march and tired of canned stuff and preserved goods, volunteered to set out with rifles and see if they could not bring in something more palatable.

As they had camped early when the swamp crossed their path, there was plenty of time for them to go quite a distance in search of game. In a short time they had brought down two birds that looked something like partridges, as well as shooting an odd-looking bird like a huge parrot, with a gigantic bill and horny head. They were some distance apart, separated by a brake of reeds, when Jack heard a sudden cry of alarm from Billy.

Disregarding the danger of snakes, he pushed his way through the brake at once. As he came in sight of Billy, who was standing staring into the forest as if petrified, Jack, too, received a shock. Not far from Billy was what he at first thought was a man. But such a man! Not even in a nightmare had the boy ever beheld such a hideous form.

This man, if such he was, was covered all over with red hair, thick and shaggy, except on the face, which was darker and bereft of hair, but from which two yellow eyes glared malevolently. In an instant the true nature of this creature flashed upon Jack. It was an orang-outang, and a monster, too, that stood facing them, its long arms trailing in front of it. But even though stooped over, it was as large as the average man, with a massive chest and shoulders.

“Take a shot at it, Jack,” urged Billy.

But Jack shook his head.

“It looks too horribly human,” he said. “Besides, it doesn’t look as if it would attack us. It seems to be more possessed by curiosity than anything else.”

Perhaps the boy was right, for after eyeing them for a few seconds more the monstrous creature shuffled off for the edge of a big sheet of water on whose margin they stood, and began tearing up some sort of water plants and eating their roots with many grunts of satisfaction. He waded in almost knee deep, stuffing his bag-like cheeks full and chewing with huge satisfaction. The boys gazed at this strange picture with fascination.

But suddenly the monster stopped eating and stood erect. Its hair began to bristle and it uttered an angry sort of growl. Apparently it was not fear but anger that possessed this colossus of the forests as it glanced angrily about it. The cause of its emotion was not long in appearing. From the stagnant waters was approaching an antagonist formidable indeed—a giant saurian—a crocodile larger than any the boys had ever seen in any zoo.

The boys naturally expected to see the orang-outang beat a hasty retreat. But instead it stood its ground, merely drawing back a few inches as the crocodile’s hideous snout and scaly body were successively protruded from the water. Jack now recalled what Salloo had told him one night in camp about the orang. The Malay had said it was the king of the New Guinea forests, fearing no man, beast or reptile, and this certainly appeared to be the case in this instance.

Had it wished to beat a retreat to safety, the mias, as the natives called the red gorilla, might easily have done so. One leap and he could have grasped a tree trunk, up which he could have scrambled in a jiffy. On the contrary, after its first backward steps, which brought it almost out of the water, the creature stood upright and, uttering savage growls, beat on its hairy chest with its huge arms, producing a sound like the reverberations of a savage “tom-tom.”

The scaly reptile continued to advance. Perhaps, to its eyes, the red gorilla was simply a native, a poor weak human being, such as possibly had fallen victim to the great crocodile before. However that may have been, the saurian, without undue hurry, could be seen to be making straight for the red ape and, maneuvering so as to get its monstrous armor-plated tail in position to give a fatal flail-like sweep, which would fling the orang-outang into the water, stunning it and making it an easy prey.

It appeared to flatten itself as it reached shallow water, its ugly lizard-like legs spread out on each side of its scaly body almost horizontally. Then, with a suddenness that made the boys catch their breaths in a quick gasp, the monster gave a sudden leap, aiding this maneuver by its tail, which it suddenly stiffened as if it had been a spring.

Its whole length was launched into the air as it sprang, and for a flash its wide-opened jaws with their hideous rows of triangular teeth, appeared to engulf the red ape. But while the boys were still held spell-bound by this spectacle, such a one as perhaps no human being but a lone native hunter had ever beheld before, the red gorilla gave a mighty leap. It was partly straight up and partly to one side. As the great jaws of the saurian came together with a snap like that of a titanic steel trap, the red ape landed fair and square on the scaled monster’s back.

Straddling the plated hide, the great hairy legs gripped the crocodile’s sides as a bronco buster grips his fractious mount. And now commenced a struggle between these two denizens of the deepest New Guinea forests such as the two young spectators remembered with photographic vividness to the end of their lives.

On the part of the crocodile the battle was simply a series of leaps and wild tail threshings in an effort to dislodge his nimble foe. The grass and weeds were mown down as if by a scythe by the sweeps of the great tail, but the ape held firm, his little eyes twinkling wickedly. With one arm it clutched the rough hide firmly, but the other was waving about like a tentacle seeking something to grasp.

During the struggle the jaws of the crocodile had been frequently snapped, but they only closed on empty air. As in all the saurian tribe, during this process the upper jaw had pointed nearly vertically upward, making an opening big enough to swallow a canoe. Suddenly the watchers saw the orang’s purpose. All at once the disengaged arm made a swift sweep forward and grasped the extended upper jaw.

“Great Scott! he’s done for now,” cried Billy. “That jaw will close and cut his fingers off.”

“Hold on,” warned Jack. “Watch. I’ve heard these creatures can bend rifle barrels as if they were made of lead. Perhaps—look!”

The orang suddenly shifted his position. He was now kneeling on the crocodile’s back, his knees braced firmly on its armor-plated neck and his second arm aiding the first in the task of keeping those jaws, once apart, from ever coming together again. Then summoning every ounce of that strength that has made the orang the most dreaded of all the forest animals in that part of the world, even the Bornean tiger owning his supremacy, the red gorilla gave one grand wrench.

There was a tearing sound as of a tree being torn from its roots, and the alligator’s body writhed and threshed about convulsively. The great ape sprang free from the scaly monster and with hoarse laughter that sounded like the merriment of a maniac, it gazed on the saurian’s struggles. But it was not destined to see the end of them. In its agony the great crocodile instinctively made for the water and was soon out of sight, threshing and writhing until a clump of water-cane hid it from sight.

Then, and not till then, did the orang take its eyes from its conquered enemy. But when it had seen the last of it, the hairy creature turned and appeared to be contemplating fresh victory. The lust of battle was in its wicked little eyes.

“Down, Billy, down with you quick,” warned Jack, pulling his chum aside in the thicket. “If it comes this way, shoot at once. I wouldn’t want to come to close quarters with a creature like that. I thought Salloo was drawing the long bow when he told me about the mias, as he called it, but he didn’t put it on thick enough.”

“If only we’d had a camera,” was Billy’s regret. But for the next few moments there were more important things to think about. The orang stood upright, looking about him in a truculent manner. It almost appeared as if, now that his battle with the saurian was over, he had recollected the human figure he had seen not long before, but had paid little heed to it in his haste to make his evening meal among the water plants.

In fact, he started shamblingly toward the brake where the boys were concealed with leveled rifles and fingers on triggers. But the great creature’s life was spared, for that time at least, for had the boys fired he must have fallen at the first bullets from the high-powered rifles. After advancing a few paces, he changed his mind and, grumbling to himself, he shuffled off and was soon lost in the gloom of the forest.

“We ought to have shot him, Jack,” muttered Billy as they started back to camp with what game they bagged.

“What, kill a fine old warrior like that without cause? Could you have done it, Billy?”

“Um—well—er—no, I don’t believe I could,” rejoined his chum. “After all, that crocodile started the scrap and—and I guess every American likes a good fighter.”

CHAPTER XXXIV.—A FIGHT WITH A HORNBILL.

“Now me showee you something.”

It was during the noon rest the next day and the Malay had asked the whites to come a little distance apart from the camp to a fine-looking banyan tree. They watched him with interest as with the axe he cut down several lengths of bamboo from a nearby cluster, and, pointing the ends sharply, having first separated the lengths into bits about two feet long, began driving them into the yielding bark of the tree. In this way he had soon made the first four rounds of a primitive ladder.

