face for a moment. He would have much preferred
to see the present adventure through. Yet, a second later, the Long
Island boy bounded to the dock, then stood to cast off the bow-line.

After the line had come aboard, Joe Dawson again took his place at the
wheel, turning on the speed gradually as the boat rounded out past the
island, then turned in toward the mainland.

It was about five miles, in a direct westerly course, to the shore,
but by an oblique, northwesterly course a fishing village some nine
miles away could be reached.

"Steer for the fishing village," nodded Powell Seaton. Captain Tom
hurried forward to give the order, adding: "Make it at full speed,
Joe. If you have to go to the engine, call me forward to take the
wheel."

Soon afterwards Tom slipped into the motor room, rubbed down and got
on dry clothing. Joe, in turn, did likewise, afterward returning to
the wheel.

Down in the cabin all had been quiet for some minutes after the
discharge of the gun on deck. Yet Captain Tom, by peeping through the
transom, discovered the heads of Dalton and some of his rough men
close together in consultation.

"I'll annoy them a bit," chuckled the young skipper, moving swiftly
forward. Dropping down into the motor room he switched off all the
cabin lights. An instant roar of anger came from below.

"Funny we didn't think of that before," grinned Dawson, as Halstead
came up out of the motor room.

"It'll bother the rascals a bit," chuckled Captain Tom back over his
shoulder.

With such a boat as the "Restless" ordinary distances are swiftly
covered. It was barely twenty-five minutes after leaving the dock that
Joe reached the entrance to the little harbor around which the houses
of the fishing village clustered, nor had much speed been used.

Now the whistle sounded steadily, in short, sharp blasts. Moreover,
Dawson managed to send the distress signal with the searchlight. By
the time he slowed down speed, then reversed, to make the little
wharf, a dozen men had hurried down to the shore.

"What's wrong?" hailed one of them.

"Get the sheriff, or a sheriff's officer!" shouted back Powell Seaton.
"Be quick about it, one of you, please, and the rest of you stay here
to help us."

Joe sent the bow hawser flying ashore, Tom doing the same with the
stern line. Willing hands caught both ropes, making them fast around
snubbing posts. As two men started away on the run, the rest of the
bystanders came crowdin