Chapter 8 Tom Swift and His Talking Pictures by Victor Appleton
TWO CAPTIVES
“What’s that? What’s the matter?” cried Tom Swift, hearing Mr. Damon’s shout. “Are they going to ram us?”
Tom had been bending over the gasoline throttle in an endeavor to coax a little more speed out of their craft. Now he looked up to see that they were very near the fleeing boat.
“No, I said rocks ahead! Look! Bless my life preserver, we’re going to hit them!” yelled the eccentric man. “Look out!”
Then, but too late, Tom saw and realized why the other boat had swerved so suddenly. It was to avoid the rocks. And now the Gull, which was the name of the boat Tom had hired, was headed directly for the black, sharp rocks that reared their ugly heads out of the blue water of Lake Carlopa.
“Hand me that boat hook and maybe I can fend us off,” called out the tramp.
Tom, however, was sure this would be of no service, so he did not obey the request. He was trying with all his might to pull the wheel around far enough to steer the Gull away from the rocks. But the craft was a heavy one, rather clumsy, and did not respond readily.
“See if she’ll reverse, Mr. Damon!” panted Tom, who had to use both hands on the wheel. “Throw that lever back!” and he pointed to one with his foot.
“Yes, I know how!” Mr. Damon replied. He grasped the gear lever and began straining on it. Suddenly there was a sharp report.
“Did it break?” cried Tom, looking at the rocks on to which they seemed about to crash.
“No. They’re shooting at us!” yelled Bill Tagg. “There they go again!” he added, ducking down into the bottom of the boat.
Tom and Mr. Damon were both occupied with trying to save the Gull from going on the rocks and they could not draw their weapons. The tramp, however, aimed his automatic and sent a couple of answering shots toward the boat containing Ned.
“Look out you don’t hit our friend,” warned Tom, who felt the rudder gradually coming around, so that he had hopes of saving the Gull from a direct crash.
“I fired over their heads,” explained Bill Tagg. “They’re doing the same, I guess—trying to bluff us!” He fired again, high enough to clear those in the fleeing craft, and again came a response. This time the bullet was lower and Tom instinctively ducked, though he knew the missile must have passed him before his ear caught the vicious whine of its passage through the air.
Then, so suddenly that no warning was given, the Gull struck on a rock just beneath the surface. It was a glancing blow, and the rock, luckily, was smooth, or the craft might have been shattered. As it was, the Gull careened to one side, and so sharply that Tom Swift was thrown overboard, landing in the lake with a great splash.
Instinctively, he took a long breath and held it, closing his mouth that had been opened preparatory to shouting further directions to Mr. Damon about reversing the craft.
Down into the depths sank Tom, while the Gull, whose speed was not slackened, slued around from her impact on the rock and shot off on a tangent in a direction directly opposite from that taken by the Turtle, the boat containing the three roughly attired men and that silent, wrapped figure in the bottom—a figure that was supposed to be Ned Newton.
“Bless my steamship ticket!” yelled Mr. Damon, “where’s Tom?”
“Overboard!” yelled the tramp. “And I can’t swim!”
“Me get him!” shouted Koku, peeling off his coat preparatory to a dive over the side.
“Stay where you are!” came the stern command from the other boat which had circled around and was now headed for the place where Tom Swift’s head appeared in the watery circles caused by his plunge. “We’ll drill the first man that goes overboard!”
Two of the rascals stood in the bow with leveled weapons, while the third was steering the boat straight toward Tom.
“They’re going to ram him!” gasped the tramp. He did not seem capable of doing anything to help, and Koku, being now without a weapon, was of no service. Mr. Damon had laid aside his pistol to work the reverse lever and, even if he could have recovered it, there was a question as to his ability to use it.
Thus fate favored the rascals, and Mr. Damon and his two companions were forced to see themselves being carried farther and farther away from the Turtle as the Gull, whose engine was still running, headed away from the rocks. Apparently little damage had been done by striking the obstruction.
From a distance Mr. Damon, the tramp, and the giant watched to see what would happen to Tom Swift. At first it seemed as though he was going to be run down by the unprincipled men in the Turtle. But they had other plans in mind and, reaching the swimming inventor, the two men in the bow reached over, grasped him, and pulled him in. He could not fight back, and, indeed, having gone overboard with all his clothes on, was having a hard struggle to keep afloat. Rescue, even at the hands of the enemy, was welcome.
“They’ve got him!” gasped Mr. Damon.
“We go take him away!” growled Koku. “Make boat go odder way, Mr. Damon—we get Master Tom.”
“I—I’m afraid I don’t know how to operate this craft,” confessed the eccentric man. “I might run it back on the rocks.”
Once Tom was hauled, dripping wet, aboard the Turtle, the boat was put about and went speeding off and away from the Gull which, to tell the truth, was headed back toward her own dock.
Tom, as he was pulled over the side, had a glimpse of the Gull going back where she came from. He remembered that neither Mr. Damon nor Koku could operate the craft without some one along to advise them, and the young inventor had doubts about the tramp’s navigating ability in the emergency.
“Well, anyhow, she’ll get to shore and they’ll be all right,” reasoned Tom.
Then he gave thought to his own situation.
“Well, we’ve sure got him now!” chuckled one of the three men.
“You said it!” echoed another. “We didn’t make no mistake this time!”
Tom almost fell on the gagged and bound body of another young man, and it needed but a glance to show him that here was Ned Newton, a prisoner like himself. Ned could not speak and could hardly move, but his eyes flashed a greeting to Tom.
“They’ve got us both!” said Tom in a low voice to his chum, as he crawled alongside of Ned. “But they won’t keep us long. Are you hurt, Ned?”
A shake of the head in negation was the only way Ned could reply.
Then further talk on Tom’s part was stopped, for one of the men, standing over the two captives with an automatic in one hand, growled:
“Shut up down there!”