Although, as yet, he had given them no hint of the object of all this, they were all sure that he had something really of interest to show them and forbore asking questions till he was ready to explain the mystery. Salloo had driven the tenth round of his queer ladder and was about ten feet from the ground, when Jack drew everybody’s attention to a strange hissing sound that appeared to come from within the tree.

“Look out for snakes, Salloo,” he warned. But the Malay only nodded his head confidently and smiled. Donald glanced about nervously. Even Captain Sparhawk looked apprehensive. As for Muldoon, he shouted, “This is no place for a son of St. Patrick,” and fled back to camp.

“What’s the matter, Salloo?” asked Mr. Jukes. “Are you in trouble?”

“No trouble, Missel Boss,” rejoined Salloo. “Only bit what you callee good luck,” grinned the Malay, looking down on them and continuing his work.

“How good luck?” asked Jack.

“You see plenty soon,” was the cryptic reply, and the Malay drew another sharp-pointed peg from his girdle and drove it in with vigorous strokes of the axe. While he did this, the hissing continued, mingled with a hoarse roaring like that which might be emitted by a disabled foghorn. Moreover, they could now see that a few feet above Salloo’s head was an object which alternately was thrust out from the tree trunk and withdrawn. It was white and sharp-pointed, like one of the pegs he was driving. It was assuredly not a snake’s head, as they had for a minute thought, but what was it?

“What’s that right over your head, Salloo?” asked Captain Sparhawk.

“Him buld (bird), captain. Him plentee much bigee buld.”

“Oh, only a bird,” said Mr. Jukes in a disappointed voice. “What sort of a one?”

“Him hornbill. Ole hen hornbill. She on nest. Old man hornbill he shut her up in there so she no leave eggs. Him put mud over crack in tree so as she no put nothing but her beak out. That the way he feedee her.”

So that was the explanation of that object that darted in and out, and also of the hissing and grunting sounds. Looking closer, they now saw that at the spot where the bill still kept darting in and out there was a big longitudinal patch of mud which walled the hen hornbill up as effectually as certain prisoners were “walled up” in the days of old. As Salloo got within reaching distance of the nest, he raised his axe and smashed the mud wall before any of the party could check him. The next instant his bare arm was plunged fearlessly into the orifice and came out with his fingers clutching the old hen by the neck. In a moment she was fluttering, with her neck wrung, at the adventurers’ feet.

“Say, Salloo, you shouldn’t have done that,” called up Jack indignantly. “That’s a shame.”

The rest echoed his indignation at what seemed an act of wanton cruelty. Salloo only looked astonished.

“Him plenty good eat. Roast hornbill plenty fine.”

“You see, he takes a different point of view about these things than we do,” said Captain Sparhawk. “You can’t blame him. Still I wish we could have prevented it.”

They examined the dead hornbill with much interest. It was a gorgeous bird, almost as big as a turkey, with a bill of a size altogether disproportionate to even its large size. This beak was like a gigantic parrot’s bill and the horny structure extended over almost the entire head of the bird. It was not unlike the one the boys had shot the night before and thrown away as not good for food.

“Plentee eggs in there,” said Salloo as he came down, “but they no good eat.”

“Well, I’m glad there were no young ones to be starved through our interference,” said Billy, and the others felt as he did.

“Say, I’m going to have a look at that nest,” said Jack suddenly.

“All right. But look out you don’t fall and break your neck,” warned Raynor. Jack went nimbly up Salloo’s queer ladder and soon reached a height where he could see into the nest, which was built in a cavity of the tree and had afterward been carefully walled up with mud, strengthened by weaving reeds into it. Jack was still examining the nest when a sudden shadow fell over him. He looked up and above him he saw, with somewhat of a shock, a great bird whose plumage flashed brilliantly in the sun and whose huge beak snapped viciously at the boy.

“Look out, look out, him father hornbill,” cried Salloo from the ground.

The hornbill made a swoop at Jack, aiming with that cruel beak straight for his eyes. The boy put up an arm to defend himself, but the bird seized it with its parrot-like claws, scratching it badly, and all the while it kept up a beating of its wings that blinded the boy. Then the bird suddenly changed its tactics. It swooped off and then made a swift dash at the boy’s head. It was well for Jack that he had on his stiff sun helmet or his skull would have been cracked like an egg by that huge, horny bill. As it was, the helmet was ripped open.

Those below called on him to come down. But the attacks of the great bird so blinded and bewildered him that he was unable to move a step. Billy, at the order of Captain Sparhawk, brought a rifle from the camp, but so close did the bird stay to the boy that there was danger in using it. Even the most expert of shots would have been quite as likely to hit Jack as the enraged hornbill.

Salloo had sprung into the tree, and with his ever ready kriss was ascending to the rescue when Captain Sparhawk saw an opportunity. The rifle was already at his shoulder and, as the hornbill rose and hovered for an instant before making another plunge at Jack’s head, his finger pressed the trigger. A splendid shot, a broken wing, the huge bird fluttered to the earth and flopped and screamed on the ground till its strugglings were put an end to by another bullet. Jack remained where he was for a few seconds to recover his nerves and then, still somewhat shaken by his experience, he descended.

His arm was badly scratched and Captain Sparhawk was opening the medicine chest when Salloo intervened. He quickly gathered a handful of a plant that exuded a sort of thick milk. Crushing the gathered stems on a stone, he soon had a quantity of this juice, which he spread on the wounds. The irritation at once left them and Salloo promised a speedy cure. But it may be said that Jack had no appetite for roast hornbill that night.

CHAPTER XXXV.—THE HEART OF NEW GUINEA.

The expedition now found itself advancing through forest that grew sparser as they progressed. The ground was rapidly becoming more rugged. Close to them now towered the range known as the Kini-Balu among the wild recesses of which the tribe of that name made its home. Constant vigilance was the watchword of the hour now. Salloo would permit no fires to be lighted, and he and his followers were constantly scouting in front of the party, while additional watch was kept at the rear and on both flanks.

It was dangerous, thrilling work, but the boys, who loved adventure, relished every moment of it. But Donald Judson lived a life of misery. Every rustle in the bush made him turn pale. He was constantly giving false alarms in the night and the boys heartily wished he had been left behind. One afternoon—they were right in the mountains now—Salloo halted the party with a quick gesture.

“Two men ahead of us. Up the mountain. Salloo go, look, see.”

He glided off with his usual snake-like agility and vanished in a flash, while the party waited behind a mighty rock, for cover of the forest kind was growing scarce now. A wilder region would have been hard to imagine. The cliffs and mountains were of all sorts of extravagant shapes. Some of the larger rocks and peaks took on the outlines of monstrous animals. But they were still following a trail which was undoubtedly the one set down in red ink on Broom’s map.

Through the glasses, which they were able to use without being observed, by crouching down in the coarse grass, they could see Salloo advancing toward the two figures on the mountain side. As he went he was making the peace sign, extending his arms as if inviting the others to attack him at their will. But as far as they could see, the meeting was friendly enough. Salloo conversed with the two men of the mountain for a long time. Then he could be seen retracing his steps.

“Well?” demanded everybody as he returned to the camp.

“Ebblyting good so far,” reported Salloo. “Those two men velly old men. They left behind when tribe go to war in the north.”

“Then the country is free of danger?” cried Donald.

Salloo turned a look of contempt on him and did not answer. Addressing the others, he continued:

“They say they know of cave. But no know if white man is there,” went on the Malay.

“Would they be willing to guide us to it?” inquired Mr. Jukes.

“That me no know yet. Me go see ’em again to-night,” replied Salloo. “They say nobody but old men, women and children left behind now tribe go to war. So maybe they no afraid to show us. You pay ’em good?”

“Anything, any sum at all,” was the response of the millionaire. “No sum is too great to restore my brother to his family.”

When night fell Salloo left the camp again and did not return till midnight. He brought the news that the two old men would guide them for three pieces of gold each. They did not want the coins to spend, explained Salloo, but to pierce and wear round their necks as ornaments.

“I’ll make it six each,” declared Mr. Jukes, “if they lead us aright.”

There was little sleep for anybody that night, and soon after daybreak the two old men appeared in the camp. They were odd-looking old fellows; unclothed except for a breech cloth, and were daubed with red and yellow earth, signifying that their tribe was at war, although their age barred them from taking part.

At Salloo’s suggestion, only himself, Mr. Jukes, Jack and Billy were to accompany the guides. The others were to remain behind and keep as well under cover as they could till the rest returned with success or failure. Final instructions having been given, they set off behind the two old men, who chattered volubly with Salloo as they went. They knew of the cave, it appeared, but nothing more, for they did not come from that part of the mountains.

The next day they were not far from the cave, their aged guides told them, and Salloo enjoined the strictest caution in proceeding. If they met a returning war party, their position would be ticklish in the extreme, he declared, and they readily agreed with him.

It was not long after this that, high up on the mountain side, they became aware of a dark hole. The two old men chattered and pointed, and then Salloo said:

“There him cave. You wait here. Salloo go, look, see.”

He made off up the mountain with the two old tribesmen, while the others waited with what patience they could for his return. The boys had never seen Mr. Jukes so nervous. He could not keep still under the tension, but paced to and fro, regardless of Salloo’s advice to keep under cover.

“He is taking his time,” said Jack after a long interval.

“Perhaps something has happened to him,” said Mr. Jukes, apprehensively. “We’d better have our pistols ready. Hark! what was that?”

There was a rustling in the bushes near at hand and they all sprang to their feet, only to burst into laughter a minute later when a rock coney, or small rabbit, emerged, looked at them for an instant and then vanished.

“That shows how we are keyed up,” said Jack. “We’ve got to keep our nerve or we shall be useless if any emergency did happen.”

As he spoke, something whizzed over their heads and then sank quivering in the ground not far from them. They looked round and saw standing not far off two hideous natives, with frizzed hair and painted faces and bodies. Both were wounded and apparently had been sent back from “the front.” But still there was a chance that they might be the advance guard of a big body of troops.

“We friends,” cried Jack, giving the peace sign as he had seen Salloo give it.

The natives merely stared, and there is no knowing what might have been the outcome, but at that moment there came a hail from high up on the mountain and the old tribesmen and Salloo began coming toward them. The natives awaited their coming with their eyes fixed on the whites. As soon as Salloo and the others arrived there was a long confab and Salloo explained that the two warriors said that the main body of the savage troops was not far off, and that they had been sent back on account of their wounds. They had thrown the spear because they thought the whites were coming to invade their country. When Salloo explained the object of their errand, everything appeared to be satisfactory.

“Now we go to the cave,” said Salloo, at the end of these negotiations. “Him velly big one, me think.”

“Did you—did you see any trace of my brother?” asked Mr. Jukes anxiously.

“Me no see anything yet,” was the reply. “Me only go little way into cave.”

“Then come, let us start at once,” said Mr. Jukes, stepping nimbly over the rough ground, in spite of his cumbersome build.

As Salloo had said, the cave was a large one. It ran back fully a mile under the mountain. But they paid little attention to its natural beauties, so eager were they to find some trace of Jerushah Jukes. To one side was a swiftly flowing stream. They did not doubt that it came from a waterfall, the noise of which they could hear in the distance.

Before long they stood in front of the waterfall, a beautiful ribbon of water falling fully a hundred feet into a clear pool. A sort of mist hung over the pool caused by the spray, which was lighted by a rift in the rocks above. It was a lovely sight and even in their anxiety to get on they could not help standing and admiring it for a few minutes.

“By the way, Salloo,” said Jack abruptly, “how about that ghost that is supposed to haunt the cave?”

