"No, something has hit _us_!" corrected one of the fishermen, leaping
up, and grabbing a long, iron-shod pole.

"What is it?" demanded Joe.

"A pesky swordfish. He's ramming us, and he may poke a hole in us! If I
can get a chance I'll jab him!" and the man leaned over the side. As he
did so there came another attack on the craft, so fierce that it heeled
over, and the man with the pole, giving a cry, was flung overboard.

CHAPTER XV

SUSPICIOUS ACTIONS

"Man overboard!" cried several of the fishermen.

"Yes, and with a pesky swordfish too close for comfort!" added Abe
Haskill. "Stop that motor, Bunker; we'll have to pick him up."

The fisherman who was called to, pulled out the switch, thus stopping
the motor, and the boat drifted about on the slowly rising and falling
billows.

"Can you see him?" asked the captain of the man who acted as mate.

"Yes, he's right astern, but that fish----"

"Is he coming after Jake?"

"Full tilt!"

"Grab that prod, one of you!" yelled the captain. "See if you can
harpoon him with it. I'll git out the duck gun, though land knows it
ain't much use against a pesky swordfish!"

One of the fishermen picked up the iron-shod pole the unfortunate man
had dropped as he went overboard, and stood ready to cast it at the big
fish, which could be seen swirling along in the water, near the swimmer.

"Say!" cried Blake to Joe. "It may seem a heartless thing to do, but why
can't we get some moving pictures of this?"

"We can," decided his chum. "We can't help any, and we might as well
film it."

"Come on, then. You hold the camera steady and I'll turn the handle."

They had a machine all in readiness, its tripod shortened so that the
lens could be brought close to the water.

"He's dived!" cried one of the men.

"Who--the fish, or Jake?" demanded the captain.

"Jake. He saw the fish coming at him, and he went under. Lucky he did,
or he might have been cut in two."

"Throw that prod; can't you? I'll have this gun ready in a minute."

The captain had pulled from a locker an old-fashioned, double-barreled
duck gun.

"It's loaded with slugs," he called to the boys, who were even now
taking moving pictures of the strange scene. "I carry it for sharks, but
it'll do as well against a swordfish, though they don't commonly attack
men."

"Here goes for a cast!" cried the man with the prod, which was a sort
of boathook without the hook. "I'll see if I can spear him!"

Leaning forward he threw the weapon with all his force. The other
fishermen, some of whom had grasped the spare oars to swing the boat
around, looked eagerly to see the result.

"Missed, by ginger!" exclaimed the captain. "Here, let me try. Where's
Jake?"

"Out there. He's swimming strong," was the answer. "The pesky fish is
coming back at him again."

"Duck, Jake, duck!" cried the captain, as he got ready with the gun.
"I'm going to shoot. Get down out of the way, and hold your breath.
We'll have you in another minute!"

He could see the swordfish plainly now, rushing directly toward the
swimmer. The man heard and followed directions. Deep down he dived, and
the fish shot directly over him.

"Say, that's a great picture!" cried Blake.

"That's what!" yelled Joe, and then his voice was drowned in the report
of the gun, which was doubly charged.

"I got him! By cracky, I got him!" cried the captain. "That's his blood
showing."

The waves were indeed red with the blood of the big fish, and a moment
later its body was floating on the swells.

"There's Jake!" cried one of the fishermen.

"All right!" was the response. "Throw him a line. He's in no danger
now."

A few moments later the man was safe aboard, minus his boots, which he
had kicked off in the sea, and some of his heavier clothing.

"That's the end of Mr. Swordfish," murmured the captain, in gratified
tones, as he watched the lifeless body sink. "The sharks will get him.
Are you all right, Jake?"

"Sure. It was hard work, though; and once I thought he had me. I dived
just in time."

"That's what you did," said Blake. "It was a great exhibition, and when
it's thrown on the screen it will make a sensation, I'm sure."

"Say, you don't mean to tell me you snapped what happened?" asked the
fisherman, in surprise.

"We sure did," declared Joe. "We got every move."

"Plucky lads," murmured the captain; "and right on the job, too. Start
the motor," he added to the man in charge of it.

"We've sprung a leak, captain!" exclaimed a man up in the bow. "Water's
coming in."

"It's where that pesky swordfish rammed us, I reckon. But stuff
something in and it will hold until we get to shore. We haven't far to
go."

The boat was soon under way again, and offers of aid from sister craft
that circled around were declined. A bundle of rags served to stop the
inrush of most of the water, and a little later the craft, with its load
of fish, was hauled up on the beach by means of a tackle and fall,
horses being the motive power. Joe and Blake got pictures of the other
boats making a similar landing, theirs being the first in.

"Well, we got some fine views," said Blake, as he and his chum started
for their boarding place.

"We sure did, and something unexpected, too. I never counted on a
swordfish attack."

"No, and I guess the fishermen didn't either. But it will make a
realistic film, as Mr. Hadley would say."

"It's just our hoodoo luck again," went on Joe. "Something out of the
ordinary seems to be happening all the while to us."

"Well, it's better than monotony."

"I suppose so. But I wonder what it will be next?"

The boys were congratulated on their success by Mr. Hadley and Mr.
Ringold, and the films, when developed and printed a little later,
furnished a series of fine views.

For the next week the boys had little time to themselves. The drama
with the burning shack was enacted over again, this time with success,
the volunteer firemen not throwing any water on the blaze. Other sea
dramas were also made, and then came a period of rest, in which Blake
and Joe had hardly anything to do.

"Say," exclaimed Blake, one afternoon, "let's go for a walk down the
beach, by the cliffs. It's a fine day and it will do us good."

"All right," agreed Joe. "I was thinking of paying another visit to the
lighthouse, and asking if there was any news of my father; but, of
course, there can't be."

"Hardly," agreed Blake, thinking that the only news his chum would get
there would be bad.

They strolled along the shore, making excursions here and there as
something attracted them. Going through a little group of scrub oak,
somewhat back from the shore, and climbing a slight elevation to get a
view of the Pacific, the boys were startled, as they were about to
emerge into a little open glade, to hear voices.

"Some one else besides us out here to-day," spoke Joe, in a low voice.

"That's right," agreed his chum. "Keep still until we see who it is."

Cautiously they advanced until they stood behind a little screen of
trees, and were gazing into the open place. They saw several men at work
erecting some sort of tower, or pile of rocks, and on top of it was
mounted a large lantern.

"There--that ought to show pretty well," remarked one of the men.

"Yes, and be seen a good distance out to sea," put in another. "It's
just in the right place, too; for the rocks extend a good way out, and
you can't see 'em even at dead low water."

"And anything drawing more than ten feet will be sure to strike on 'em,"
suggested a third.

"That's right, Sandy," came the retort. "Have you got the lantern fixed
so that she'll flash like the other?"

"I sure have. All we've got to do is to pull one wire--this way--and the
light is shut off. Another pull, and she gives a flash, just like a
revolving light."

"Good. We'll give it a trial to-night."

"Say, what do you think they are?" whispered Joe.

"I hardly know, and yet----"

"Maybe they're experimenting with a new kind of light?" suggested the
other lad.

"Experimenting? Yes!" spoke Blake, in a low, tense voice. "And I can
guess what they're experimenting for."

"What?"

Blake was about to answer, when one of the men, looking in the direction
where the boys were concealed, uttered an exclamation.

"Hark!" he cried. "I think I heard something."

"It was the wind," declared one.

"A bird in the bushes," said another.

"I'm going to see!" declared the man. And he came straight toward their
hiding place.

CHAPTER XVI

JOE SUSPECTS SOMETHING

"What'll we do, Blake?" was the whispered question.

"Stay here, I guess. If we run they'll see us or hear us. Besides, we
haven't done anything to run for."

"I know it, but those men look like ugly customers. I wonder what they
can be up to?"

"They are--" began Blake, and then he pulled Joe down beside him in the
bushes.

"He's turned off to one side," Blake went on. "He hasn't seen us, and he
doesn't know just where to look. He may pass us by. Keep still!"

Together they crouched down. The man looked around as though to trace
the noise which had been made when Joe accidentally stepped on a stick,
which broke under his weight.

"Don't breathe," whispered Blake, with his lips close to Joe's ear. "I
think he's going to pass us by."

The man paused, seemed as if about to come directly for them again, and
then dashed off to one side. He made a leap into the bushes, only to
discover nothing, as his chagrined exclamation showed.

"I told you so!" growled one of his companions. "It was only the wind."

"The wind doesn't break sticks," was the snappish reply.

"Then it was a bird--maybe a fishhawk."

"Maybe," assented the man who had started to make the search. "But I
thought some one was spying on us, and if they were----" He did not
finish, but glared angrily around. He was so close to the boys that they
could hear his rapid breathing, but the leafy screen effectively hid
them from view. "If I catch any one," he went on, "he'll wish he never
ran across Hemp Danforth!" and he shook a big fist.

"Oh, come on!" called some of his companions. "There's lots to be done
yet before we get this lantern finished. And if we want any rich
pickings we'll have to hustle for 'em. The weather looks like it was
going to break, and that will be just what we want. Come on, Hemp."

"All right, I will, only don't talk so bold and free."

"Why not?"

"Because some one might be spying and listening to us."

"He's got that on his mind yet," laughed one of the men. "There's no one
around here."

"And if they were, what could they pick up?" demanded another.

"That's all right--it's best to be careful," said the one called Hemp
Danforth. "I'm taking no chances. Some of us might--well, no telling
what might happen to us if we was to be found out."

"Don't talk that way," spoke a tall, thin man. "It isn't altogether
cheerful--especially with what work we have on hand. Come on, now; let's
make this pillar a little higher, and the light will show better."

"Say, what do you imagine they are doing?" whispered Joe. "It's a queer
game, Blake."

"It sure is. I've about made up my mind what they are up to, and yet I
may be wrong. Let's wait here a while longer, and maybe we can pick up
some information that will give us a better clue."

The men were now engaged in heaping more stones on the pile where the
lantern had set, and were making so much noise at it that the whispering
of the boys could not be heard.

"Any special vessels in view?" asked one of the men, after they had
worked away for some time in silence.

"No, but there'll sure be one along before long. We can count on that.
Of course, we'll have to keep the light going several nights, maybe, but
it'll be worth while."

"It ought to fool 'em, all right," went on Hemp Danforth. "If it hadn't
been that Nate Duncan tripped us up, and didn't come across with that
information we wanted, we wouldn't have all this trouble."

For a moment Joe seemed to stiffen as he heard the name, and then, in a
hoarse whisper, he turned to Blake and said:

"Did you hear that? These men know my father. They used his name."

"Yes, but keep quiet!" urged Blake, for Joe had raised his voice. "We
don't want them to know we're here."

"But they know my father, Blake," went on Joe, using more caution,
however, in his tones. "I must speak to them. Maybe they were associated
with him in lighthouse work, and this may be some new patent lantern
they're trying. Maybe my father hasn't gone to China at all, and these
men can tell where he is."

