A Coded Message
The dark, curly-haired boy who lay on the sand stirred slightly as Dan
and Brad bent down to shake his arm.
Seeing their faces above him, he pulled himself up on an elbow, staring
at them with blank expression.
Fear gleamed momentarily in his steel-gray eyes, and then he seemed to
relax. With a tired sigh, he settled back, clutching convulsively at the
sand.
Though the Cubs tried twice to arouse him, he did not respond.
“He’s completely worn out,” Brad said, deeply troubled.
“Obviously he’s been in the river,” Dan added. “My guess is he’s
exhausted from a long swim. Ever see him before?”
Brad shook his head. “I’m pretty sure he never went to any of the Webster
City schools or I’d remember him. Must be a newcomer.”
“Whoever he is, he shouldn’t lie here in wet clothes.”
“You’re right, Dan. He’ll catch his death in this night air. And he
probably needs medical attention.”
“Think we could carry him to the Cave?”
“Not by ourselves, Dan. We need the other Cubs to help.”
Wetting his fingers, Brad gave the shrill whistle which had been agreed
upon as the signal to mark the end of the treasure hunt.
Immediately the other Cubs began to gather from all sections of the
beach.
“Gosh! What fast workers you little guys are!” Mack Tibbets complained
goodnaturedly as he hurried up. “It didn’t take you long to dig up the
chest!”
“We haven’t found it yet,” Brad replied. “But we have stumbled into
something else.”
Already Mack’s startled gaze had fastened upon the sprawled figure of the
boy on the sand. Before he could comment, Mr. Hatfield and the other Cubs
arrived.
“What’s this?” the Cub leader demanded, stopping short.
Dan explained how he and Brad had found the strange boy lying on the
sand, adding: “The kid raised up a second and then lapsed off.”
“Unconscious?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Brad replied. “He seemed more exhausted than
anything else. We haven’t touched him.”
Mr. Hatfield knelt in the sand, feeling the boy’s pulse which was weak
and fast. Carefully he turned him over to look directly into his face.
Again the eyelids fluttered open and his lips moved slightly. Mr.
Hatfield bent closer but could not distinguish the words.
“Any idea who he is?” he asked the Cubs.
“We never saw him before,” Brad answered. “We were looking for the
treasure when Dan noticed him lying here by the boat.”
“He must have crawled from the water only a few minutes ago,” Mr.
Hatfield said. The Cub leader had noticed long marks in the sand,
indicating that the boy had dragged himself beyond reach of the waves. “I
suppose we’d better send for an ambulance—”
His words trailed off, for the boy on the sand unexpectedly had stirred
to life. As if aroused by hearing the Cub leader’s remark, he tried to
sit up.
“Easy, lad,” Mr. Hatfield advised, placing a supporting arm about his
shoulders. “We’ll get you to a hospital.”
The boy’s head shook in a vigorous negative. His fingers gripped Mr.
Hatfield’s arm in a hard pressure.
“No!” he whispered fiercely. “No!”
Puzzled by the intensity of the boy’s reaction, Mr. Hatfield studied him
a moment in silence.
“You’ve been in the river?” he asked as the other offered no information.
Again the head bobbed, this time in an affirmative answer.
“Who are you?” Mr. Hatfield inquired, stripping off his leather jacket
and wrapping it about the shivering boy. “How did you get in the river?”
The boy merely stared at the Cub leader and did not answer. Then with a
supreme effort, he tried to pull away from the supporting arm.
“I go,” he mumbled. “All right now.”
“Where will you go?” interposed the Cub leader. “Don’t be foolish. You’re
in no condition to walk. Come on, boys. Let’s take him to the Cave.”
Having no stretcher or board which could be used as one, Brad and Mr.
Hatfield made a seat of their arms and carried the boy to the steps
leading up into the Cave. There they were joined by Mr. Holloway and
Red’s father who helped.
Once in the Cave, the Cubs made the boy comfortable on a couch. Stripping
off his wet garments, they wrapped him in a warm blanket.
“Feeling better?” Mr. Hatfield asked him. “I think I should call a
doctor.”
“No—please,” he mumbled, pleading with his eyes.
To Mr. Hatfield and the fathers of the Cubs it was apparent that the boy
slowly was recovering from his ordeal in the river. And it also was
evident that for some reason, he did not wish to reveal anything about
himself.
“Suppose you tell us your name,” Mr. Hatfield suggested, seating himself
beside the boy.
The youth regarded him with a stony stare and answered no word.
“Maybe you’ll tell us a little later,” Mr. Hatfield said kindly.
Deciding to leave the boy alone for awhile, he retired to a far corner of
the Cave to talk over the matter with Mr. Suell and Midge’s father.
Neither the Cubs nor their fathers ever had seen the boy before.
“It’s queer how he came to be in the river,” Mr. Hatfield remarked in an
undertone. “Plainly, he’s trying to hide something.”
“Think we should turn him over to the police for investigation?” Mr.
Holloway asked, looking troubled.
“He seems like a good sort,” the Cub leader replied. “My judgment would
be to wait and see what develops. He may be suffering from shock, though
I think his refusal to talk is deliberate.”
