The Moving Picture Boys on the Coast Part 26

"Huh! How do you know but what this light was put here as a range finder for us fishermen?" asked the other.

"Fishermen! Why, you men never did an honest day's fis.h.i.+ng in your lives!" cried Abe Haskill. "Fis.h.i.+ng! When you haven't been smuggling you've been wrecking, or robbing other honest men's nets. You're a bunch of scoundrels, and it's the best day's work we've done in many a year to get you!"

"That's all right," retorted Hemp, easily. "Words don't prove anything."

"They don't; eh?" cried Tom Cardiff. "You'll see what they do. We'll convict you by your own words!"

"Our own words?" asked Hemp Danforth, uneasily.

"Yes, overheard by these two lads, whom you chased but couldn't catch. I guess when Blake Stewart and Joe Duncan go into court, and testify about hearing you talk of wrecking vessels by your false lantern, the jury'll convict you, all right!"

Hemp seemed less concerned with what Tom said than with the name Joe Duncan. As this was uttered the wrecker looked at the two lads.

"Did I understand him to say that one of you is a Duncan?" asked Hemp, curiously.

"I am," replied Joe.

"Are you Nate Duncan's son?"

"I hope so--yes, I'm sure I am."

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the wrecker.

"What's the joke?" inquired Tom Cardiff.

"This, and it's a good one, too. You think to convict us on the testimony of Nate Duncan's son. Why, Nate is one of us! His son's evidence wouldn't be any good. Besides, a son wouldn't help to convict his father. That's a good one. Nate Duncan is one of us!"

"That's not so!" burst out Joe, jumping toward the big wrecker, as though to strike him. "It isn't true. My father never was a wrecker."

"He wasn't; eh?" sneered Hemp. "Well, I'm not saying we are, either; but if your father isn't a wrecker why did he run away before the officers came for him? Answer me that--if you can!"

"I--I--" began Joe, when Blake stepped to his chum's side.

"Don't answer him," counseled Blake. "It will only make matters worse.

It will all come out right."

"I'm sure of it," said Joe. "Poor Dad, I wish he were here to defend himself; but, as he isn't, I'll stick up for him."

"Well, if you're through talking I guess we'll move along," suggested Tom at this point. "There are a few empty cells in the jail at San Diego, I understand, and they'll just about accommodate you chaps."

"Are--are you going to put us in jail?" faltered one of the prisoners, a young man.

"That's what we are," answered Tom.

"Oh, don't. I'll tell--I'll----"

"You'll keep still--that's what you'll do!" snapped Hemp. "I'll fix you if you don't!" and he glared at the youth in such a way that the latter said no more. "I'll manage this thing," went on Hemp. "You keep still and they can't do a thing to us. Now go ahead; take us to jail if you want to."

"That's what we will," declared Tom, and a little later the prisoners were on their way to San Diego, where they were locked up. Some suspected wreckers had been taken into custody when Mr. Duncan was accused, but nothing had been proved against them.

"Well, that was a good day's work!" declared Mr. Hadley late that afternoon, when he and the moving picture boys were back at their quarters. "We not only got the wreckers, but a fine film of the capture besides."

"And we're in it," said Blake. "Joe, how will it seem to see yourself on a screen?"

"Oh, rather odd, I guess," and Joe spoke listlessly.

"Now look here!" exclaimed his chum. "I know what's worrying you. It's what Hemp said about your father; isn't it?"

"Yes, Blake, it is."

"Well then, you just stop thinking about it. Before you know it your father may arrive in Hong Kong, get your letter, and send back an answer. Then everything will be cleared up. Meanwhile, we've got to get busy; there are a lot of films to make, I understand."

"Indeed there are," declared Mr. Ringold. "I have my sea drama all ready for the films now. I don't know what to do about a wreck, though. I'm afraid I can't make it realistic enough. I must make other plans about that scene. But get your cameras in good shape, boys, for there is plenty of work ahead."

"We can keep right on the job," said Joe, "for I guess we've about cleaned up the wreckers."

No members of the gang had escaped, as far as could be learned, and the renewed work of getting evidence to be used at the trial was in the hands of the government men. The false lantern, which had first given the boys the clue, was taken down, and proved to be a most ingenious piece of apparatus. Had it been used it would undoubtedly have lured some s.h.i.+ps on the rocks.

The work of making the preliminary scenes of the sea drama were under way. It took the best part of three weeks to get what was needed, for Mr. Ringold was very particular, and insisted on many rehearsals, these taking longer than the actual making of the films.

Joe and Blake were kept busy, as was also their young a.s.sistant, Macaroni, and Mr. Hadley.

"Everything is going beautifully," said Mr. Ringold one day. "If we could only have a storm and wreck to order, now, I would ask nothing better."

"Yes, everything is nice, except that we're being worked to death,"

spoke C. C. Piper, gloomily. "I've lost ten pounds in the last week."

"It will do you good," said Miss Lee, with a laugh. "You were getting too stout, anyhow."

"Oh, what a world!" sighed the comedian, as he began whistling the latest comic song.

"It looks like a storm," remarked Blake, as he and Joe came in one evening from a stroll on the beach.

"And when it does come," added Joe, "it's going to be a bad one, so old Abe, the fisherman, says. They're putting storm signals up all along the coast, and all leaves of absence for the life guards have been cancelled for the next week. A storm sometimes lasts that long, Abe says."

"A storm; eh?" remarked Mr. Ringold, absentmindedly. "Well, that will interfere with our plans for to-morrow. I had intended to have some peaceful scenes on the beach; but I'll postpone them. I wish I could work out this wreck problem," he added, as he pored over the ma.n.u.script of the sea drama.

One did not need to go outdoors that morning to appreciate the fury of the storm. The gale had come in the night, and the force of the wind had steadily increased until its violence was terrific. There was no rain, as yet, but the sky was obscured by hurrying black clouds.

"Let's go down to the beach and see the big waves," proposed Blake to Joe after breakfast.

"All right," agreed his chum. "There won't be anything doing in the moving picture line to-day, I guess."

"Say, that's some surf!" cried Joe in his chum's ear, as they got to the sandy stretch. "Look at those waves!"

"I guess they're what you call 'mountain high,'" answered Blake, himself yelling, for their ordinary voices could not be heard above the thunder of the surf and the roar of the gale.

They stood for a few minutes watching the big rollers pounding on the sand, and then, looking down the strand, they saw a figure running toward them.