The Motor Rangers' Cloud Cruiser. Goldfrap John Henry

BY TWO RASCALS

      “Why! why, that’s the Tropic Bird!” exclaimed the scientist in astonishment, as they drew nearer rapidly to the vessel Nat’s keen eyes had espied.

      “It is, indeed,” reiterated Mr. Tubbs, his red hair seeming to bristle. “Oh, the cowardly pack of rascals! I’d just like to run alongside and give them a bit of my mind.”

      “They deserve it, certainly,” admitted the professor; “but I think we had better ignore them.”

      But as they came close enough to the schooner to perceive her clearly, they saw that she carried her ensign reversed. This is a signal of distress which there is no ignoring at sea, and is the universal sign of imperative need on the part of the craft displaying it.

      “We must see what they want,” declared Nat, setting his wheel over and changing the course of the Motor Rangers’ vessel.

      “Got any fresh water?” hailed a voice, as they came alongside.

      The man who uttered the appeal was a powerfully built fellow, with a plentiful crop of black whiskers, which gave him a ferocious expression.

      “That’s Captain Ralph Lawless,” whispered the professor to Nat.

      At the same instant, the skipper of the Tropic Bird appeared to recognize the professor.

      “Why, surely that’s Professor Grigg?” he cried out, apparently in great astonishment.

      “Yes, it is, you cowardly rascal,” burst out the professor, his anger overmastering his usually placid disposition. “What do you mean by deserting us in the manner you did? We might have perished if it had not been for these brave lads and their vessel.”

      “Well, I’m sorry,” muttered the man, as the Motor Rangers’ vessel drew in close alongside, “but I couldn’t help myself.”

      “Couldn’t help yourself?” echoed the scientist, still angry. “How was that, pray?”

      “Why, I felt my schooner being drawn in toward the islands. If I hadn’t ‘cut stick’ when I did, we’d all have been lost, and I don’t see how that would have helped you.”

      This answer mollified the professor somewhat.

      “So now you are in distress?” he said.

      “Yes. We have run short of water. Can’t those kids let us have some?”

      “You’ll have to ask ‘those kids,’ as you call them,” said the professor, with some disgust.

      “How much do you want?” asked Nat, who felt less and less liking for the captain of the Tropic Bird.

      “Oh, a few gallons will do. I know an island not more than a day’s sail from here, where I can refill my tanks.”

      At this point, another man – a short, stout fellow, like the captain – came bustling up.

      “Hullo, there, professor!” he hailed in an impudent voice. “So you came out all right, after all. Are you coming on board?”

      “I am coming on board to get my things, Mr. Durkee,” was the response, “but I am not going to continue my voyage on the Tropic Bird.”