Joe made a move as though to leave the screened hiding place and
approach the men.

"No--don't go!" whispered Blake, hoarsely, holding his chum back. "Stay
here, Joe. Don't speak to those men!"

"But they have something to do with my father."

"No matter; do as I say, please! Believe me, Joe, I can't explain now,
for I promised I would not. But you'll understand--later. Don't approach
those men!"

"Why not?"

"Because--well, I can't tell you!"

"Then I'm going!" declared Joe, half fiercely. "Blake, I'm sure you're
keeping something from me. I've suspected it for some time, for you've
looked at me in a queer fashion when I spoke of my father. Now what is
it?"

"Really, Joe, it's nothing--that is----"

"Yes, it is something. If you don't tell me I'll go out there and take
the consequences!"

Joe broke from Blake's restraining grasp as he whispered this, and was
about to dash for the bushes, when Hemp Danforth, dashing down a stone
he was raising, cried out:

"Boys, you can't fool me! There is some one here, and they're spying on
us. I'll make 'em sorry for it! I hear whispering, and I've felt right
along as though unseen eyes were looking at me. Now I'm going to find
out who it is!"

Once more he started for the place where Blake and Joe were concealed.
This time it could be seen that he would not be swerved from his quest.

"Come on, Joe. We've got to run for it!" exclaimed Blake, and, not
caring now how much noise they made--being under the necessity of
betraying their presence--they dashed back in the direction they had
come.

"Here they are!" yelled Hemp, as he ran after them, tearing through the
underbrush. "I knew we were being spied on! Come along, men!" he yelled.

Blake and Joe looked back as they got to the path that led along the
cliff, below which was the rolling ocean. They had a glimpse of the big
man racing after them, several others in his wake.

"Stop!" commanded Hemp Danforth. "Hold on, you spies!"

"Don't answer," advised Blake. "Save your breath for running, Joe."

"Um!" grunted his chum.

They were fleet of foot, and had a start. They were also lighter in
weight than was their pursuer. In a short time they were well ahead.

"But he's still coming on!" declared Blake.

"We've got to give him the slip," declared Joe. "Can't you see some side
path we can take?"

"Yes, here's one," was the panting answer, and at that moment Blake
parted some low bushes and jumped into a sort of cross path, almost
concealed from view. "Come on, Joe!"

His chum lost no time in following, and for a few moments, at least,
they were comparatively safe.

"Now, Blake," said Joe, when they felt that they could slacken their
pace to get their breath, "I want you to tell me that secret!"

CHAPTER XVII

AFTER THE WRECKERS

Blake Stewart was at a loss. He did not know what to do, and, though he
had been expecting to hear this request at almost any time, he was no
more prepared for it now than he would have been had it been made
directly after Blake learned of Mr. Duncan's flight.

"Well?" asked Joe, suggestively, when his chum did not answer. "Aren't
you going to tell me?"

"What makes you think I have a secret, Joe?" Thus Blake tried to
temporize, so that he might think what was best to do.

"Oh, I'm sure you have," declared Joe, "and you might as well tell me
now as any time, for I'm bound to find it out. I don't believe there's
any more danger now," and he paused to look back along the almost hidden
path they had followed. "I can't see anything of that man," he added.
"We gave him the slip, all right.

"Now go ahead, Blake, and end my suspense. I've seen for some time that
you've been keeping something back from me. I don't know what it is, but
it's something about my father. And I appreciate why you're doing it.
You want to spare my feelings."

"That's it!" cried Blake, eagerly, glad of any chance to put off what he
regarded as a most unpleasant duty. "It is for your sake, Joe, that I
have been keeping silent, and I wish you would go on letting me do so.
Believe me, if I thought it well for you to know I'd tell you."

"Is it--is it that he isn't my father, after all?" faltered the lad,
following a silence in which all sound of pursuit had died away. The
boys felt that they were safe now. "Do you mean to say, Blake, that this
man whom I've traced after such hard work, isn't any relation to
me--haven't I any folks, after all?"

"No, Joe, it isn't that at all. He's your father, as far as I know, and
I will admit there is some secret about him. But I'd rather not tell
you."

"I want to know it," insisted Joe, firmly.

"If you'll only wait," went on his chum, "it may all be explained
when--when he comes back. Then there won't be any need of a secret.
Better wait, Joe."

"No, I've got to hear it right away. If it's any disgrace--and it must
be, or you'd be willing to tell me--if it's any disgrace, it's my duty
to stand up for my father when he isn't here. I'm his son, and I have a
right to know about it, and protect his name as much as I can. Tell me,
Blake."

The other hesitated a moment. If he told, it would be, he felt, breaking
his promise made to the lighthouse keeper, but then the promise was not
so sacred that it could not be broken. It was given under a sort of
discretion, and Blake knew that he would be allowed to reveal what had
been said if he felt that it was best to do so. The time now seemed to
have come to do this. He took a sudden resolve.

"All right, Joe," he said, "I'll tell you. There is a secret about your
father. I suppose you know what sort of men those were that we just got
away from?" and he nodded in the direction of the hill down which they
had raced.

"I've been puzzling my head about them, Blake," came the answer, "and
all I can say is that they must be either men who are experimenting with
a new kind of light, or else they are--wreckers!"

"That's it, Joe. They are wreckers, and they're plotting to lure some
vessel on the rocks by means of false lights."

"The scoundrels!" burst out Joe. "We've got to spoil their wicked
game."

"That's what we have. We'll tell the police, or some one in authority."

"But before we do," broke in Joe, "tell me about my father, though I
begin to suspect now," and there was a look of sadness on his face.

"I presume you pretty well know what is coming," said Blake, slowly,
"now you have heard what those men said. The whole amount of it is, Joe,
that your father is suspected of having been in league with those
wreckers--that he helped to lure vessels on these same rocks."

"My father a wrecker!" cried Joe. "It can't be--I won't believe it!"

"I didn't want to either, when I heard it," said Blake, "and maybe, now
that I've told you, we can work together and find some way of proving
him innocent."

"That's it!" cried the son. "Oh, if he were only here to help us! I
wonder why he went away?"

"The lighthouse keeper said," began Blake, "that your father left
because he feared to be arrested. And the day after he went away an
officer did come for him," and he proceeded to relate what Mr. Stanton
had said.

"I don't believe it!" cried Joe, when the account was finished. "Of
course, I don't remember my father, and, naturally, I don't know what
sort of a man he was, but I don't believe he was a wrecker!"

"And I don't either!" added Blake. "Here's my hand on it, Joe, and we'll
do our best to find out the truth of this thing," and the two chums
clasped hands warmly.

"But it's mighty strange what those men said about him," went on Joe.
"To think that we would stumble on the wreckers right at work. We can
lead the police to the very place where they have set up their false
light."

"Maybe we can do better than that, Joe."

"How?"

"Why, we may be able to help the police catch these same fellows."

"That's so. Have you a plan, Blake?" asked his chum, eagerly, as they
walked on along the path.

"Not yet, but we'll make one up. But, Joe, did you notice just what it
was that big wrecker said?"

"Not exactly; I was too excited when I heard them mention my father's
name."

"Well, they as much as said that your father had refused to give them
the information they wanted, and this spoiled their scheme. That might
go to show that they made offers to him to have him help them in their
wicked plans, and he refused. That made them turn against him, and----"

"I see, Blake! You mean that, maybe, after all, he left because he was
afraid of the wreckers, and not because he had done anything wrong?"

"That's it, Joe. Of course, it's all guess work on our part, so far, and
I think the best thing we can do is to go to the lighthouse and tell Mr.
Stanton all we've seen and heard. He may be able to advise us, even if
he is an old man. At any rate, he'll know what police or government
officers to go to, so we can catch these wreckers."

"That's right, Blake. Come on. I guess we can go down on the beach now.
Those fellows won't venture out into the open after us, I don't
believe."

"No, they seem to have given up the chase," replied Blake, and the two
lads were soon down on the shore.

A look around showed no signs of the supposed wreckers, and a little
later the two lads were in the lighthouse telling their story to the
wondering and amazed keeper.

"So that's how the scoundrels are planning to work; are they?" cried the
old man. "Going to duplicate my light, and fool the poor sailors! But
we'll put a spoke in their wheel, boys. We'll spike their guns for 'em,
and have 'em behind the bars, if there's any law in this land.

"Putting up a false light right opposite those rocks--the most dangerous
on the coast! No punishment would be too bad for 'em. Did you happen to
hear, boys, when they expected to play that wicked game?"

"They didn't mention any special night," replied Blake; "it seemed that
they counted on getting some information which failed them--Joe's
father," he added, thinking it well to let Mr. Stanton know that Joe had
been informed of the secret.

"Joe's father; eh?" said the old man, musingly. "Boy, I'm mighty sorry
for you," he said, softly; "for I know the disgrace is trying, and if it
had been possible to keep this from you----"

"I'm glad I know!" burst out Joe. "There isn't going to be any disgrace.
My father is innocent, I'm sure of it; and I believe we can prove it,
once we have these wreckers arrested."

"That's the way to talk!" cried the old man. "Boys, I'll help you. We'll
get right after these miscreants. Maybe I was wrong, after all, in
thinking Nate Duncan guilty. He was a good man, and it made me feel bad
even to suspect him."

"What do you think is the best thing to do?" asked Blake. "We ought to
act quickly, or they may leave this part of the country, to try their
scheme farther down the coast. It might succeed, then."

"That's right," declared Mr. Stanton. "We must act at once. My assistant
is here now, and I'll have him go with you. I'm a little too old for
such work. Besides, one of us will have to stay here to guard the light.
No telling but what the scoundrels might try to wreck it. But if they
come, I'll be ready for 'em!" he cried, as he took down an old-fashioned
musket from the wall. "I'll stand by to repel boarders!" he exclaimed,
holding the weapon above his head, and then sighting it at an imaginary
enemy.

"I'll call my assistant," he went on. "Tom Cardiff is as sturdy a lad as
you'd wish to see. He can get one of the men from the life saving
station, and with a couple of the government secret service officers you
ought to be able to get those wreckers, don't you think?"

"Sure!" cried Joe.

"Did you mean for us to help catch 'em?" asked Blake.

"I certainly did," went on the keeper. "That is, unless you're----"

"Afraid? Not a bit of it!" cried Blake, vigorously.

"Besides, you know just where they were located," continued Mr. Stanton.

"Though they may have taken the alarm and left," suggested Joe.

"Then we'll trace 'em!" cried his chum. "Where is your helper, Mr.
Stanton?"

"I'll call him. I say Tom--Tom Cardiff!" he shouted up the lantern
tower. "I'll finish cleaning the lens. I've got other work for you. Come
down!"

