The captain’s aim had been hurried and the bullet sped singing through the air several feet above the launch, and before he could pull the trigger the second time the captain and mate of the tug had borne him back against the side of the deck house and wrested the revolver from his hand. The _Vagabond_, with no one at the wheel, charged across the tug’s bow and headed for the west. On the floor of the cockpit Dan was fighting and struggling to regain both his feet and the revolver which he had dropped under the suddenness of the attack, and which now lay beyond his reach. “Let me up!” he panted. “In a mu-mu-mu-minute!” gasped Tom, still holding on as though for dear life. Then Bob sprang to the wheel, brought the _Vagabond’s_ head again into the course for Provincetown, and looked back at the tug, already a couple of hundred yards astern. The two captains were still arguing it out near the cabin door, but the mate was on his way to the wheelhouse. A deck hand was trying to recover the boat hook, which had fallen into the water when the _Vagabond_ started up. In a moment he had succeeded, and the tug’s nose swung around and pointed toward Sanstable. A minute later she was on her way home, billowing smoke from her stack and evidently resolved to make up for lost time. Bob called to Tom. “Let him up, Tommy,” he said. Nelson, rubbing the oil and grease from his hands with a bunch of waste, appeared at the door. “Wh-what the dickens!” he cried in amazement as he looked. “Oh, Tommy and Dan have been having a little football!” answered Bob. Dan climbed to his feet and observed Tom disgustedly. “You think you’re mighty smart, I suppose!” he growled. “For two cents I’d bump your silly fat head against——” “Cut it out!” said Bob sharply. “You’ve made a fool of yourself long enough, Dan. You came near getting yourself plugged full of holes, and Tommy did just right. You think yourself a bloody hero, I dare say, but you ought to be kicked. Nice mess you’d made of it if that old terror had put a bullet into you! Next time I go cruising, I’ll bet there’ll be no red-headed lunatics aboard! Hand me my revolver!” Dan, abashed, picked up the pistol and gave it to its owner. “You needn’t be so blamed grouchy,” he muttered. “You’d make anyone grouchy,” answered Bob. “And I want you to understand that you’re to let my things alone after this.” He broke the revolver to extract the cartridges. Then he looked in surprise at Dan. “Why,” he cried, “it isn’t loaded!” “I suppose I know it, don’t I?” growled Dan. “I couldn’t find your silly old cartridges!” CHAPTER XI—RECORDS A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE