The Boy Scouts of the Eagle Patrol | Page 6

him wisely.
"Let's take a spin," suddenly suggested Tubby.
"Nothing to prevent us," answered Rob; "we've got plenty of time before dinner. Come on, boys."
The lads were soon on board and examining the gasoline tank, to see how much fuel they had on hand, and oiling up the engine. The fuel receptacle proved to be almost full, so after filling the lubricant cups and attending to the batteries, they started up the engine--a powerful, three cylindered, twelve-horse affair capable of driving the twenty-two foot Flying Fish through the water at twelve miles an hour or better.
Just as Rob was casting off the head-line there came a hail from the wharf above them.
"Ahoy, there, shipmates! Where are yer bound fer this fine, sunny day?"
The lads looked up to see the weather-beaten countenance of Captain Job Hudgins, one of the characters of the vicinity. He was a former whaler, and lived on a small island some distance from Hampton. On his little territory he fished and grew a few vegetables, "trading in" his produce at the Hampton grocery stores for his simple wants. He, however, had a pension, and was supposed to have a "snug little fortune" laid by. His only companion in his island solitude was it big Newfoundland dog named "Skipper."
The animal stood beside its master on the dock and wagged its tail at the sight of the boys, whom it knew quite well from their frequent visits to the captain's little island.
"Hullo, captain!" shouted Rob, as the veteran saluted his three young friends. "Where's your boat?"
"Oh, her engine went--busted, and I had to leave her at the yard below fer repairs," explained the captain. "I wonder if yer boys can give me a lift back if yer goin' near Topsail Island?"
"Surest thing you know," rejoined Rob hastily. "Come right aboard. But how are you going to get off your island again if your motor is laid up here to be fixed?"
"Oh, I'll use my rowboat," responded the old mariner, clambering down into the Flying Fish. "Say, this is quite a right smart contraption, ain't she?"
"We think she is a pretty good little boat," modestly replied Rob, taking his place at the wheel. "Now, then, Merritt, start up that engine."
"Hold on a minute!" shouted Tubby. "We forgot the dog."
Sure enough, Skipper was dashing up and down the wharf in great distress at the prospect of being deserted.
"Put yer boat alongside that landin' stage at the end of the wharf," suggested his master. "Skipper can get aboard from there, I reckon."
Rob steered the Flying Fish round to the floating landing, to which an inclined runway led from the wharf. Skipper dashed down it as soon as he saw what was happening, and was waiting, ready to embark, when the Flying Fish came alongside.
"Poor old Skipper, I reckon yer thought we was goin' ter maroon yer," said Captain Job, as the animal jumped on board with a bark of "thanks" for his rescue. "I tell yer, boys, I wouldn't lose that dog fer all the money in Rob's father's bank. He keeps good watch out an the Island, I'll tell yer."
"I didn't think any one much came there, except us," said Rob, as the Flying Fish headed away from the wharf and began to cut through the waters of the inlet.
"Oh, yes; there's others," responded the old man. "That Jack Curtiss lad and his two chums are out there quite often."
"Bill Bender and Sam Redding, I suppose you mean," said Tubby.
"Those their names?" asked the captain. "Well, I don't know any good uv any uv 'em. Old Skipper here chased 'em away from my melon patch the other day. I reckon they thought Old Scratch was after them, the way they run; but they got away with some melons, just the same."
The old man laughed aloud at the recollection of the marauders' precipitous flight.
That Jack Curtiss and his two cronies had made a rendezvous of the island was news to the boys, and not agreeable news, either. They had been planning a patrol camp there later on in the summer, and the bully and his two chums were not regarded by them as desirable neighbors. However, they said nothing, as they could not claim sole right to use the island, which was property that had been so long in litigation that It had come to be known as "No Man's Land" as well as by its proper name. The captain was only a squatter there, but no one cared to disturb him, and he had led the existence of a semi-hermit there for many years.
The Flying Fish rapidly covered the calm waters of the inlet and was soon dancing over the swells outside.
"I'm going to let her out a bit," said Rob suddenly; "look out for spray."
"Spray don't bother a brine-pickled old salt like