"Coming!" was the answer, and a little later a well built young fellow,
muscular and of fine appearance, greeted the boys. The introduction was
soon made, and the story of the lads told.

"Wreckers; eh?" exclaimed Tom Cardiff. "I'd just like to get hold of
some of the wretches," and he stretched out his vigorous arms.

"Well, get after 'em, then!" exclaimed the old man. "You don't want to
lose any time. Telephone for the officers."

The wire was soon busy, and arrangements made for the secret service men
to come to the lighthouse. One of the life saving squad, from a station
a little farther down the coast, was also engaged.

"Now you boys had better go back to your place," said Mr. Stanton; "and
arrange to come back to-night. That's the only time to get after these
fellows. They probably have finished their work, from what you told me,
and they'll lay low until it's dark. Then we'll get after 'em!"

CHAPTER XVIII

FAILURE

"Boys, if you could only get moving pictures of the capture of the
wreckers!"

Thus exclaimed Mr. Ringold when his two young employees told of the
plans afoot and asked to be excused from work a little longer.

"It would be great," admitted Joe.

"But we'd need a powerful light," said Blake, "and if we had that it
would warn the men we're after."

"That's so," spoke the theatrical man. "I guess it's out of the
question. But you have done such wonderful work so far, that I'd like
you to keep it up. A film of the capture of wreckers would make an
audience sit up and take notice."

"I guess I'll have to invent some sort of a light that would make it
possible," put in Mr. Hadley; "but I'm afraid I can't have it ready
to-night."

"Then you don't mind if we go?" asked Blake.

"No, indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Ringold, "and I wish you all success."

"It's going to be a dark night," remarked Blake, a little later, as he
and Joe were on their way to the lighthouse. It was early evening, but
the sky was clouding over and a wind was coming up that sent the big
billows bounding up on the sand with a booming noise like the discharge
of distant cannon.

"Yes, we'll have to sort of feel our way along," said Joe. "But I guess
we can find the place, all right."

"I hope so. But I wonder if the men will come back after the alarm we
gave 'em?"

"That's hard to tell, Blake. And yet they might; for, though they saw
us, they may think we were only a couple of lads out for a stroll, who
accidentally stumbled on their hiding place. In that case they wouldn't
think we'd give any alarm, and they'd go on with their plans."

"That's so. Well, we'll see what happens. I hope there aren't too many
of them, so that our men can handle them."

"That Tom Cardiff can get away with a couple on his own account, and
with the life saver, and the secret service men, not to mention
ourselves, Blake, I guess we'll make out all right."

"I reckon you and I together, Joe, can account for at least one," and
Blake looked quizzically at his chum.

"I feel almost as if I could handle one alone, when I think of how they
got my father into trouble," replied the other. "I'm going to give a
good account of myself, if I get the chance."

"Same here. Well, there's the lighthouse just ahead, and two or three
men waiting for us. I guess they're the ones we are to go with."

This proved to be the case, and a little later the boys were repeating
to the life saver, and two secret service men, such parts of their story
as Mr. Stanton and Tom Cardiff had omitted or forgotten.

"Well, if we're all ready, we may as well start," proposed Sam Wilton,
one of the government agents. The other was Jerry Boundley, while the
name of the life saver was Frank Hale.

"Yes, it's quite a tramp," said Tom Cardiff, "and the wreckers may be
there now. Several small trading vessels are expected up the coast this
week, and some may be due to-night. Though seeing that a storm is coming
up, they may keep so far out from shore that they won't see the false
lights, in case the wreckers try to work them.

"This is about as wicked a piece of work as could well be done, trying
to wreck vessels this way. A sailor has to depend absolutely on the
lights, under certain conditions, and if they're wrong, it's like
leading a blind man into danger. So let's get after 'em and stop their
work!"

The men well knew the way nearly to the place where the boys had
discovered the wreckers at work, and so they would not have to rely on
Joe and Blake to guide them until they were almost there.

"When you see that you are close to the place," said Tom Cardiff, "you
boys go ahead, and we'll trail along after you. And keep mighty quiet,
too. If we can catch these fellows actually in the act of showing a
false light, so much better for the chances of convicting them."

They went on in the darkness. Back of them, as they mounted the hill
which ended in the high cliff, could be seen the flashing light tended
by aged Mr. Stanton.

"He's right on the job," remarked Tom Cardiff. "Even if he's an old man
he'll stay up all night to attend to that light, to see that it's
trimmed properly, that the machinery is working, that there's oil in the
reservoir, and that the lenses are clean. That light is just like a son
or daughter to him. He can't bear to have anything happen to it and the
very idea of any scoundrels trying to wreck vessels by means of a false
beacon riles him up considerable."

"I should think it would," agreed Mr. Wilton. "Well, if we can catch
these fellows we'll put 'em where they can't do any more harm. And I
hope we'll get back in time, so Mr. Stanton won't have to stay up all
night."

"I hope so, too," put in Tom Cardiff. "He isn't equal to the task."

"We're getting close to the place now," said Blake, in a low voice a
little later.

"Then you boys come up here," ordered Tom Cardiff, who, in a measure,
was a sort of leader. "And everybody keep quiet. Don't talk, except in
whispers, and make as little noise as you can."

Cautiously they advanced, the boys in the lead. The lads recognized,
even in the darkness, some of the larger landmarks they had passed in
their flight that afternoon.

"Hold on a minute, and listen," suggested the life saver. "Maybe we can
hear them talking."

They paused, but the only sound that came was the booming of the surf on
the rocks below.

"Can you see anything of a light?" asked Mr. Boundley.

"Not a thing," replied Joe, glancing all about him.

"Look up," directed Tom Cardiff. "That's the best way to locate a light
that you can't see directly. You may catch its reflection on the night
mist."

But the night was black all around them. Not a gleam could they make
out. Once more they advanced until Joe and Blake recognized the place
where they had been hiding, and whence they had looked into the open
place where the wreckers had been putting up their false light.

"It's here!" whispered Blake.

"Just ahead there," added Joe.

"Get ready, men!" exclaimed Tom Cardiff, in a tense whisper. "We'll rush
'em before they know it--if they're here."

Stout clubs had been brought along in anticipation of a hand-to-hand
struggle, it being decided that these weapons were best, safest and most
effective at close quarters.

"All ready?" asked the leader.

"Yes--yes!" came the answers.

Blake leaned forward, cautiously parted the bushes and looked toward the
open space. He had heard nothing, and seen nothing, and yet he knew that
the men might be hidden about, and that the lantern might not yet be
lighted.

"Come on!" cried Tom Cardiff, and together they leaped from their place
of concealment.

There was a moment of silence, and then a disappointed exclamation burst
from the lips of the assistant lighthouse keeper.

"They're not here!" he declared. That was evident, for there had been
no response as the searchers burst out.

"Are you sure this is the place?" asked Mr. Wilton, turning to the boys.

"Positive," answered Joe.

"Here's the pile of rocks on which the lantern was set," added Blake.

"But there's no lantern here now," said Tom Cardiff.

"Then they've skipped!" declared the life saver. "They got suspicious
and left, taking the lantern with 'em!"

CHAPTER XIX

ON THE TRAIL

There was no doubt about it, the wreckers were not there, and the
indications were that they had betaken themselves to some other
location.

When the men flashed the pocket electric lamps they had brought with
them, the little opening at the top of the cliff was well illuminated.

"Nothing doing!" exclaimed Joe, regretfully.

"They must have skipped out right after they chased us," decided Blake.

"And they went in a hurry, too," declared Tom Cardiff.

"What makes you think so?" asked one of the government officers.

"Look at how this stone pile, which they intended to use as a base for
their lantern, is disturbed, and pulled apart," went on the assistant
lighthouse keeper, as he flashed his torch on it. "I'll wager, boys,
that when you saw it, with that contrivance atop by which they hoped to
fool some vessels, this stone pile was well built up; wasn't it?"

"Yes," said Blake, "it was."

"Because," went on Tom Cardiff, "it would have to be so to make their
light steady, to give the impression that it was one of the regular
government lights. They were going to work a shutter, you boys say, to
give the impression of a revolving light, and that would make it
necessary to have a firm foundation.

"And yet now the whole top of this stone pile is torn apart, showing
that they must have ripped out whatever they had here to hold the
lantern. They got away in a hurry, is my opinion."

"And I guess we'll all have to agree," put in the life saver. "The
question is--where did they go?"

"And that's a question we've got to answer," added Tom Cardiff. "We've
got to get on the trail."

"Why so?" asked the life saver. "If you've driven 'em off, so they can't
try any of their dastardly tricks to lure vessels ashore, isn't that all
you want? You've spoiled their game."

"Yes!" cried Tom Cardiff, "we've spoiled it for this one place, but
they'll be at it somewhere else."

"What do you mean?" asked Joe.

"I mean that they've gone somewhere else!" exclaimed the assistant
keeper. "They've made tracks away from here, but they've gone to some
other place to set up their light, and try the same thing they were
going to try here. It's our duty to keep after 'em, and break up the
gang!"

"That's right!" cried Mr. Wilton. "There's no telling what damage they
might do, if left alone. Why, they might even get to some place where
large passenger steamers pass, and wreck one of them, though mostly they
aim to pick out a spot where small cargo boats would be lured on the
rocks. We've got to keep after 'em!"

"Then come on!" cried Joe. He was fired with enthusiasm, not only to
capture the wreckers for the purpose of protecting human life and
property, but he was also eager to have the scoundrels safe in
confinement so that he might question them, and learn the source of the
suspicion against his father.

"On the trail!" cried Blake. "Maybe we can easily find the wreckers."

"No, not to-night," advised Mr. Boundley. "It wouldn't be practical, in
the first place; and if it was, it wouldn't be safe. We don't know this
locality very well. There may be hidden dangers and pitfalls that would
injure some of us. Then, too, we don't want to stumble on a nest of
wreckers without knowing something of the lay of the ground."

"What's best to be done?" asked Tom Cardiff.

"Do nothing to-night," advised the government man. "To-morrow we can
take up the trail, and by daylight we may be able to pick up something
that will give us a clue. I think they won't try any of their tricks
to-night, so it will be safe for us to go back."

The others agreed with this view, and, after looking about the place a
little more, and trying, but unsuccessfully, to find clues in the
darkness, partly illuminated by the electric torches, they gave it up
and started back to the lighthouse.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Blake of Joe, as the two lads reached
their boarding house in the little theatrical colony. It was quite late.

"Think of it?" echoed Joe. "I'm terribly disappointed, that's what. I
hoped I'd be able to get a start on disproving this accusation against
my father."

"Yes, it was a disappointment," agreed Blake.

"And now there's no telling when I can."

"No, not exactly; but, Joe, I have a plan."

"What is it?"

"What's the matter with getting on the trail after these fellows the
first thing in the morning. No use waiting any longer, and we can't tell
how prompt those government men may be. Of course they're interested,
in a general way, in making the capture; but aside from that, you and I
have a personal motive; for I'll admit I'm as interested as you are in
proving that your father is innocent.

"So what's the matter with getting back up on the cliff as soon as we
can, and seeing if we can trace those fellows. You know we've had some
experience after taking films of those Indians, and can follow signs
pretty well."

"I'm with you, Blake!" cried Joe. "We'll do it. I guess Mr. Ringold will
let us off when he knows how important it is."

They spoke of the matter to the theatrical man early the next morning,
and he readily agreed to let them continue the work of trying to capture
the wreckers.

"Go ahead, boys," he said. "Mr. Hadley and your lad, Macaroni, can take
what films we want to-day. And I would like to see you get those
wreckers. There's no meaner criminal alive. All we'll do for the next
couple of days is to get ready for our big drama--I've planned a new
one--and I sure will want you boys to help film it for me."

"What's it going to be about?" asked Blake.

"It's a sea story, and a wreck figures in it."

"A real wreck?" asked Joe, in some surprise. "That will be hard to do;
won't it?"

"It sure will, and I don't just know how to manage it. I could buy some
old tub, and wreck it, I suppose, but I want it to look natural. While I
don't wish anyone bad luck, I do wish, if a wreck had to happen, that it
would come about here, so we could get moving pictures of it. But I
don't suppose I'll have any such good luck.

"However, I'll have to think about this. Now you boys can have a couple
of days off, if you like, and I hope you'll find those miscreants."

"I wish we could get you some moving pictures of them," spoke Blake;
"but I'm afraid it's out of the question."

The boys were soon at the scene of the disappointment the night before.
Daylight revealed more clearly the haste with which the wreckers had
removed their false lantern. Stones were scattered about, as were bits
of broken wood, wire, rope and other accessories.

"Now," said Joe, after they had looked about, "the thing to do is to
trail them."

"And the first thing is to get a clue," added Blake.

They looked about, using the knowledge they had gained from being with
the cowboy the time they filmed the pictures of the Moqui Indians. For
some time their efforts were without success. They cast about in all
directions, looking for some lead that would tell them in which
direction the wreckers had gone.

"I should think they'd go farther down the coast," suggested Joe. "They
certainly wouldn't come toward the lighthouse, and they wouldn't go
inland, for to work their plan they need to be near the shore."

"That's right, to an extent," decided Blake; "but, at the same time,
they may have wanted to give a false clue. So we mustn't let that fool
us. Keep on looking."

Narrowly they scanned the ground. It was covered with marks, not only of
the footsteps of the wreckers, but of the men and boys themselves who
had made the unsuccessful raid the night before.

"Hello!" cried Blake, suddenly, as he dived into a clump of bushes.
"Here's something!"

"What is it?" asked Joe.

"A piece of cloth, evidently torn from a man's clothing. And, Joe, now
that I recall it, it's the same color as the suit worn by Hemp Danforth
when he chased us. We're on the trail at last, Joe!"

CHAPTER XX

THE DISCOVERY

Joe Duncan leaped to his chum's side. Eagerly he looked at the bit of
cloth which, caught on a thorn bush, had ripped from some man's garment.
The cloth was not weather-beaten, which, to the boys, showed that it had
not long been hanging there.

"Blake, I believe you're right," assented his chum. "They went this way,
and they must have done it for a blind, or else to get to some path that
goes farther down the beach a different way," for the cloth was caught
on a bush toward the landward side of the little clearing.

"We'll follow this," said Blake.

"Of course," agreed his chum.

They pushed into the bushes. There was no semblance of a path, but this
did not discourage the boys. They realized that the wreckers would want
to cover up their trail, and would take a way that would not seem to
lead anywhere.

"This will branch off pretty soon," was Blake's opinion. "This is just
a blind, to make us believe they have given up, and gone inland. Come
on, Joe, and keep a sharp lookout for any other signs."

They found none for some time, and then they came to a little open place
where the soft ground held several footprints.

"We're getting warmer!" exclaimed Joe.

"Hush!" cautioned his chum. "They may hear us."

"Why, you don't think they're around here; do you?"

"There's no telling. It's best to be on the safe side. Keep quiet.
Hello! here's something else!" and Blake, moving cautiously, so as not
to make any more noise than possible, picked up a bit of metal.

"What is it?" asked Joe.

"Part of their lantern," answered his chum. "It was made of black sheet
iron, you remember. This piece may have fallen off when they dragged it
through the bushes. We're on the right trail, all right."

"I believe you. But I wish it would turn on to a better path. It's no
fun forcing your way through these bushes."

"It'll turn soon now," predicted Blake. "They only took this lead long
enough to discourage pursuit. They didn't like it any better than we
do."

His surmise proved correct and about five minutes later, having found
other evidences of the passage of the wreckers, they came out on an open
trail.

It was a narrow path, leading along in both directions from where they
came out on it, and following the coast line, but some distance inland.
There were evidences that men had passed in both directions, and that at
no distant time, for footprints turned to both the left and right, as
the boys emerged from the blind trail in the brush.

"Well, what about this?" questioned Joe, as he looked in silence at the
tell-tale marks. "Which way shall we go, Blake?"

"To the right!" came the answer, almost immediately.

"What makes you say that?" asked his chum. "I don't see anything to show
that they went to the right, any more than that they went to the left."

"Don't you?" asked Blake. "Look here, and remember some of the things
our cowboy guide told us when we were after the Indians. Now you see
footprints going off to the left and right from this point; don't you?"

"Sure."

"Well, do you happen to notice that on the left there are footprints
coming back as well as going."

"Yes, I see that. But what does it mean?"

"And on the right side, counting from this dividing point, there are
only footprints in one direction."

"That's so, Blake. But----"

"Now what's the answer? Why the men got here, and, thinking they might
be followed, tried a simple trick. They doubled their trail."

"What's that?"

"Why, some of them went off to the left, walked on a little way,
doubled, or turned, and came back, joining the others, who had turned to
the right and kept on."

"Why was that?"

"Because they wanted to fool us. Naturally a person, not looking
carefully, would see both lines of footprints, and would reason that the
men might have divided, or that there might have been two separate
parties. He wouldn't know which trail to take. He might pick out the
right one, and, again, he might select the wrong one."

"And you say the right one is----"

"To the right. We'll follow that. If they think to fool us, or make us
divide our forces, they're going to be disappointed. Another thing."

"What's that, Blake?" asked Joe, as he noticed his chum leaning over and
carefully examining the marks in the dirt.

"Why, naturally they wouldn't go to the left, as that eventually leads
to the lighthouse. They want to keep some distance from that. Of course
they'd go to the right. And here's where we go after 'em. Come on!"

There was no hesitation now. Joe was as sure as his chum that the
wreckers had gone farther down the coast, perhaps to some other high
cliff where they could set up their lantern.

They followed the path. The trail was plain now, showing that a number
of men had passed along. Footprints were the only clues, however, a
number overlapping one another.

"What shall we do if we find them?" asked Joe.

"I--I don't know," answered Blake. This was when they had been following
the new trail for about an hour.

"We can't tackle 'em alone, that's sure," went on Joe.

"No, but we can--Hark! What's that?" whispered Blake, suddenly.

They listened intently. Far off they could hear the roar of the surf on
the beach; but, closer at hand, was another sound. It was the clink of
metal. And then came the distant murmur of men's voices.

"Joe, I think we've found them," whispered Blake. "Come on, but don't
make any noise."

Cautiously they crept forward, the sounds becoming more and more plain.

Suddenly they heard a loud voice exclaim:

"There! I guess that will do the business! And those fellows won't find
us here!"

"That's them!" whispered Blake in Joe's ear. "I know the voice of Hemp
Danforth. We've found 'em, Joe!"

CHAPTER XXI

THE CAPTURE

Impulsively the boys clasped hands as they realized what the discovery
meant. They had come upon the new hiding place of the wreckers, and the
chances were good for capture if no alarm was given.

Joe, perhaps, felt more elated than did Blake, though the latter was
glad that his theory in regard to the direction taken by the men had
proved correct.

But Joe felt that now he had a better chance to prove his father
innocent of the charge made against him--that he was involved with the
wreckers.

"We've got 'em!" he whispered.

"Yes--we've got 'em--to get!" agreed Blake. "No slip-up this time."

In whispers they consulted, and decided to creep forward a short
distance to make sure of their first surmise that the men, whose voices
they heard, were really the wreckers.

"We want to be certain about it," warned Blake, in a cautious whisper.

"That's right," agreed his chum. "Go ahead, and I'll come after you."

Cautiously they advanced until they were in a position to look forward
and make out a number of men working on a sort of mound of rock that
rose from the surface of the cliff.

"This is a better place, from their standpoint, than the other,"
whispered Blake. "A light can be seen farther."

"Yes, and they're putting up the same lantern on a rock pile," remarked
Joe. Both lads recognized the apparatus they had seen before. The men
were busily engaged in setting it in place, evidently working fast to
make up for lost time.

"It's the same gang," observed Blake; "and they must know of some vessel
that is to pass here soon, or they wouldn't be in such a hurry. Probably
they count on the steersman mistaking this light for the one at
Rockypoint, and standing in close here. Up at Rockypoint there is deep
water close in shore, but it shoals very fast both ways, up or down the
beach. So if a vessel saw a false light, and stood close in to get her
bearings, she'd be on the rocks in no time."

"That's right," agreed Joe. "She'd be wrecked and these fellows would
get what they could out of her, caring nothing for the lives lost.
Blake, we've got to stop 'em!"

"We sure have."

"Not only to clear my father, but to save others," went on Joe. "What's
best to be done?"

"Well, we can't capture 'em by ourselves; that's sure," went on Blake,
each lad speaking in a cautious whisper. "The best thing for us to do is
to go back, I think, and tell Tom Cardiff. He'll know what to do."

"Maybe one of us had better stay here to keep watch. They may skip out."

"No danger. They don't know that we have followed 'em, or that we are
here."

"Then we'll go back together."

"Sure, and give the alarm. Then to make the capture, if we can."

For a few minutes longer the eager boys looked on, unseen by the men
whom they had trailed. The wreckers were busy putting up their lantern,
and were making as much noise, talking and hammering on the apparatus,
as though they were far removed from possible discovery.

"Well, we'd better be going," suggested Blake, after a bit; and they
made their departure without causing any suspicious sounds, so that the
wreckers had no idea, as far as our heroes could ascertain, that they
were being spied upon.

In order to save time, as soon as they got to the nearest small
settlement, Joe and Blake hired a carriage, and drove to the lighthouse.
As may well be imagined their report caused considerable excitement.

"We'll get right after 'em!" cried Tom Cardiff. "I just got a telephone
message from the secret service men that they are on their way here.
They'll arrive in about an hour. We were counting on getting on the
trail ourselves to-day, but you boys got ahead of us. So in about an
hour we'll start. I guess they'll be there then; won't they, lads."

"I should judge so," was Blake's answer. "They've got quite a good deal
yet to do to get that fake lantern in shape, and they don't seem
suspicious."

"We can't have our life saving friend with us now," went on the
assistant keeper, "as he is on duty, but I guess the five of us will be
enough."

"Say!" cried Blake, with sudden thought, "if it's going to be an hour
before we start we've got time to get our automatic moving picture
camera, Joe."

"What for?"

"To get some views of this capture. It ought to make a dandy film, and
we can set the machine in place, start the motor and then you and I can
jump in and help catch these wreckers!"

"The very thing!" cried his chum. "I wonder I didn't think of it myself.
Come on!"

"Don't be late!" advised Tom Cardiff, as they ran toward the ancient
carriage they had hired. "We don't want any slip-up this time. I'm glad
we're going to try for the capture by daylight, though, instead of
darkness; it gives us a better chance."

Mr. Ringold and Mr. Hadley were surprised and delighted at the news the
boys brought, but they voted against the automatic camera.

"This is a rare chance to get a film," said Mr. Hadley, "and we don't
want to miss it. I'll go along with you, taking a regular moving picture
camera, and while you capture the wreckers I'll make a film of it."

This suited the boys as well, and a little later, with the chief
photographer, they started back for the lighthouse. They found the
secret service men and Tom Cardiff waiting for them, and, well armed, in
addition to the clubs they carried, and with ropes to bind the wreckers,
they started off.

"We're almost there now," said Blake, in a whisper, when they neared the
second hiding place of the desperate men. "Go easy, now."

"Let me get a chance to go ahead and place the camera," suggested Mr.
Hadley, who had the apparatus fully adjusted.

"That's a great idea," declared one of the government men. "Taking their
photographs in moving pictures! There'll be no chance for them to deny
they were present when they were captured," and he chuckled grimly.

Mr. Hadley was given an opportunity to move forward alone. He found an
advantageous spot and almost at once beckoned to the others to hasten.

"They're getting ready to leave!" he whispered, as they reached his
side.

"Come on, then!" cried Tom Cardiff. "Jump in on 'em, boys. Lively now!"

As he spoke he leaped forward, followed by the others.

"Surrender! We've got you surrounded!" yelled the assistant keeper.
"It's all over but the shouting!" and as he made a grab for one of the
men the moving picture machine began clicking.

"Hands up!" ordered Mr. Wilton.

"At 'em, boys!" called the other government man, as he and Blake and Joe
leaped to the attack together.

For a moment the wreckers stood as if paralyzed about the stone pedestal
on which the false lantern was being built. Then, with one accord, the
desperate men made a dash for the bush.

"Stop 'em!" cried Tom Cardiff. "Don't let 'em get away!"

"Come on!" yelled Blake to his chum. "We've got to get in this fracas!"

And as they dashed after the wreckers the moving picture camera in the
hands of Mr. Hadley recorded view after view of the exciting scene.

CHAPTER XXII

A LIFE GUARD'S ALARM

Fortune played into the hands of our friends in two ways as they sought
to capture the wreckers. Otherwise the desperate men might have gotten
away, so quickly did they dash out of the clearing at the first alarm.

But, as he ran along, big Hemp Danforth, the leader of the criminals,
stumbled and fell. Right behind him was sturdy Tom Cardiff, and the
assistant lighthouse keeper was quick to take advantage of the chance
thus put in his way.

"I've got you!" he yelled, as he fairly threw himself on the prostrate
wrecker. "I've got you! Give up, you varmint!"

There was a struggle, none the less desperate because the wrecker was
underneath. The two rolled on the ground until Tom got a grip on his
opponent. Then, by putting forth his enormous strength, Tom quickly
subdued the man.

"Give up, I tell you!" panted Tom, breathing hard. "I'll teach you to
wreck ships. Give up!"

"I give up!" was the sullen response.

With a quick turn of the ropes he had brought, Tom had the wrecker
trussed up.

Meanwhile the others had been busy. The secret service men had each
tackled a man, and had him secure by now, while Joe and Blake, by mutual
agreement picking out another member of the party had, after a struggle,
succeeded in tying him, too.

But the wreckers outnumbered our friends two to one, and some, if not
all, of the desperate characters might have escaped had not
reinforcements appeared. These were in the shape of four sturdy
fishermen from the little colony where the moving picture boys lived.

"Oh, if we could only capture the others!" cried Tom Cardiff, when he
had finished with his man, and saw some of the wreckers struggling to
make their way through the thick bush. "Come on, boys!" he yelled to his
friends. "When you finish with those fellows keep after the rest of the
gang, though I'm afraid they'll give us the slip."

"No, they won't!" cried a new voice, and then appeared the husky toilers
of the sea, armed with stout clubs. At the sight of them the wreckers
not yet captured gave up in despair. Counting those tied up, the forces
were now equal, and as Mr. Hadley had taken all the moving pictures
possible, owing to the struggle taking place out of range of his
camera, he left the apparatus, and joined his friends.

"Well, we got 'em!" cried Tom Cardiff, as he surveyed the line of
prisoners, fastened together with ropes. "Every one of 'em, I guess.
You're a nice crowd!" he sneered at big Hemp Danforth. "A nice lot of
men to be let loose!"

"A little later and you wouldn't have had us!" snarled the leader of the
wreckers. "You were too many for us."

"That's so," spoke Tom. "How did you happen to come to help us?" he
asked of Abe Haskill, who was one of the reinforcing fishermen. "Who
sent you?"

"Old Stanton telephoned over from the lighthouse," was the answer. "He
said you were on your way here, and that the gang might be too much for
you. So I got a couple of my friends, and over we came--just in time,
too, I take it."

"That's right!" exclaimed Blake, trying to staunch the flow of blood
from a cut on his face, received in the fight he and Joe had with their
prisoner. Joe himself was somewhat bruised. "A little later and we'd had
only half of 'em," went on Blake.

"It looks as if the lantern was nearly finished, too," went on Joe.

"Um!" sneered the chief wrecker. "You may think you have us, but it's a
long way from proving anything against us. What have we done that's
wrong?" and he looked defiantly at Tom Cardiff.

"Wrong!" cried the lighthouse man. "Don't you call it wrong to set up a
false light to lure unsuspecting captains on the rocks, so you can get
your pickings? Wrong!"

"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 fishing in your
lives!" cried Abe Haskill. "Fishing! 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 ships 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 assistant,
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 manuscript
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.

"Here comes a life guard," remarked Joe.

"And he acts as if something was up," added Blake.

Nearer came the man, dressed in yellow oilskins, for the spray from the
sea flew far inland, almost like rain. Joe and Blake had on rubber
coats.

"What is it?" cried Blake, as the man came opposite.

He held his hands in funnel shape and yelled:

"A wreck--a big sailing vessel is coming ashore! Her masts are gone, and
she can't get off! She'll strike soon. I want all the men I can get to
help us with the breeches buoy. We can't launch our boat--too heavy
surf!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE DOOMED VESSEL

"You say there's a wreck?" cried Blake.

"Yes, we just made her out through the glass. She's driving on the rocks
fast. The current is setting inshore and the wind is helping it."

"Where is she?" asked Joe.

"Right down there," answered the life guard. "But she'll come up farther
this way," and he pointed down toward the rocks opposite which the boys
had first surprised the wreckers at work.

"I've got to give the alarm," went on the life saver. "We need all the
help we can get. We're short-handed, anyhow, and two of our men were
hurt early this morning trying to launch the surf-boat."

"Can't you get some of the fishermen from around here?" asked Joe.

"That's what I came for."

"And we'll help, too!" cried Blake, bracing himself by leaning against
the wind, which seemed to grow stronger every minute.

"Sure we will," added Joe. "Can you see the vessel?" he asked, peering
eagerly into the spume and spray.

"Maybe she's drifted far enough up by now," went on the coast guard, as
he looked intently in the direction he had pointed. "Yes," he cried a
moment later, "I can catch glimpses of her at times, when the waves go
down a bit. See! There she is now!"

Looking in the direction the guard pointed, Blake and Joe caught a
glimpse of a distant black object rising and falling at the mercy of the
wind and waves. It was the hull of a vessel, and when Blake used the
glass the guard handed him a moment later, he could see the jagged
stumps of broken masts.

"She's in a bad way," remarked the lad, gravely.

"Indeed she is," assented the life saver.

"I wonder if my father is in any such storm as this, on his way to
China?" mused Joe, as he, too, looked through the binoculars.

"It's a bad storm--and a big one, too," said the guard. "But I must
hurry on and give the alarm to the fishermen. The ship will strike soon,
and we want to send a line aboard if we can."

"Wait!" cried Blake, as the man started off. "We'll tell the fishermen.
You can go back to the station. We'll come to help as soon as we can,
and bring all the men we can find."

"Good!" shouted the man. "It'll take some time to get the apparatus in
shape, and we'll have to drag it up the beach from the station, to about
the place where she'll come on the rocks. Go ahead, give the alarm, and
I'll go back. Whew! But this is a fierce storm!"

"Come on!" cried Blake to his chum, and they raced toward the little
fishing hamlet.

"Say!" shouted Joe. "I've got an idea!"

"What is it?"

"The wreck--it'll come close on shore, the guard says; why not make some
moving pictures of it? They'll be just what Mr. Hadley wants."

"That's it!" yelled Blake. "You've struck it. Go on and tell Mr.
Ringold, Mr. Hadley and the others, and I'll get the fishermen. Then
we'll go down the beach until we meet the life savers. It's a great
chance, Joe!"

The lads separated, one to arouse the fishermen, most of whom were in
their shacks, for it was out of the question to lift the nets in the
tremendous seas that were running.

"Come on!" cried Blake, as he saw old Abe Haskill come out to look at
the weather. "Wreck--ship coming ashore. The coast guards need help!"

"Aye, aye, lad. We're with you!" cried the sturdy old man. "I'll get
the boys. A wreck; eh? Pity the poor sailors that come ashore in such a
blow!"

Having given the alarm, Blake turned back to join his chum and the
others of the theatrical colony.

"We may need all three cameras," he reasoned; "it is such a good chance
we don't want to risk it on one film."

Blake found Mr. Hadley and his chum, with the theatrical manager and the
male members of the company, ready to set out. Joe had his own camera,
while Mr. Hadley was getting the largest one in readiness.

"Let's take the automatic, too," suggested Joe. "We can start it going
and not have to worry about it."

"All right," agreed Blake.

"Say, this is the very chance we wanted!" cried Mr. Ringold. "Think of
it! A regular wreck, right at our doors!"

"Oh, but the poor sailors!" exclaimed Miss Shay. "I do hope they may be
saved!"

"Of course they can!" cried C. C. Piper. "We'll all help. Never fear;
we'll save them!"

His tone and manner, to say nothing of his words, were in such contrast
to his usual demeanor that everyone looked at his or her neighbor in
surprise.

"Don't give up!" went on the comedian, cheerfully. "We'll help the life
guards--we'll do anything. We'll save those sailors!"

"Well, get on to Gloomy; would you!" exclaimed Joe, in a low voice, to
his chum. "That is the best ever! It's the first time he hasn't
predicted a calamity."

"And just when anyone else would," added Blake. "For it sure is going to
be hard work to save anyone from a vessel that comes ashore in such a
storm as this," and he looked toward the tumbling billows in view from
the windows.

Films were threaded into the moving picture cameras, the mechanism was
tested, and then the whole company, even to the ladies, set forth.

"I hope the wreck gets near enough so we can get some good pictures of
it," said Mr. Ringold.

"It'll have to come pretty well in shore, or the breeches buoy rope
won't reach," said Mr. Hadley. "I guess we can get some good pictures."

"It's good it doesn't rain," went on the theatrical man; "though I think
it's going to, soon. We'll have to get up on some elevation to avoid the
spray."

Down the beach they made their way, to be joined presently by the band
of sturdy fishermen.

"There she is!" cried old Abe, as he pointed out to sea. "There she is,
blowing and drifting in fast. And right toward the Dolphin Rocks,
too--the worst place on the beach!" They all gazed toward the doomed
vessel, that was now much nearer shore. Blake even thought he could
descry figures on deck, clinging to the stumps of masts.

CHAPTER XXIV

OUT OF THE WRECK

"Here come the life savers!" cried Blake a little later, as through the
spray that flew over the beach a party of men, in yellow oilskins, could
be seen dragging something over the sand.

"Yes, and few enough of 'em there are to do the work," said old Abe
Haskill. "The government ought to put more men at the station."

"Some were hurt, trying to launch the boat this morning," said Joe.

"Very likely," agreed the old fisherman. "The sea can be cruel when it
wants to."

"And there comes Tom Cardiff!" added Blake, as he pointed to another
oncoming figure.

"Yes, and Harry Stanton is with him," remarked Abe. "They must have left
the lighthouse to look after itself, and they're going to help in the
rescue."

"No danger to the light, now that them pesky wreckers have been caught,"
remarked one of the fishermen.

"Boom!" came a dull report over the waste of tumultuous waters.

"What's that?" asked Blake.

"The signal gun!" cried Abe. "She must be sinking and they want us to
hurry help. But she's too far out yet for a line to reach her."

Again the signal gun sounded, and hearing it, the life savers hastened
their pace, but it was hard work dragging their apparatus through the
sand.

"Let's help 'em!" cried Joe. "The ship is drifting up this way. If we
make pictures it will have to be from about here. Let's help drag the
wagon!"

"That's right!" echoed Blake, and the boys, leaving their cameras in
charge of Mr. Hadley, hastened to relieve the fagged-out life savers.
The fishermen and some of the theatrical men joined in also.

"Right about here," directed the captain of the life saving crew, when
the cart containing the gun, "shears" and other parts of the breeches
buoy had been dragged farther along. "She'll strike about here, I
fancy."

The doomed vessel was now much nearer shore, and on her wave-washed
decks could be seen the sailors, some of them lashed to the stumps of
masts, others to whatever of the standing rigging offered a hold
against the grasp of the sea.

"Get ready, men!" the commander went on. "The wind is bringing her in
fast, and it's going to be against us shooting a line over her, but
we'll do our best. If she strikes now, so much the better."

"Why?" asked Blake, wonderingly.

"Because then she'll be stationary, and we can keep our main line taut.
If she keeps drifting inshore while we're hauling the buoy back and
forth it means that we'll have to keep tightening up all the while."

"There, she's struck!" suddenly called one of the life savers. All gazed
out to sea, where, amid a smother of foam, the craft could be seen. Her
change in position was evident. Her decks sloped more, and instead of
drifting she remained in one position.

"The rocks have gripped her," spoke old Abe, solemnly. "She'll go to
pieces soon now."

"Then get busy!" cried C. C. Piper, who seemed not to have lost his
strangely cheerful mood. "Save those men!"

"That's what we're going to do," said the captain. "All ready now, men."

"And that means we'd better get busy, Joe," said Blake. "We can't do
anything to help just now. Besides, there are a lot of men here. We
must get our cameras in place."

"That's right, Blake," and the two lads got their apparatus in shape to
operate, Mr. Hadley doing the same. The machines were set up on some
sand hills, far enough back to be out of the spray, which was like a fog
close to the surface of the water.

While some of the life savers and their volunteer assistants were
burying in the sand the heavy anchor that was to hold one end of the
rope on which the breeches buoy would travel, others were getting ready
to fire the gun.

In brief, the breeches buoy is operated as follows: A small mortar, or
cannon, is used, and an elongated projectile is placed in it. Attached
to the projectile is a thin and strong line. It is coiled in a box and
placed on the sand near the mortar. The coils are laid around pegs in a
peculiar manner to prevent tangling. The pegs are then pulled out, and
the coils lie one upon the other so that the line may be paid out
rapidly.

When the projectile is fired toward the ship, the aim is to make it
shoot over her deck, carrying the cord with it. This is called "getting
a line aboard." Once this is done the crew on the vessel can, by means
of the small cord, pull aboard a heavy cable. This is made fast to the
highest point possible.

There is now a cable extending from the shore to the ship, the shore end
being made fast to the anchor in the sand. The cable is raised as high
as possible on a pair of wooden "shears," to keep it above the waves.

Running on pulley wheels, on this stout, tight rope, is the "breeches
buoy." This is literally a pair of canvas breeches, into which the
person to be saved places himself, getting into the apparatus from the
deck of the sinking ship. There is a line fast to the buoy, one end
being on shore. When the signal is given those on the beach pull, the
buoy and the person in it are pulled along the tight rope by means of
the pulleys to the beach and saved, though often they are well drenched
in the process. Those remaining on the ship now pull the empty buoy
back, and other persons come ashore until all are saved.

Sometimes, instead of the canvas breeches, a small enclosed car is used
to slide along the rope. In this car more than one person can get, and
they are protected from the waves.

"All ready?" asked the captain of the life saving crew, after he had
inspected what his men and the others helping them had done.

"All ready, sir!" came the response.

"Then fire!"

The mortar boomed, through the wind shot the projectile toward the ship,
carrying with it the swiftly uncoiling rope. All watched anxiously.

"Too short!" cried the captain a moment later, lowering the glass
through which he had watched the effect of the shot. "Use a little more
powder this time."

The projectile was hauled back through the waves, and attached to
another line, coiled in readiness, while some of the life savers busied
themselves recoiling the first rope, in case the second shot failed too.

It did, again falling short.

"Try more powder," said the captain, grimly. "We've got to reach her."

"And soon," murmured old Abe. "She's breaking up fast."

Once more the mortar was fired, Blake and Joe, as well as Mr. Hadley,
getting films of every move.

"There she goes!" cried the captain, in delight, as he watched the third
shot. "Over her decks as clean as you'd want! Now to get the poor souls
ashore!"

On board the wrecked ship could be observed a scene of activity. The
sailors began hauling on the line, and presently the big cable began
paying out from shore. Soon it reached the side of the ship, to be
hauled up, and made fast to the stump of one of the masts.

"Lively now, boys!" cried the captain. "Pull taut and then run out the
buoy. She can't last much longer!"

The men made redoubled efforts, and Blake and Joe, leaving their
automatic camera working, while Mr. Hadley turned the operation of his
over to Macaroni, the three moving picture experts aided in the work of
rescue.

Soon the breeches buoy was hauled out to the ship for its first
passenger, and presently the sagging of the cable told that some one was
in it.

"Pull, boys!" cried the captain of the life savers, and through the
dashing waves, that threw their crests over the shipwrecked person, the
buoy was hauled ashore.

"Grab him!" cried the captain, as the first one saved was pulled up high
on the beach.

"It isn't a him, captain!" cried one of the men. "It's a woman!"

"Bless my sea boots!" yelled the captain. "A woman! Are there any more
of you aboard--or any children?"

"I--I'm the only one," was the panting answer, for she had swallowed
much water. "I'm the captain's wife. Can you--can you save the others?
They made me come first."

"That's right! Women and children always first!" shouted the captain.

"Of course we'll save the others," yelled C. C., who was running
excitedly about, helping all he could. "We'll save every one!" he
repeated.

"Gloomy in a new rôle--a happy one!" remarked Blake.

The buoy was hauled back, and another was saved--one of the sailors,
this time. He reported that there were in all twenty-five hands on the
ship, exclusive of the captain.

"He'll come last, of course," he said, simply.

"Of course," agreed Abe Haskill. "The captain allers does that. Once
more, boys!"

Again was a rescue effected, the moving picture cameras registering
faithfully everything that went on. The work had to be done quickly now,
for the vessel was fast breaking up.

"Two more left!" cried the chief life saver. "Jack up that cable, boys;
she's sagging. I guess the old ship is working farther in. Jack her up!"

By means of pulleys attached to the main rope it was made tauter. Then
came a heavy sag on it.

"What's that?" asked one of the life savers.

"It's two of 'em--two of 'em, clinging to the buoy!" cried Blake, who
was watching through a glass. "I guess the ship must be going to pieces
too fast to allow for another trip. You've got to save two at once."

"And we can do it!" cried the captain. "All together, now, boys! But
they're going to get wet!"

By reason of the added weight the rope was sagging badly, and the men
clinging to the buoy could be seen half in and half out of the water.

"Lively, men, or they'll drown!" yelled the captain.

Hardy and intrepid as were the life-savers and the volunteers who had
assembled to help them, they paused a moment now. It seemed impossible
that the two in the buoy could be pulled ashore in time to be saved.

Over them broke great seas, the waves hissing and foaming as though
angry at being cheated of their prey. The storm-swept waters seemed to
seize on the rope, as though to pull it beneath the billows. The anchor
that held the rope which passed over the "shears" seemed to be pulling
out of the sand packed around it.

"Come on, men!" cried the captain. "Take a brace now, and we'll have 'em
ashore in a jiffy!"

"But she's slipping!" cried a grizzled seaman. "She can't hold any
longer. The whole business is going!"

"She can't go until we git 'em ashore!" yelled the captain of the
life-savers. "I won't let her! Here, Jim Black, you mosey back there and
pile more sand around that anchor. Now then, men, pull as though you
meant it. What! You're not going to have it said that you let a little
cat's paw of wind like this beat you; are you?"

Something of the captain's courage seemed to infuse itself into his men.
They had been half-hearted before, but they were brave now. Once more
they ranged themselves on the rope that was used to haul the buoy from
the ship to shore. It was as though the waves had tried to intimidate
them, and had been bidden defiance.

The weight of the two persons in the buoy was almost too much. The waves
had a doubly large surface against which to break, and well the captain
knew that there was a limit to the strain to which the tackle could be
subjected. Once the main rope leading from the anchor to the ship, on
which cable the buoy ran, parted, and nothing could save those last two
lives. No wonder the captain wanted haste.

"Haul away!" he bellowed through the roar of the wind, using his hands
as a trumpet. "Haul away, men!"

His companions braced themselves in the shifting sand. They bent their
backs. Their arms swelled into bunches of muscles that had been trained
in the hard school of the sea.

"Will the haul-rope stand it?" cried one man.

"She's _got_ to stand it!" cried the captain. "She's just _got_ to!
Pull, men; you're not half hauling!"

"If that rope gives," faltered an old, gray-haired man, who seemed too
aged for this life, "if that rope gives way----"

"Don't you talk about it!" snapped the captain. "I'll take all the
responsibility of that rope. It'll hold all right. I looked at it the
other day. All you've got to do is pull! Do you hear me? Pull as you
never pulled before!"

Once more the backs of the men bent to the strain. The moving picture
boys, watching and waiting; filled with anxiety even as they filmed the
wreck, saw that the rise and fall of the waves had a good deal to do
with the rescue.

"They can pull better when the waves don't wash over those two poor
souls in the buoy," observed Blake.

"Yes, there's less resistance," agreed Joe. "Oh, there comes a big one!"
and, as he spoke, an immense comber buried from sight the two whom the
life-savers were endeavoring to pull from the grip of the sea.

"If they can only hold their breaths long enough, they may come through
it," said Blake. "But it's a tough proposition."

"It sure is," agreed his chum. They had gone back to snap a few
pictures, and then, finding that the automatic apparatus was working
well, they again joined the group on the sands.

"Another pull or two and we'll have 'em ashore!" yelled the captain.
"Lively, men!"

As he spoke a grizzled seaman rushed up to him.

"That anchor's slippin' ag'in!" he bellowed through the noise of the
storm. "I can't put sand on fast enough to hold it!"

"Then I'll have some one help you!" cried the captain. "Here, Si Watson!
You git back there and help Jim pile sand on that anchor. It mustn't be
allowed to pull out--do you understand? It mustn't pull out if--if you
have to--sit on it!"

"Aye--aye, sir," was the answer, and the two men ran back to where the
anchor was buried in the beach, to pile the sand on with the shovels
provided for that purpose.

"Now one more pull, and we'll have 'em safe!" yelled the captain a
little later, and with a mighty haul his men bent to their task.

"There they come through the last line of surf!" yelled Joe, pointing to
the buoy containing the two shipwrecked persons.

"If only the rope holds," murmured his chum.

Even as he spoke there came a cry from the two men who had been sent to
watch that the anchor in the sand did not drag.

"It's coming! It's coming out!" shouted one of them.

"Sit on it! Hold it down!" yelled the captain. "Into the water after
'em, boys! Come on, ye old seadogs!"

There was a snap--the rope had parted, but so near to the beach were the
two that the life-savers waded into the foam and spume, and grabbed
them, holding them safe.

They were hauled to the beach, on which huddled the others who had been
saved from the wreck.

The lone woman had been taken in charge by the feminine members of the
theatrical troupe, who led her toward their boarding house. They said
they would soon have hot coffee ready for all the sailors.

"Get 'em out of the buoy!" cried the captain, as the two last rescued
were seen to be well-nigh insensible. They were assisted out, and sank
helpless on the sand.

"Pretty far gone," remarked a life saver. "One must be the captain, I
reckon."

"And the other," began Harry Stanton, keeper of the Rockypoint light;
"the other--why, if it isn't Nate Duncan, who used to be my assistant!
He came out of the wreck--Nate Duncan!"

CHAPTER XXV

A NEW QUEST

From where he was standing by a group of the rescued sailors, Joe Duncan
heard what the lighthouse keeper said. The lad rushed forward.

"Nate Duncan!" he repeated, as he gazed at the two men, who were just
beginning to revive under the application of stimulants. "Which one of
you is Mr. Duncan?" he asked, eagerly.

"I--I am," faltered the younger of the two men. "Why, who wants me. Oh,
it's you, Harry Stanton," and he looked at the lighthouse keeper
standing near him. "I--I can explain everything. I----"

"It wasn't I who asked," spoke the lighthouse keeper. "It was this lad
here," and he indicated Joe. "Your son."

"My son!" cried the rescued man. "Are you sure--can it be true. Oh, is
it possible? Don't disappoint me! Are you my son?" and he held out his
hands to Joe.

"I--I think so, father," spoke the boy, softly. "I--I have been looking
for you a long time."

"And I have, too, Joe; yes, you are my boy. I can see it now. Oh, the
dear Lord be praised!" and there was moisture in his eyes that was not
the salt from the raging sea.

"But--but," went on Joe. "I thought you went to China. I wrote to you at
Hong Kong."

"I did start for there, Joe; but the vessel on which I sailed was
wrecked, and this craft, bound back for San Francisco, picked us up. So
I didn't get very far. Oh, but I have found my boy!"

The others drew a little aside while father and son, so strangely
restored to each other by the fury of the sea, clasped each other close.

"Now, friends," said Mr. Ringold, bustling up; "those of you who are wet
through had better let us take care of you. We have room for you all,
and I'll send word to any of your friends if you'll give me the
addresses. Your wreck, in a way, has been a great thing for me, for I
have obtained some wonderful moving pictures of it and this rescue. It
will make a great drama. So I want to help you all I can."

By this time the captain of the vessel had been revived and with his
wife and crew was taken to the theatrical boarding place, where the
women busied themselves getting warm drinks and food, and the men
changed into dry garments loaned by the fishermen and the others. Soon
after the last one came ashore the wreck broke up and sank.

"Well, of all the wonderful things I ever experienced, this is the most
marvelous," declared Mr. Duncan, as he sat with his son's hand in his.
"I am wrecked twice, and come back to the same place I ran away from, to
find Joe waiting for me."

"It is wonderful," agreed Joe, wondering how he was going to bring up
the subject of the wreckers.

"Yes, this is the very place I left in such a hurry, a few months ago,"
went on Mr. Duncan.

"Would you mind telling me why you left so suddenly?" asked the
lighthouse keeper, solemnly. "Of course it's none of my affair; but I
might say it concerns you mightily, Nate Duncan. Can you prove your
innocence?"

"Prove my innocence! Of what charge?" cried the man.

"Oh, father, of course we don't believe it!" burst out Joe, unable to
keep silent longer; "but Hemp Danforth says you were implicated with him
in wrecking boats by means of false lights!"

"Hemp Danforth says that!" cried Joe's father.

"Yes. Tell me--tell all of them--that it isn't so!" pleaded the lad.

"Of course it isn't so, Joe."

"But why did you leave so suddenly, and why did the officer come for you
the next day?" asked the lighthouse keeper. "It looked bad, Nate."

"I suppose it did," said Mr. Duncan, slowly. "But it can easily be
explained. I was mixed up with those wreckers----"

"Father!" cried Joe.

"But not the way you think, son," went on the former lighthouse worker
quickly. "Hemp Danforth and I had a quarrel. It was over some business
matters that he and I were mixed up in before I learned that he and his
gang were wreckers.

"We quarreled, because he tried to defraud me of my rights, and I had to
give him a severe beating. Perhaps I was wrong, but I acted on impulse.
Then I heard that Hemp, to get even, had accused me of being a wrecker,
and he had his men ready to swear to false testimony about me; even that
I let the light go out, which I never did.

"I knew I could not refute it, especially at that time, and as something
came up that made it necessary for me to leave for China at once, I
decided to go away. I realize now that it must have looked bad,
especially after the charge against me. But now I am ready to stay and
face it. I can prove that I had nothing to do with the wrecking, and
that as soon as I learned that Hemp and his gang were concerned in it I
left them. If we can get hold of Hemp I can easily make him acknowledge
this."

"You can easily get hold of him," said Blake. "He and his crowd are all
in jail. They were caught in the act of setting a false light."

"And I don't believe you'll even have to prove your innocence," said Mr.
Ringold. "They'll be convicted, and their evidence will never be
accepted. You are already cleared, Mr. Duncan."

"My name cleared--and my son with me--what else could I want?" murmured
the happy man.

"But, Dad," asked Joe, his face showing his delight that he could now
use that word. "Why did you have to leave so suddenly?"

"To try and find your sister, Joe."

"My sister?"

"Yes, I have a daughter, as well as a son," went on Mr. Duncan. "I have
found one, and now to find the other."

"Where is she?" cried Joe. "What is she like? Did I ever see her when we
were both little?"

"Indeed you did, and when your mother died I left you with a family,
who later disappeared. You must tell me your story, Joe, and how you
found me. But now as to your sister.

"Most unexpectedly, after years of searching, I got word that she had
been brought up in a minister's family, and that lately she had gone as
a missionary's helper to China. I had long planned to take a sea voyage,
and when I got this news I decided to go at once, and bring her back.
Then I was to renew my search for you.

"An agent in San Francisco told me of a vessel about to sail for Hong
Kong, and I deserted my post at the lighthouse and sailed. I admit I did
wrong in leaving so suddenly, but it seemed to be the best thing to do.
I did not want to be arrested as a wrecker even though I was innocent."

"I'll forgive you," said Mr. Stanton, with a smile. "I'm so glad to
learn you're not one of them pesky wreckers."

And then began a long series of explanations, Mr. Duncan listening with
interest to Joe's story, and, in turn, telling how his vessel was
wrecked, and how he and the others were picked up, only to be wrecked
again, nearer home.

Joe's father paused a moment and then said:

"But, son, tell me something of yourself. I've been doing all the
talking, it seems. Are you really in this queer business of taking
moving pictures?"

"That's what I am, Dad--Blake and I. We've been in it some time, and
we're doing well. We hope to be in it some time longer, too. If it
hadn't been for these pictures I might never have found you."

"That's so, Joe. After this I'll never pass a moving picture theatre
without thinking what it has done for me. It gave me back my boy!"

"Now I think you have talked enough, Mr. Duncan," said one of the women,
coming up. "You had a much harder time of it than we did, and you must
quiet down. You must have swallowed a lot of salt water."

"I guess I did--enough to preserve about a barrel of pickles," he
admitted, with a smile. "I would be glad of a little rest. But you won't
leave me; will you, Joe?"

"No indeed, Dad. I've had enough trouble finding you to lose you now.
But you get a good rest. Blake and I have a lot to do yet. I want to get
these latest films in shape to send off for development. I hope they
came out good."

"I don't see how they could--with the weather conditions what they
were," remarked C. C. Piper, joining the group.

"Now that isn't a nice thing to say," Miss Lee reminded him. "Why can't
you be cheerful?"

"Why, I'm not at all gloomy. I only said----"

"You tried to throw cold water on what the boys did," she reminded him.

"Water! Say, if anybody says water to me again to-day, I don't know what
I will do!" exclaimed Blake. "Shame on you, C. C.! You ought to be more
careful."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean anything. I guess those pictures will be all
right--if the salt spray doesn't spoil the celluloid," he added, as he
moved off.

"You're hopeless," declared Miss Lee. "I'll never speak to you again."

The nonsensical talk served to raise the spirits of those who had been
rather plunged in gloom ever since the wreck. Mr. Duncan was given a
room to himself where he could be quiet and recover from the shock of
having been so near death.

The moving picture boys found plenty to do. In addition to getting off
to the developing studio the films they had taken that day, they had to
prepare for a hard day's work to follow, for, now that he had the wreck
scene, Mr. Ringold declared that he needed some others to go with it to
round out the drama of the sea that he had in mind when coming to the
coast.

It may seem that it would not pay to go to such big expense to make a
single films play, or even one or two, but I assure my readers that it
is not uncommon for a concern to spend ten thousand dollars in making a
single play, and some elaborate productions, such as Shakespearian
plays, and historical dramas, will cost over fifty thousand dollars to
get ready to be filmed.

Months are spent in preparation, rehearsals go on day after day, and
finally the play itself is given, often not lasting more than an hour or
half hour on the screen, yet representing many weary weeks of work, and
the expenditure of large sums of money. Such is the moving picture
business to-day.

The boys were kept busy nearly all the rest of that week, and then came
a period of calm. Joe sought out his father, who had steadily gained in
strength after his sensational rescue, and began to question him as to
his experiences, for Mr. Duncan had only given a mere outline of his
experiences up to this time.

"You must have had some strenuous adventures," said Blake, who went with
his chum.

"I certainly did. But, according to Joe, here, they weren't much more
than what you boys went through with in New York, and getting those
Indian films."

"That's right; we did have a time," admitted Blake.

"Well, I'm glad I've got my boy, anyhow," went on the former lighthouse
worker, with a fond glance at Joe. "Nothing is worse than to have folks,
and not know where to find 'em. I hungered and longed for Joe for days
and nights, and now I have him. And I'm not going to lose him again,
either, if I can help it," and he clasped his son's hand warmly in his
palm, while tears dimmed his eyes. Joe, too, was much affected.

"If you only had your daughter now, you'd be all right," said Blake,
anxious to turn the subject.

"Yes, so I would. My poor little girl! We must locate her next, Joe."

"But what about my sister?" asked Joe. "Can we find her?"

"We'll try, Joe, my boy!" exclaimed his father. "You and I together."

"Count me in!" cried Blake.

"I sure will," agreed Joe. "I wonder what will happen to us."

And what did, and how the two lads went on their new quest, will be
related in the next volume of this series, to be entitled "The Moving
Picture Boys in the Jungle; Or, Stirring Times Among the Wild Animals."
In it will be told of their adventures and you may learn whether or not
they found Joe's sister.

"Well, we got everything we came for," said Mr. Ringold, a few days
later, when the shipwrecked ones had been sent to their homes with the
exception of Mr. Duncan, who remained with Joe.

"Yes, all the dramas, and the storm and wreck as well," agreed Mr.
Hadley.

"But we'll never have such good luck again," predicted C. C. Piper, with
a return of his gloomy manner. "I know something will happen to us on
our way back East."

"Oh, cheer up," urged Miss Lee; "the sun is shining."

"But it will rain to-morrow," declared the comedian, as he did some odd
little dance steps.

Preparations for taking the theatrical company back East were made; but
Joe, Blake and Mr. Duncan were uncertain about accompanying them. While
Joe and his father were talking over their plans, Blake went to San
Francisco on a vacation for a week.

But it was not much of a rest for him. While there he learned of a prize
offered for the best moving picture of the fire department in action,
and, though many operators tried, Blake's film was regarded as the
best. He "scooped" the others easily, and beat some of the most skillful
men in the business.

But now, for a time, we will take leave of the moving picture boys.

THE END

THE FAMOUS ROVER BOYS SERIES
By Arthur W. Winfield

American Stories of American Boys and Girls
ONE MILLION COPIES ALREADY SOLD OF THIS SERIES

12mo. Cloth. Handsomely printed and illustrated.
Price, 60 Cents per volume, postpaid

THE ROVER BOYS IN THE AIR Or From College Campus to the Clouds
THE ROVER BOYS DOWN EAST Or The Struggle for the Stanhope Fortune
THE ROVER BOYS AT COLLEGE Or The Right Road and the Wrong
THE ROVER BOYS ON TREASURE ISLE Or The Strange Cruise of the Steam Yacht
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE FARM Or The Last Days at Putnam Hall
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THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS Or The Mystery of Red Rock Ranch
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER Or The Search for the Missing Houseboat
THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP Or The Rivals of Pine Island
THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA Or The Crusoes of Seven Islands
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS Or A Hunt for Fame and Fortune
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES Or The Secret of the Island Cave
THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST Or The Search for a Lost Mine
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE Or Stirring Adventures in Africa
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN Or A Chase for a Fortune
THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL Or The Cadets of Putnam Hall

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THE PUTNAM HALL SERIES
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By Arthur M. Winfield

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THE PUTNAM HALL MYSTERY Or The School Chums' Strange Discovery

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THE PUTNAM HALL ENCAMPMENT Or The Secret of the Old Mill

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THE PUTNAM HALL REBELLION Or The Rival Runaways

The boys had good reasons for running away during Captain Putnam's
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THE PUTNAM HALL CHAMPIONS Or Bound to Win Out

In this volume the Putnam Hall Cadets show what they can do in various
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THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS Or Good Times in School and Out

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THE PUTNAM HALL RIVALS Or Fun and Sport Afloat and Ashore

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By Horatio Alger, Jr.

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THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT, Or Frank Hardy's Road to Success

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FROM FARM TO FORTUNE, Or Nat Nason's Strange Experience

Nat was a poor country lad. Work on the farm was hard, and after a
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OUT FOR BUSINESS, Or Robert Frost's Strange Career

Relates the adventures of a country boy who is compelled to leave home
and seek his fortune in the great world at large.

FALLING IN WITH FORTUNE, Or The Experiences of a Young Secretary

This is a companion tale to "Out for Business," but complete in itself,
and tells of the further doings of Robert Frost as private secretary.

YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK, Or The Son of a Soldier

The scene is laid in the South during the Civil War, and the hero is a
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NELSON THE NEWSBOY, Or Afloat in New York

Mr. Alger is always at his best in the portrayal of life in New York
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LOST AT SEA, Or Robert Roscoe's Strange Cruise

A sea story of uncommon interest. The hero falls in with a strange
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JERRY, THE BACKWOODS BOY, Or the Parkhurst Treasure

Depicts life on a farm of New York State. The mystery of the treasure
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RANDY OF THE RIVER, Or the adventures of a Young Deckhand

Life on a river steamboat is not so romantic as some young people may
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JOE, THE HOTEL BOY, Or Winning Out by Pluck.

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BEN LOGAN'S TRIUMPH, Or The Boys of Boxwood Academy

The trials and triumphs of a city newsboy in the country.

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By Captain Ralph Bonehill.

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WITH BOONE ON THE FRONTIER, Or The Pioneer Boys of Old Kentucky.

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PIONEER BOYS OF THE GREAT NORTHWEST, Or With Lewis and Clark Across the
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A splendid story describing in detail the great expedition formed under
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PIONEER BOYS OF THE GOLD FIELDS, Or The Nugget Hunters of '49.

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WITH CUSTER IN THE BLACK HILLS, Or A Young Scout Among the Indians.

Tells of the experiences of a youth who, with his parents, goes to the
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BOYS OF THE FORT, Or A Young Captain's Pluck.

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THE YOUNG BANDMASTER, Or Concert, Stage and Battlefield.

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OFF FOR HAWAII, Or The Mystery of a Great Volcano.

Several boys start on a tour of the Hawaiian Islands. They have heard
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A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY, Or Afloat in the Philippines.

The story of Dewey's victory in Manila Bay as it appeared to a real,
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WHEN SANTIAGO FELL, Or The War Adventures of Two Chums.

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MOFFAT, WILLIAM D.
THE CRIMSON BANNER. A Story of College Baseball

A tale that grips one from start to finish. The students are almost
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best all-around college and baseball tale yet presented.

GRAYDON, WILLIAM MURRAY
CANOE BOYS AND CAMP FIRES.

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go on a canoeing trip and meet with many exciting happenings.

HARKNESS, PETER T.
ANDY, THE ACROBAT. Or, With the Greatest Show on Earth

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THE QUEST OF THE SILVER SWAN. A Tale of Ocean Adventure

A Youth's story of the deep blue sea--of the search for a derelict
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WHITE, MATTHEW, JR.
TWO BOYS AND A FORTUNE. Or, The Tyler Will

If you had been poor and were suddenly left a half-million dollars, what
would you do with it? That was the problem that confronted the Pell
family, and especially the twin brothers, Rex and Roy. A strong, helpful
story, that should be read by every boy in our land.

WINFIELD, ARTHUR M.
BOB, THE PHOTOGRAPHER. Or, A Hero in Spite of Himself

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LOST IN THE LAND OF ICE. Or, Daring Adventures Round the South Pole

An expedition is fitted out by a rich young man and with him goes the
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FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER
Or The First Step in Journalism.

LARRY DEXTER, THE YOUNG REPORTER
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LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH
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LARRY DEXTER AND THE BANK MYSTERY
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LARRY DEXTER AND THE STOLEN BOY
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THE SEA TREASURE SERIES
By Roy Rockwood

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ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC
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THE CRUISE OF THE TREASURE SHIP
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THE RIVAL OCEAN DIVERS
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JACK NORTH'S TREASURE HUNT
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DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE Or The Stirring Doings of a Millionaire's Son

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mother's will that he must do certain things, in order to prove that he
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DICK HAMILTON'S CADET DAYS Or The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son

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DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT Or A Young Millionaire and the Kidnappers

A series of adventures while yachting in which our hero's wealth plays a
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DICK HAMILTON'S FOOTBALL TEAM Or A Young Millionaire on the Gridiron

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champion team and of the lively contests with other teams. There is also
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Other volumes in preparation.

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By Victor Appleton

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TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE
Or Fun and Adventure on the Road

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT
Or The Rivals of Lake Carlopa

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
Or The Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
Or The Speediest Car on the Road

TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
Or Daring Adventures in Elephant Land

TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
Or The Quickest Flight on Record

TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
Or The Wreck of the Airship

TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
Or The Secret of Phantom Mountain

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
Or The Castaways of Earthquake Island

TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD
Or Marvellous Adventures Underground

TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER
Or Seeking the Platinum Treasure

TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY
Or A Daring Escape by Airship

TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA
Or The Perils of Moving Picture Taking

TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT
Or On the Border for Uncle Sam

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK