The Boys of the Wireless Part 18

"I will not," retorted Tom.

He struck out with his fists and laid two of his a.s.sailants low. They were promptly on their feet. Then the united strength of the group was exerted to seize and throw our hero down. He found his arms and feet securely bound by strong ropes.

"Someone is coming," spoke one of the crowd sharply.

"Rush him," ordered the leader.

Tom set up a loud shout.

"The gag," came the quick command.

Tom's outcry was hushed in an instant by the application of an elastic band fastened to a padded stick, which was tightly pressed between his lips. He was lifted bodily and carried away from the road just as a wagon rattled past the spot where he had been confronted by the gang.

The members spoke not a word as, bodily lifting their captive, they bore him helpless on their shoulders through the woods. They proceeded a quarter of a mile, finally halting at a low structure which Tom recognized.

It was the abandoned hut of a man who had pa.s.sed a hermit-like existence in the densest part of a thicket. Tom was carried inside and placed on the broken floor of the hut, which was covered with dead leaves.

"What's the orders, chief?" asked one of the crowd.

A whispered reply that Tom could not over-hear led to five of the party filing out of the hut like trained soldiers. The sixth, the leader, remained behind for half a minute.

"We're coming back soon," he said. "We'll bring a skull and cross bones when we do. If you'll swear on 'em never to cross our dead line again, maybe we'll leave you go this time. If you don't--"

The speaker aspirated a long low hiss and ground his teeth tragically.

Then he, too, disappeared.

Tom had ample time for reflection as he lay alone in the darkness. He could not figure out what the Black Caps were up to. The whole proceeding was freakish, and carried along in the most heroic style of juvenile roysterers aping pirates and outlaws; yet Tom believed there was some definite motive underlying it all. What it was he could not at the moment decide.

A half hour pa.s.sed by. The Black Caps had apparently retired to a distance. Then the crackling of dry twigs outside the hut announced the approach of someone.

"h.e.l.lo, there, Tom Barnes!" spoke the owner of a head thrust past the open doorway.

Tom at once identified the tones. They belonged to Mart Walters.

CHAPTER XIV-TURNING THE TABLES

"This is getting interesting-I think I am beginning to understand this affair," murmured Tom amid his helpless discomfort.

Mart Walters stepped into the hut. He felt about with his feet, and even groped with his hands. As one toe touched the prostrate Tom the visitor came to a stop.

"We'll have a little light on the subject," he observed, drawing out a cigar lighter. Mart fancied it was "mannish" and grand to exhibit this appurtenance when he lit a cigarette. He snapped a light and held the flame over Tom. Then he extinguished it, and stooping unsnapped the gag from the captive's lips, letting it drop under his chin.

Mart had not spoken to Tom since the day of the ducking at the creek.

Twice Tom had met him in Rockley Cove, and had nodded to him pleasantly.

This courtesy had been rewarded with a malevolent scowl. It was evidently still in the mind of our hero's enemy to "get even" with him.

More than once Tom had seen Mart on the Fernwood pier or in the powerful launch with the elegant young swell, Bert Aldrich. Several evenings Tom had pa.s.sed at the Morgan mansion at little social gatherings of Miss Grace and her friends. On these occasions, however, Aldrich and his satellite had made a point to cut Tom direct. Tom had not minded this in the least, for Grace had laughed outright at such ridiculous manuvres.

Tom now instantly made up his mind that the present episode had something to do with his visits to Grace. Mart was not above mean plotting, and his supercilious friend, Bert Aldrich, had always struck Tom as an unpleasant cad.

"There's only just about five minutes to spare, Tom Barnes," spoke Mart smartly.

"For what?" demanded Tom.

"For me to save you."

"What from?"

"The Black Caps."

"You train with them, do you?" interrogated Tom.

"Who, me? No, indeed!" answered Mart. "It's this way: I'm your friend."

"Go ahead, Mart."

"The Barbers don't like you any too well. They think the best way they can beat your game is to keep you from coming here."

"Coming where?" challenged Tom specifically.

"Well, down to the Morgan place. They don't want you sneaking around anywhere near them."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" observed Tom.

"I overheard their talk. They've gone to get some tar and feathers.

They're going to muss you up bad. I know them pretty well."

"I see you do," remarked Tom, significantly.

"Oh, I don't mean that I chum with them, or anything like that,"

corrected Mart, in a fl.u.s.tered manner. "But, I have-why, well-influence, that's it, with them. Then again, I'm interested personally."

"How are you interested?" inquired Tom.

"Well, I'll just be plain with you. My friend, Bert Aldrich, is sweet on Grace Morgan, and you've spoiled it."

"Indeed," said Tom simply.

"He thinks you have prejudiced Grace against him, and he's mad as a hatter about it. See here, she isn't your cla.s.s. You know she ain't-half a million, cla.s.sy family. Why, you're poor. Then again, she's going south soon, and when she gets into society she'll have to meet Bert and his family, and take up with him again-see?"

"Get along, Mart," railed Tom, "you're progressing finely."

"I'll save you from the Black Caps if you'll agree to keep away from Grace Morgan. There's the straight of it. What do you say?"

"I say no," responded Tom promptly.