Chapter XV: What Happened Ashore

As Ben had surmised, Duval had waited till the boys and their friends were sound asleep, and had then, in accordance with a plan he had thought of the instant he set eyes on his kind-hearted friend, sneaked out of his bunk and, tip-toeing softly to Ben's clothes, located the wallet and with small trouble or loss of time abstracted the plan of the lost wreck. During the evening the ingrate had heard a description of the island given to Mr. Sterrett by Dr. Perkins, so that after taking the plan he left the hut and made for the beach by the path through the woods.

Shoving off the skiff, he had taken up the oars and started rowing as fast as he could for the mainland. But what with the darkness and his unfamiliarity with that part of the coast, he had failed to land in the cove adjoining the fisher village of Motthaven, and had beached his craft a considerable distance to the south of the place. It was just growing light when the bow of the skiff grated on the sand, and Duval hastily scrambled out and started off. His object was to find a railroad station and travel as far as his scant supply of money would take him from the vicinity of Brig Island.

After that his plans were still vague; but he had an indefinite idea of getting to New York or some large town, and interesting anybody with capital to finance an expedition for the recovery of the gold dust chest and the bag of black pearls that lay at the bottom of the Black Bayou amid the moldering timbers of the lost steamer. The utter depravity and black-heartedness of this plan, and his base ingratitude to the man who had aided him in every way, did not strike him. Instead, there was but one over-mastering thought in his mind, and that was to secure whatever treasure might be in the wreck as quickly as possible, and then vanish from America for some foreign country with his ill-gotten wealth.

Busy with such thoughts as these, he hastened up the beach in the gray of the dawn, and finding a rough sort of path leading up the low cliff that overhung the beach, he started to ascend it. He had not gone more than a few paces, however, before he saw, buried back in some trees, a rough-looking hut.

Duval was hungry and thirsty, and, moreover, his long row, at such a feverish pace, had exhausted him. Determining to tell a story that would account for his presence in that isolated part of the coast at such an early hour, he made up his mind to apply at the hut for some refreshment. His story was to be that he had set off on a fishing expedition and had lost his way and been wandering all night.

"Probably only some fool fisherman lives there who will believe anything I choose to tell him," he thought; "these fellows are all as thick as mud, anyhow."

Musing to himself in this fashion, the renegade fellow made his way toward the hut and, coming to the door, knocked loudly on it. But there was no answer, and when, after repeated knockings, he could elicit no response, Duval determined that, as there appeared to be nobody at home, he would walk in uninvited and see what he could "forage" for himself.

The door was unlocked; in fact, it had no latch and hung crazily on its rusty hinges. Opening it, Duval found himself in an interior as rough and uncouth as the outside of the hut had promised. A table made of old planks, seemingly flotsam from the beach, two soap boxes for chairs, and a rough sort of bunk, or rather shelf, littered with a pile of dirty old blankets, made up the furnishings. On the table were the remains of a meal, which had consisted apparently of roasted lobsters and fish. Two tin cups and tin plates, with battered knives and forks beside them, completed the table service.

"Confound it all," muttered Duval, "whoever lives here is as poor as a church mouse. Some miserable fisherman, I suppose, who has hardly enough to keep body and soul together."

He walked to a corner of the shack where there was a sort of cupboard contrived out of old boxes. He had guessed that this formed the pantry of the establishment. Sure enough, in it he found a loaf half consumed, and the remains of a roasted lobster, as well as some scraps of fish. He was too hungry to be particular and was just about to start eating when a quick step behind him caused him to start violently, dropping the food he had in his hand.

But before he could utter a word the young man--or, rather, loutish boy--who had entered so quietly, owing to his being barefooted, stepped up to him and, raising a heavy oar he carried, dealt the intruder a blow that deprived him of his senses for the time being.

As Duval fell to the floor a man in rough fisherman's garb, with a wrinkled, mahogany-tinged face and a tuft of gray whisker on his prominent chin, entered.

"Why, Zeb, what's up?" he exclaimed, in an astonished voice.

"I found this feller snoopin' about in here, pop," was the rejoinder, "an' I calkelated ter lay him out till we could find out what his business was."

"Good ernuff, boy," responded the elder Daniels, for most of our readers must be aware by this time of the identity of the two newcomers; "but who do yer suppose he is? He's dressed like one of them fancy sailors off'n a yacht."