Brad and Dan, who had taken charge of the boy’s wet garments, now
approached Mr. Hatfield.
“What is it, boys?” he inquired, aware by their manner that they had an
important disclosure to make.
Brad asked the Cub leader if he would step outside to a platform from
which the wooden steps descended.
Surprised by the request, Mr. Hatfield followed the two Cubs.
“What’s up?” he questioned when they were beyond the hearing of the
others. “You’ve learned something about that youngster?”
“We were hanging up his clothes, and sort of went through his pockets,”
Brad confessed. “Maybe we shouldn’t have—”
“On the whole, I think I might have done the same,” Mr. Hatfield
reassured him. “The boy evidently has no intention of telling us anything
about himself. So I figure it’s up to us to puzzle out a few facts for
ourselves.”
“Here’s what we found,” Dan said, offering Mr. Hatfield a scrap of heavy
wrapping paper.
The Cub leader snapped on his flashlight to study the writing. Only two
words appeared, preceded by a string of puzzling numerals.
“020614 7552845 24
Skeleton Island.”
“Queer,” Mr. Hatfield commented. “You say this paper came from the boy’s
pocket?”
“Yes, it was wadded up inside an old cigarette case,” Dan explained.
“That’s, why it wasn’t water-soaked.”
“Find anything else?”
“Only a couple of handkerchiefs, a pocket knife and a few odds and ends,”
Brad replied.
“Nothing to indicate who the boy is or where he came from?”
“Not a thing, sir. The only clue is this scrap of paper. What do you make
of it, Mr. Hatfield?”
“Frankly, I’m puzzled, Brad. This reference to Skeleton Island seems very
odd.”
“Do you suppose those numerals could be a code of some sort?” Dan asked
eagerly.
“Well, that’s hard to say. But by all means hang on to this paper, Dan.”
“We sure will,” Dan promised, replacing it in his pocket. “If it should
be a code maybe we can work it out. The only trouble is, I wouldn’t know
where to start.”
Footsteps now were heard padding softly on the steps leading to the
platform.
Gazing down, the Cubs saw that it was Mrs. Holloway, who had arrived. The
official Den Mother climbed slowly, carrying a heavy hamper of food.
Dan and Brad darted down the stairs to help with the basket.
“Dear me, these steps seem steeper every time I climb them,” she laughed,
pausing on the platform to recapture her breath.
Observing through the open doorway of the Cave that all the Cubs had
gathered there, Mrs. Holloway expressed surprise that the treasure hunt
had ended so early.
“Why, I’m late bringing the food!” she exclaimed. “I expected the beach
outing to last at least another half hour.”
Mr. Hatfield told her what had occurred, adding: “Perhaps you can do
something for the boy. He’s inside.”
“You’ve sent for a doctor?” Mrs. Holloway inquired.
“Yes, Mr. Suell went after Dr. Redfield a few minutes ago. The lad seems
to be coming around all right. He’s a strange sort of boy—so far, he
won’t tell us his name or anything about himself.”
“I’ll find out,” Mrs. Holloway said confidently.
Inside the Cave, nearly all of the Cubs had gathered about the couch
where the strange boy lay. His dark brown eyes now appeared alert, and
roved systematically over the room, taking in every detail.
He noted an animal skin which hung on the wall above the couch, a shelf
of Indian handicraft articles, and raffia baskets made by the Cubs. His
gaze dwelt longest upon a silver trophy engraved with the Den 2 name.
“We won that cup in the Pack handicraft show,” Chips volunteered,
observing the boy’s interest. “Red and I made an Indian headdress which
took top honors.”
“Aw, cut out the boasting,” Red interposed with a laugh. “Remember, if it
hadn’t been for Brad and Dan recovering that feather war bonnet after it
was carried down river with the flood, the Den wouldn’t have won a
thing.”
“That’s right,” Chips admitted readily. “We all worked together to earn
the trophy. And to clear the Den name too.”
As all the Cubs knew, the feathers which had been so skillfully woven
into the headdress had been obtained from the Silverton Pheasant Farm not
many miles distant.
Due to a misunderstanding, all the Cubs had been accused of trespassing,
and Chips and Red of stealing. Only by diligent work had Dan and Brad
cleared the two boys of the charge.
The story of how a group of daring pheasant thieves was brought to
justice, has been told in the first volume of a series, entitled: “Dan
Carter, Cub Scout.”
Quietly taking charge, Mrs. Holloway cleared the bedside by assigning the
Cubs to small tasks about the Cave. From a thermos bottle she poured a
steaming cup of hot chocolate which she pressed to the boy’s lips.
He drank slowly and then with a grateful smile expressed his thanks.
“You’re feeling better now, aren’t you?” the Den Mother said,
straightening the blankets on the couch.
The boy nodded.
“Not very talkative, are you?” Mrs. Holloway asked with a warm smile.
“But then, you’ve had a most harrowing experience. How in the world did
you get in the river so late at night?”
The strange lad did not rise to this bait, but allowed the question to
remain unanswered.