“Me no know. Me——”

“Look, look, the ghost!” cried Raynor suddenly. He pointed straight in front of him at the fall.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Jack as he too perceived an apparition that appeared to rise out of the waters. Salloo fell flat on his face in terror and so did the two old natives, who had been their guides.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Mr. Jukes sharply. “I see nothing. I—for heaven’s sake!”

Out of the mist of the pool he had seen advancing toward him as he stepped forward the gigantic form of a man. Then he glanced again.

The ghost was Mr. Jukes himself, who certainly had nothing spiritualistic about him. The explanation of the queer sight struck the boys and the millionaire at the same instant. The sun, shining through the rift, was reflected upon the wet rock which in turn projected their figures against the watery mist that hung above the pool.

“And so that’s the ghost that’s been scaring the natives to death,” said Jack. “Get up, Salloo, and I’ll show you how the trick is done.”

After a brief demonstration the Malay was satisfied, but the two old men were unconvinced. They mumbled and were ill at ease till that part of the cave was left behind.

“Hullo, here’s a path leading up past the waterfall,” cried Jack suddenly.

“So there is. Let’s see where it goes,” cried Billy. They started up the slippery footway very slowly so as to avoid the consequences of a slip. As they went it grew lighter. They were coming to the upper world once more. A minute later and they emerged upon a small plateau in the heart of the mountains. It was surrounded by steep precipices. In the centre stood a group of bamboo huts.

At sight of the white men, several women and children set up a shrill cry. Suddenly above the hub-bub came a voice that brought a thrill to them all:

“Has help come at last?”

“Has help come at last?”

From behind one of the huts had stepped a tall, angular figure, wearing ragged white clothes and a battered sun helmet. Perched on his nose were a pair of huge horn-rimmed spectacles, a ragged, unkempt beard covered his face and his hair hung in matted locks about his shoulders.

At the sight of him, Mr. Jukes gave a gasp and then a glad cry.

CHAPTER XXXVI.—FOUND AT LAST!

“Oh, my brother,” cried Mr. Jukes, “I can hardly believe we’ve found you at last.”

“Thank God! you have, Jacob,” returned the other fervently. “For a moment I thought that you were only one of the fantastic visions that have visited my brain lately.”

“My poor brother,” exclaimed the millionaire, “but now thank heaven you are restored to your friends.”

“But how did you ever find me? I never deemed it possible that rescuers could find their way to this place where that villain Broom, after stealing the pearl, marooned me.”

“Ah, so the pearl is gone,—but never mind that now. I would not have given your life for an ocean-full of pearls,” declared the millionaire happily, “but I must introduce our friends who have shared with me the hardships of the trail.”

The boys, and then Salloo, added their congratulations to Mr. Jukes, while the women and children gathered round and chattered frantically. It was plain that they objected to all this, yet did not see how to stop it. The white men’s weapons glinted menacingly and there were no warriors in the village.

“And now let us hasten away from here,” said Jerushah Jukes. “The men are off on a fighting expedition and I might have escaped but without food or weapons I could never have made my way to the coast through the jungle. I suppose that is the reason they did not tie me up.”

“Undoubtedly,” said the millionaire, “but I’m forgetting something,” and he doled out to the two old men a reward, much over what they had demanded. They chattered their thanks glibly, making all sorts of gesticulations of gratitude.

“It’s all like a dream to me so far,” said Jerushah Jukes, as they made their way back through the cave and past the “haunted” waterfall. “Broom sent me up here with a guard of his men. The tribe appeared to be friendly to him and agreed to keep me prisoner as long as he wished. But my poor crew? What has become of them?”

“That we do not know yet,” said Mr. Jukes, “but we will talk later. I want to put all the distance I can between this tribe and our party as soon as we can. Those women will give the alarm although they dared not make an active protest.”

But as they emerged from the cave they met with a rude shock. A party of warriors with frizzed hair and war-paint daubing their bodies barred the way.

At first the tribesmen stood motionless with astonishment at the sight of a party of white men emerging from their secret cave. But the next instant they broke into a savage volley of shouts and yells and raised their spears and cruel-looking war clubs.

