The Boy Aviators in Africa Part 30

The Arab looked at him questioningly.

"You saved George Desmond's life," said the reporter shortly.

"That was many years ago," said the Arab with a start of recognition at the name of the dead explorer, "I have changed since."

With a wave of the hand he strode to the river's edge and half-an-hour later he and the remnant of his band were out of sight round a bend in the upper river.

At almost the same instant the boys soared aloft in the Golden Eagle II, and the chase for the ivory was on.

Below the flying aeroplane Ben Stubbs and old Sikaso--the latter as silent as ever--paddled down the river in silence.

It was a time for deeds, not talk.

CHAPTER XXIII

ABOARD "THE BRIGAND"

The Brigand, a black, schooner-rigged yacht of about 1800 tons, with a yellow funnel amids.h.i.+ps, and flying the red and blue burgee of the Transatlantic Yacht Club, lay at anchor on the rolling blue swells off the harbor of a.s.sini in the early dawn of the day following the treachery of Luther Barr. Her crew--for the most part a riff-raff collection picked up in a hurry, for the old man had only made up his mind to make his daring grab for the ivory at the last minute--lolled about the decks idly. There was no one aboard to give command, for Jack Halsey, the mate who had been in command since the death of the captain had gone ash.o.r.e the night before.

As old Barr had prophesied, the mate's love for strong liquor had overcome him and he was now lying hopelessly intoxicated in a low drinking den. The raw "trade gin" that he had drunk had rendered him insensible and so he would remain for many hours to come.

Some sort of animation diffused itself among the crew as they saw a low-laden launch headed toward them from the sh.o.r.e. In it were seated Luther Barr and several negroes including the black captain.

"Here, you lazy loafers!" hailed Barr, who was evidently in a bad temper and also in a furious hurry, as the launch ranged alongside, "bear a hand here and rig a sling and get this stuff aboard."

The "stuff" referred to was the priceless collection of ivory which lay higgeldy-piggeldy in the bottom of the launch just as it had been thrown in by the negroes in Barr's pay. Antic.i.p.ating that the boys would put up a stiff fight for the ivory he had taken the precaution to hire these ne'er-do-wells, who would do anything, from cutting a throat to stealing a chicken, for pay. Barr had paid them well and when he had arrived at the camp he had taken the precaution to leave them down the river about half-a-mile while he went on alone with the launch and her captain to see how the land lay. When he realized that the boys were not fooled by his forged order from Mr. Beasley he decided to use the chloroform he had bought for just such an emergency, and then rousing his followers when the boys were drugged it had not taken long with their united efforts to load the ivory.

Urged on by Barr's promise of a large reward the captain of the launch had spun his little vessel down the river at top speed and thus had been able to make the coast in record time.

"Where in thunder is that mate Halsey?" roared Barr as he saw the bos'n--a seedy-looking fellow from the London slums--taking charge of the transfer of the ivory from the launch to the deck of the Brigand.

"He went ash.o.r.e last night," rejoined the other.

"And I suppose he is helplessly drunk now," raged Barr. "How in the name of fortune are we going to get the yacht out of here?"

"Wait till he gets sober," was the bos'n's grunted reply as the men hastily transferred the last of the precious freight of tusks to the Brigand's deck.

Barr jumped to the accommodation ladder and was aboard in a second, despite his apparent feebleness. His face was distorted with rage and cupidity.

"We have got to get out of here at once--now do you understand?" he roared, crazed with rage.

"I'll give a thousand dollars to the man that will get me out of this harbor and well off to sea."

"If it comes to that I guess I can take a chance of navigating the yacht even if I don't hold a master's ticket," replied the bos'n.

"But are you a navigator?" questioned Barr eagerly

"Well, Mr. Barr, I held a master's ticket once before drink got me and I piled my s.h.i.+p on a reef," was the answer.

"You're good enough for me!" shouted Barr overjoyed, "and now we'll up anchor and get away from this abominable coast."

He scanned the sky sh.o.r.eward anxiously. He did not confide to his new captain, however, the fact that at any moment he expected to see swift vengeance in the shape of the Golden Eagle II pursuing him.

With the roustabout crew that had been s.h.i.+pped in New York from a West Street boarding-master it took some time to get the anchor broken out--the men going at their work sulkily. At last, however, it was "up and down" as the sailors say, and Luther Barr himself signaled on the engine-room telegraph "Full speed, ahead." The engines of the yacht begin to revolve and the crafty old pillager almost gave a cry of joy as he felt the vibration beneath his feet.

The Boy Aviators could not cross the Atlantic in the aeroplane and there would not be a s.h.i.+p leaving the coast for a month.

Luther Barr chuckled.

He had beaten the boys at their own game.

By the time they arrived in New York the ivory would have been sold in London and he would be traveling in Europe on his ill-earned gains. That Beasley (his unsuspecting partner) would be ruined gave the money-crazed old man no care at all.

But even as the launch cast loose from the moving yacht and headed back to the sh.o.r.e--her occupants greedily fingering the bills Barr had given them for their work--Barr, from his station on the bridge, gave a start and an exclamation.

High in the air, and not more than ten miles inland, a black object that looked like a huge bird, but which Barr knew in his guilty soul was the Golden Eagle II, was rapidly winging its way toward them.

"More steam," he shouted down the tube to the engineer and the yacht, a long creamy wave curving away from her sharp black bow, began to move even faster.

"What are we making?" Barr asked eagerly of the late bos'n who, binoculars in hand, was taking the s.h.i.+p out through the treacherous harbor entrance as confidently as if he were once more a captain.

"Twelve knots," was the reply.

"We must do better," raged Barr.

"Impossible!" was the answer. "We are risking the yacht now. I am not familiar with this harbor and there are shoals and reefs all about us stretching many miles out to sea. At any moment, unless we proceed cautiously, we may run aground. Five knots would suit me better than twelve."

Barr chafed silently. The reply was unanswerable.

Better to go slow than to run the s.h.i.+p ash.o.r.e. Suddenly he s.n.a.t.c.hed the binoculars from the man beside him and turned them on the aeroplane. He almost uttered a cry of triumph as the craft swung into his field of vision.

There was something the matter with her.

She was no longer rus.h.i.+ng straight ahead.

As Luther Barr watched her he saw the great aircraft swoop in a huge circle above the town and then settle down so swiftly that it looked as if she must have been dashed to pieces. But the town was hidden behind a point and he could not see it.

"I hope she has been dashed to pieces," he gritted between his teeth savagely, "that would mean the saving of a lot of trouble for me."

But even as he prepared to put the binoculars back in the pocket alongside the binnacle with an evil smile playing about his thin lips, there came a startling shock.

Barr was almost thrown from his feet and only saved himself from falling by grasping a stanchion. The s.h.i.+p quivered from stem to stern as if she had been hit a staggering blow.

"We've struck a reef!" exclaimed the late bos'n.