“You haven’t told us your name yet,” Mrs. Holloway reminded him.
“Jacques,” he answered after a long hesitation.
“Why, that’s a French name, isn’t it? Jacques—what?”
Again the boy did not answer, merely staring at her with eyes which held
a troubled expression.
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Holloway. “If you don’t feel like answering
questions, I won’t press you. Later on perhaps you’ll tell us about
yourself.”
She sat by the couch for a few minutes and then as Mr. Suell came in with
Dr. Redfield, retired to talk to the Cub leader again.
“It’s no use—I couldn’t get a word out of him,” she confessed. “My guess
is that he is foreign-born. And his first name, Jacques, would indicate
it.”
“None of the Cubs ever have seen him before,” Mr. Hatfield remarked. “A
slip of paper was found in his pocket bearing the name Skeleton Island.”
“Then he may live there.”
“Possibly,” Mr. Hatfield conceded. “However, the island belongs to
Jonathan Manheim. I’ve never heard of anyone staying there except a
caretaker who looks after the property.”
“What’s to be done with the boy?”
“We’ll have to try to find his people. Possibly he’s a runaway. In that
case, he may refuse to tell us the name of his parents or where he came
from. It may take a day or two to get his background.”
“I’ll be glad to have him stay at my home tonight.”
“I’d figured on taking him with me,” Mr. Hatfield replied. “That is, if
the doctor approves. Let’s see what he has to say.”
Dr. Redfield had completed his examination of the boy and was preparing
to leave the Cave. Not wishing to discuss the patient in his presence, he
joined the Cub leader and Mrs. Holloway outside on the platform.
“What’s the verdict, doctor?” Mr. Hatfield inquired.
“Oh, he should be all right by tomorrow morning,” the doctor answered.
“He’s suffering a little from shock, but nothing serious. Mr. Suell told
me the boy was found on the beach and apparently had become exhausted
from a long swim.”
“That’s the way we figured it out. He’s told us nothing.”
“The boy has no serious injuries,” Dr. Redfield continued. “In examining
him, I did find several bruises on his legs and back.”
“What would you say was the cause, doctor?”
“I couldn’t be certain, but offhand I would think he had been beaten.”
“Then our theory that he’s a runaway may be right after all. By the way,
doctor, the boy can be moved safely? I thought I’d take him to my home
for the night.”
“He’ll be all right if he doesn’t exert himself,” the doctor replied.
“Keep him warm and quiet. If you need me in the morning, telephone and
I’ll make a more complete examination.”
After the doctor had gone, Mr. Hatfield and the Cubs prepared to close up
the Cave for the night. Deciding to leave the treasure chest buried on
the beach, the boys voted to resume the interrupted hunt at their next
weekly meeting.
Mrs. Holloway served sandwiches, chocolate and cookies to all the Cubs.
Jacques refused to eat anything but did accept another cup of hot
beverage.
“Now let’s all sing the Cub pledge before we leave,” Mr. Hatfield
proposed.
The boys gathered around and to the tune of America, warbled:
“‘Cub friendships, pure and deep,
We promise we will keep
Our pledge to thee;
We will honor and obey Akela all the way
And on that twelfth birthday
Good Scouts we’ll be!’”
At the end of the song, all the Cubs gave the salute, two fingers raised
to their foreheads. Then the meeting began to break up.
“Brad, if you and Dan will stay here with Jacques, I’ll go home for my
car,” the Cub leader said. “Then we can get him down the stairs and
directly into the automobile. It shouldn’t take me long.”
“We’ll be glad to wait,” Dan offered eagerly.
After Mr. Hatfield had gone, the Cubs and their fathers began to drift
off home. Soon only Mrs. Holloway, her son Midge, Brad and Dan remained.
“I’ll wait for Mr. Hatfield,” the Den Mother said. “He should be coming
soon.”
“I see a car parking now on the road across from the beach,” Brad
observed. From where he stood near the Cave doorway, he could view the
entire river front.
“Then I’ll run along,” Mrs. Holloway said, gathering up hamper and
thermos bottles. “Good-bye, Jacques. I’ll certainly see you tomorrow.”
“_Merci_,” he mumbled, using the French word for expressing thanks.
The Cave became deeply silent after Mrs. Holloway had gone. Brad and Dan
moved close to the couch, studying their guest with curiosity.
“Jacques, can’t you speak English, or don’t you want to?” Brad asked
presently. “You’re trying to hide something—isn’t that it?”
Again the boy on the couch flashed them an inscrutable smile. But with a
gesture which plainly bespoke gratitude, he reached out to grasp Dan’s
hand.
His next act was deliberate. With two fingers extended along Dan’s wrist,
he squeezed the hand with a grip which unmistakably was the official Cub
handclasp.
“Gosh all fish hooks!” Dan exclaimed, staring down at the boy in
astonishment. “You’re a Cub too! And you never let out a hint of it when
the others were here.”
Jacques allowed the boy’s hand to slip from his own. With a slight shrug
and another mysterious smile, he closed his eyes and pretended to drowse.