ut
with his comrades.

"If there are rascals on this island, who have designs against you,
Mr. Seaton, then mount guard over your friend," Tom added. "Better be
in the sick-room at any moment when Dr. Cosgrove leaves there. Hank,
get a club from that pile. Now, come along, fellows, and we'll see
what infernal mischief may have been done to the 'Restless.'"

With that, the young skipper bounded out onto the porch, thence
running down the board walk toward the dock.

Tom Halstead had some vague but highly uneasy notions as to the safety
of his beloved boat. Yet, alarmed as he was, he was hardly prepared
for the shock that met him when he arrived at the edge of the little
wharf.

"Say, can you beat that?" panted young Halstead, halting,
thunderstruck, and gazing back at his stupefied comrades. "The
rascals--whoever they are--have stolen the 'Restless.' Joe, our
splendid boat is gone!"

CHAPTER IV

TAKING A GREAT CHANCE

Joe, with a voiceless gulp, sprang forward once more, pausing at the
string-piece only, and peering hard out into the black, wet night.

Hank Butts brought his club down over a snubbing post with such force
as to shatter the weapon.

For a few moments Tom Halstead stood looking about him in an uncertain
way, as though trying to arouse himself from a hideous nightmare.

"They've stolen our boat!" he gasped.

Whoever had done this deed might almost as well have taken the young
captain's life. The "Restless" was a big part of that life.

"Oh, well," muttered Hank, thickly, "whoever took the yacht must leave
it somewhere. You can't hide a craft of that size. We'll hear from the
'Restless' all right, in a day or two--or in a week, anyway."

"Whoever took the yacht away from here may know next to nothing about
handling a boat," choked Tom, hoarsely. "We may find the dear old
craft again--yes--but perhaps wedged on the rocks somewhere,--a
hopeless wreck. O-o-oh! It makes me feel ugly and heartsick, all in
one!"

"The 'Restless' can't have broken loose during the storm, can it?"
asked Hank Butts.

"No," retorted Tom and Joe in the same breath, and with the utmost
positiveness.

"Well, what are we going to do?" asked Hank.

The answer to the question was hard to find. Lonely Island lay five
miles off the shore. Wireless communication was out of the question.
They were out of the track of passing vessels, nor was any stray,
friendly craft at all likely to show up on this dark, forbiddi