"Dad, I figger he's a detective sent here by them kids on Brig Island. That's the way it looks to me."

"I guess you're right, Zeb. Here, give me a hand to get him up on the bunk. By hickory, but you must have hit him a clip."

"Reckon I did land kind er hard on him, dad, but I wasn't takin' chances of his turning on me."

The two worthies lifted Duval's limp form and laid it, not over-gently, on the tumbled pile of frowsy blankets. This done, a sudden thought struck the elder Daniels.

"Calkerlate I'll take a look through his pockets," he said; "might rummage out something worth havin'."

Zeb helped his father in this task; but aside from a small sum of money, and a collection of worthless odds and ends, they found nothing that appeared to them to be of importance. In an inner pocket Zeb came across the stolen map. Much mystified, he showed it to his father.

"What do you think this kin be, pop?" he inquired.

The old man took it and knitted his brow over the document in a puzzled fashion.

"By hickory, I kain't make it out," he confessed; "thar's some riting in ther corner, though. Spell it out, Zeb."

Zeb, obediently, but somewhat laboriously, read out:

"'Map of the location of the wreck of the _Belle of New Orleans_.' That's what it says; but what does it mean?"

"That's plain enough, ain't it?" retorted the old man. "It's a map of some wreck or other, but what does this feller want with it? That's the question."

"Better ask him. He's opening his eyes and coming to."

Sure enough Duval stirred uneasily, and threw up his hand as if to ward off a blow.

"Don't hit me, Frank Chester," he cried out; "I'll give back the plan I stole."

"Oh-ho! That's the way the wind blows, is it?" muttered the elder Daniels, and then, addressing Duval, who was now staring wildly about him, he said:

"So you come from Brig Island, eh, my hearty?"

"Yes; but how did I get here? Oh, I remember now. I was looking for food and somebody struck me."

"That was me, I reckon," grinned Zeb, "who are you, anyhow? Did those kids on Brig Island send you here after us?"

What with the effects of his blow, and his alarm at his position, Duval lost his customary caution.

"I'm no friend of anybody on Brig Island," he exclaimed, "but what do you know about that place, anyhow?"

"A whole lot," grimly rejoined the elder Daniels; "now, see here, my lad, you'd best make a clean breast of it. How did you come by this plan?"

The old fisherman, who was pretty keen-minded, had guessed by Duval's guilty manner that there was some mystery connected with the document which he now flourished.

Duval sat up on the bunk and pleaded for the return of the plan; but to no avail.

"I'm smart enough to see through a wall when there's a hole in it," said old Daniels; "now, see here, I reckon you ain't no friend of them kids on the island?"

Duval shook his head. He had, of course, no reason to dislike the boys; but he was an arrant coward at heart, and saw that the men in whose power he was, hated the young dwellers on Brig Island. He therefore thought it good policy to affect to be of their way of thinking.

"I'm no friend of theirs," he said, rather sullenly, "but what's that to you?"

"May be a whole lot, if this plan is what I think it is. Now I've a pretty good idea that you come by it in no very honest way. Ain't that so?"

"I--I was given it," stammered Duval uneasily, while Zenas' little gimlet-like gray eyes bored him through.

"That's a lie," rejoined Daniels easily; "come on, out with the truth, now. It won't do you no harm, and may keep you from the constables."

This was a shrewd move on Daniels' part. Duval's eyes dilated with fear at the idea of coming within the reach of the law. Without more ado he blurted out part of the story of the lost _Belle of New Orleans_, and offered to let Zenas share in the prize if he should locate it. While Duval was talking the elder Daniels had leaned forward, consumed with interest. Avaricious to a degree, the thought of the sunken treasure made him fairly burn with desire to gain it.

"You're sure that was a true story that feller give you?" he asked, as Duval concluded his story.

"I'm certain of it. I know for a fact that my father had a lot of gold dust and those black pearls with him on his last voyage, for he had written home about the fortune that he was bringing."

"Humph! Waal, your story sounds all right, and I don't know but what you've come to the right shop to get some one to help you get at the wreck. I've got a diving outfit and a little money, and I kin raise some more. Now sit down and Zeb will get you a bite to eat, and we'll talk things over."

And thus was begun an alliance which was to prove a source of much trouble to the Boy Aviators and their friends in the near future.