anxious to be of
assistance in rendering aid to the fallen lad.

"Where are you hurt?" questioned Jack tenderly.

"Nowhere!" replied the lad. "I heard a shot just as I tripped over
something in the sand and then the next thing I knew you had me. What
happened, anyway? Who shot and at what?"

"I don't know the fellow's name, but he was at one time a passenger on
our boat, I believe. He is a villain if ever there was one!" replied
Jack with some warmth.

"Maybe it's the same fellow I know!" declared the stranger. "But may I
ask to whom I am indebted for the pleasure of this call?"

Jack introduced himself, and then his two chums. In turn the stranger
gave his name as Frank Evans of the Bob White patrol of St. Louis. The
boys now started toward the rowboat, keeping a glance around for foes as
they walked.

"Hadn't we better get your things from on shore if you go with us?"
asked Arnold, as the boys approached the boat.

"I haven't a thing of my own here!" declared Frank. "If we except, of
course, my fire stick and the remains of a flounder."

"A fire stick and flounder!" cried Arnold. "Where are they?"

"Up there by that old bit of wreckage," replied Frank. "You see, I had
nothing but my pocket knife when I landed here, and haven't had much
chance to import goods since my arrival."

"How long have you been here?" queried Harry. "We thought you must be in
desperate need from the looks of the fires."

"I think this is the third day," replied Frank. "Yesterday I slept most
of the time while the schooner was standing off and on, and the day
before that was the day they put me ashore. I've had a rush with the
pirates that infest these waters under the guise of honest working
fishermen. They're a bad lot, too," he added.

"Pirates?" gasped the three members of the Fortuna's crew.

"That's what I'd call them," replied Frank. "You see, my chum and myself
came down the Mississippi River in a gasoline launch. She was a
beauty--a thirty-footer. She had a trunk cabin over three-quarters of
her, and an open cockpit aft. We had her fitted up in pretty good shape,
too. We wanted a little pleasure trip, so we made up our minds we'd
bring the launch down here and if we got a good chance we'd sell her. My
Chum, Charley Burnett, and I are the same age--seventeen last
October--and we built the boat last winter. When we got through the Lake
Borgne Ship Canal below New Orleans, we ran against a lot of rough
fellows who tried to