“We have come too late, my poor brother,” groaned Mr. Jukes. But suddenly Salloo raised his voice. He spoke in tones of loud authority. The spears and clubs were lowered. He turned to Mr. Jukes and in a quick low voice said:

“Give me um map. Quick, our lives depend on him.”

The millionaire lost no time in producing ‘Bully’ Broom’s map. The most be-frizzed of the natives pored over it for several minutes. Then one of them said in fair English:

“You come from Chief Broom; all right, you may go. He tell us to keep white man till he send for him. You show Broom’s map. He all right. Goo’ bye,” and the warriors went on.

Thus by the clever Malay’s strategy he had told the warriors, who had returned unexpectedly, that the white men had been sent by ‘Bully’ Broom,—they were saved from disaster. But the tribesmen had demanded proof of Salloo’s story and, in the nick of time, he had luckily thought of the map which satisfied their suspicions at once, for Broom was the only white man, except the prisoner, who had ever visited the secret cave.

The return to the camp was made without incident and Jack, on reaching it, at once rigged up his wireless apparatus and flashed to the Sea Gypsy the glad news of the rescue of the millionaire’s brother. But, a few minutes later, he, in his turn, was receiving good tidings. Broom had returned to Bomobori and was arrested while he was recruiting a crew to make a dash into the jungle and intercept the Jukes’ party. He was apprehended while rowing ashore from a native craft.

As the officers of the law seized him, he was seen to throw something into the water. One of the native oarsmen instantly dived after the object and succeeded in grabbing it before it reached the bottom. It proved to be the great pearl, “The Tear of the Sea.” And there was yet more intelligence of a kind to hearten them after all their tribulations in the wild jungles of New Guinea.

The first officer of the Sea Gypsy, having received news of a mysterious schooner anchored in a cove up the coast, resolved to do a little amateur detective work. He found that she was none other than the famous South Sea Lass. Securing the co-operation of the authorities, the vessel was raided one night and her small crew easily overpowered. Then cries were heard from below and on the removal of the hatches the crew of the Centurion, or what remained of them—for five had died from privation—were discovered. They had refused to join Broom’s band and he was afraid to let them loose, so they had been confined in the almost unlivable hold ever since their capture. Since Broom’s arrest, the Australian authorities had cabled that he was wanted there for piracy and other crimes and he had been sent to Melbourne on a mail steamer. It may be added here that British justice was dealt out with a heavy hand to the ruffian and his many victims were fully avenged. His crew was tried and sentenced in Bomobori and all received heavy terms of imprisonment. Thus were the South Seas rid of one of the chief of their many freebooters.

The long march back to Bomobori was made without anything of particular interest occurring and one morning they stood on a rise overlooking the harbor. There lay the Sea Gypsy with the dear old Stars and Stripes flying, and the ship dressed in gay bunting; for by wireless Jack had notified those on board of the time of their arrival. A few hours more and they were among their friends again with their strange experiences behind them.

As there was no reason for staying in Bomobori, except to take on board the survivors of the Centurion’s crew, the Sea Gypsy steamed out of the harbor the next day, being saluted as she went, a compliment which she returned with her rapid-fire gun. Watching them from the wharf were two figures. One a tall agile Malay, who, with tears in his eyes, watched the yacht till she was hull-down on the horizon. It was Salloo. He had been well rewarded for his services which indeed, as Mr. Jukes said, were beyond price; but, as he watched the departure of his white friends, his thoughts were only with them and not with what were, to him, the riches of a lifetime.

The other watcher turned away with a sneer, jingling the money Mr. Jukes had left him in his pockets:

“So I’ve got to stick round this hole till I can get a steamer home,” grumbled Donald Judson, for, as our readers will have guessed, it was he. “If it hadn’t been for those boys I might have gone home in comfort on the yacht. Well, maybe some day I’ll get even with them.”

On the voyage home a stop was made at the Pamatou Islands; the glad news of the rescue had already been wirelessed home, and there was no great hurry except Mr. Jukes’ desire to get back to his business affairs after a romantic adventure he would never forget. As the Sea Gypsy dropped anchor in the well-known harbor, a fleet of canoes dashed out to welcome her, among them you may be sure those of Anai and his friend, who wept tears of joy at seeing their white “chums” once more. Mr. Jukes, his speculative instinct once more in the ascendent, bought a large quantity of pearls on which he subsequently realized a good profit.

“But we must hurry home,” he said one day. “My business will be going to rack and ruin without me and besides I’ve run out of dyspepsia pills. I only hope I didn’t ruin my digestion in the jungle.”

And here the adventures of the Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific must be brought to a close, except that it might be mentioned that pretty Helen Dennis, whose father’s ship was in port on the return of the Sea Gypsy, now wears a very pretty locket, set with South Sea pearls—the gift of Jack Ready. And so, till we meet them in the next volume of this series, we will wish the lads and their friends good-bye.

THE END

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Transcriber’s Notes

1. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

2. Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation in the original document have been preserved.

3. Page-specific notes:

p. 76 restored full-stop in “Captain Sparhawk Tahiti was not far off.”

p. 193 whiste -> whistle in “shrill whistle sounded”

p. 213 Jordan -> Judson in “Broom and young Judson turned”

p. 242 “membel” retained (for “remember”) in dialect: “Me membel now”

p. 262 blared -> glared in “yellow eyes glared malevolently”

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Table of Contents

- The Ocean Wireless Boys on the Pacific.

- CHAPTER I.—ON THE BROAD PACIFIC.

- CHAPTER II.—THE OCEAN IN A RAGE.

- CHAPTER III.—A LONG NIGHT.

- CHAPTER IV.—THE DERELICT.

- CHAPTER V.—THE “CENTURION.”

- CHAPTER VI.—A MYSTERY OF THE SEAS.

- CHAPTER VII.—AN OLD ENEMY ODDLY MET.

- CHAPTER VIII.—“LAND, HO!”

- CHAPTER IX.—THROUGH HIDDEN DANGERS.

- CHAPTER X.—CHUMMING WITH SAVAGES.

- CHAPTER XI.—THE CAVE OF THE PEARLS.

- CHAPTER XII.—A TRAP!

- CHAPTER XIII.—ON THE REEF.

- CHAPTER XIV.—BATTLING MAN-EATING SHARKS.

- CHAPTER XV.—A MESSAGE FROM THE DEEP.

- CHAPTER XVI.—ALIVE ON THE SEA.

- CHAPTER XVII.—AN ENCOUNTER AT BOMOBORI.

- CHAPTER XVIII.—DONALD JUDSON AGAIN.

- CHAPTER XIX.—HE TELLS A STRANGE STORY.

- CHAPTER XX.—A TRAITOR IN CAMP.

- CHAPTER XXI.—A MEMORABLE NIGHT.

- CHAPTER XXII.—INTO THE JUNGLE.

- CHAPTER XXIII.—A DANGEROUS TREE.

- CHAPTER XXIV.—WIRELESS AT WORK.

- CHAPTER XXV.—A JUNGLE HOTEL.

- CHAPTER XXVI.—PRISONERS OF ‘BULLY’ BROOM.

- CHAPTER XXVII.—AT THE OLD FORT.

- CHAPTER XXVIII.—THE FREE-BOOTER’S DEMANDS.

- CHAPTER XXIX.—THE RESCUE PARTY.

- CHAPTER XXX.—IN THE COILS OF A PYTHON.

- CHAPTER XXXI.—THE JOURNEY RESUMED.

- CHAPTER XXXII.—A STORM IN THE JUNGLE.

- CHAPTER XXXIII.—THE GIANT SPIDERS.

- CHAPTER XXXIV.—A FIGHT WITH A HORNBILL.

- CHAPTER XXXV.—THE HEART OF NEW GUINEA.

- CHAPTER XXXVI.—FOUND AT LAST!

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE