With the aid of the line, he pulled the boat close under the stern of the vessel, and, a moment later, he slipped like a cat over the rail of the _Pirate_ and reached her deck. Frank crouched low in the shadow of the wheel, listening and trying to peer through the darkness. He saw no moving thing. The wind was whistling through the rigging of the heaving schooner, and a loose rope was making a slatting sound, but that was all. Frank moved. He did not stand upright, but, on his hands and knees, he crept along the deck toward the companionway. He had not gone far before the sound of voices reached his ears. “They are all below,” he decided. The companionway was reached, and he started to slip down the stairs. He had not gone far before he halted suddenly and turned his head, having heard a sound behind him. At that very moment, with a hoarse shout, a man sprang down the stairs and landed on Frank’s shoulders. With a crash and a bump, they went to the bottom together. Frank received a shock that robbed him of his senses for the moment, so that he was utterly helpless. CHAPTER VIII. WHAT BECAME OF BART. When Merriwell recovered a light was glaring straight into his eyes, causing him to blink. He saw four rough-looking men around him, and realized that he was in the cabin of the mysterious vessel. One of the men was Capt. Horn, and, on closer view, he looked more the ruffian than he had seemed at a distance. His beard was black as ink, while his huge nose was turned up and his nostrils were wide open, like the mouths of two black funnels. He showed his teeth as he saw the captured boy look up. “It seems to be raining boys to-night,” he said, with a sneer. “Well, I can take care of ’em as fast as they come.” Frank looked at the others, and quickly decided that they were fit followers for such a captain. “Excuse me,” he said, with an effort. “Just dropped in. Thought I’d come aboard and see how much you’ll ask to take me to New York. Must have slipped on the stairs--or something. Don’t seem to know what happened. First thing I knew I fell, and then--here I am.” “Cute, ain’t ye!” sneered Capt. Horn. “Think you’ll make me swaller that, I suppose! Think I’m a durned fool! Made a mistake this time--biggest mistake of your life.” “You may be right,” acknowledged Frank, promptly. “It’s just like me. Seems to come natural for me to make mistakes. Made a mistake when I joined that picnic excursion. Made another when I let the boat go off without me. And now you say I made another when I came aboard to see if you won’t take me back to New York. I am getting it in the neck, sure.” “What’s this you’re trying to tell, anyway? Spit it out. How’d you happen to be on the island?” “Came down on an excursion, got left, and here I am. I’ll pay well if you’ll take me to New York.” Capt. Horn pulled his beard and glared at Frank. “What sort of an excursion?” he asked. “One of the regular kind from New York?”