A Barbecue for the Cubs
Despite Mr. Hatfield’s misgivings, the jamboree came off that night
according to schedule.
At the appointed hour, the island owner’s motorboat and the power raft
were at the Webster City Yacht Club docks to pick up members of Den 1.
Mr. Manheim personally took command of the speedboat, while his man
Jabowski carried the overflow of boys across the river on the open raft.
In an ugly mood, the caretaker complained that the barbecue was “a lot of
stupid nonsense.”
Actually, he smarted from a lecture delivered by his employer. For three
hours that afternoon the island owner had tried to find Jabowski. Finally
tracing him to a waterfront tavern, he had warned the man that unless he
paid attention to his duties, he would be discharged.
Jabowski blamed the Cubs for the reprimand, and so did his utmost to make
them feel uncomfortable.
“Sit still!” he ordered Ross Langdon, who shifted his weight as the raft
chugged across the river. “You want to upset us?”
“Aw, I hardly moved,” Ross growled. “Anyway, if this raft isn’t safe, you
shouldn’t be taking kids across the river in it.”
“The raft’s safe enough, if you behave yourselves.”
“We are behaving,” Ross retorted. “For crying out loud, what’s eating you
anyhow? You’ve done nothing but crab since we left the dock.”
“You’d crab too if your boss gave orders to have a barbecue on eight
hours notice! But that’s Manheim for you. Always doing things in the
grand manner—only someone else has to do the work!”
Not much impressed by the caretaker’s complaints, the Cubs eagerly turned
their faces toward Skeleton Island. Huge fires burned on the beach and
they could hear the music of an eight-piece band.
“Say, this is going to be a shing-ding!” Ross said, pleased. “We should
have a swell time tonight. Good grub, Mr. Jabowski?”
“Baked clams and lobster and roasted ox! That ought to be enough to
satisfy you kids and your parents.”
“Say! Mr. Manheim’s doing all right by us,” Ross said, impressed. “We’ll
have a swell time tonight.”
Although the caretaker could have landed the raft at the beach, he
proceeded up-island to a dock which extended out into much deeper water.
“Hey, what’s the idea, bringing us clear up here?” Ross protested, eager
to join the other boys on the island.
“Give your gums a rest, will you?” Jabowski demanded rudely. “I’m
handling this raft.”
At last after taking his time in fastening the craft to a dock post, he
allowed the boys to disembark. Quickly they joined the Cubs from Den 2.
Nearly thirty Cubs and their parents already had arrived at the island.
Mr. Manheim went here and there, shaking hands with the grownups and
joking with the boys. The music was excellent, the food plentiful. Yet
despite the efforts of everyone to have a good time, the party soon began
to go a trifle flat.
At that point Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father took a hand, introducing
various games. The fun revived. However, everyone appeared relieved when
the gathering began to break up at nine-thirty.
Mr. Manheim took two boatloads of Cubs and their parents to shore and
returned for the third. Meanwhile, Jabowski had made one trip in the much
slower raft.
“One more trip will wind it up,” the island owner estimated, counting the
Cubs who were to remain overnight at their camp. “I can take five, and
the others all can get on the raft.”
“Seven on the raft?” Mr. Hatfield interposed in disapproval. “Isn’t that
loading it rather heavily?”
“Not at all,” Mr. Manheim returned, annoyed to have his judgment
questioned. “The raft was built to carry a much heavier load.”
“It seems sturdy enough, but there are no rails—”
“Jabowski will keep his eye on the boys.”
Dismissing the matter, the island owner filled his speedboat to capacity
and pulled away. Following orders, Jabowski herded the remaining Cubs
aboard the raft.
When all were seated who were to leave the island, not a spare inch of
space remained.
Mr. Hatfield, who had been watching the loading with troubled gaze,
stepped to the edge of the dock to speak to Jabowski.
“Why not make another trip?” he suggested. “The raft is overloaded.”
“Mr. Manheim’s orders were to take ’em all in one load,” Jabowski said
stubbornly. “I do as he tells me.”
He started the motor and the raft slowly pulled away.
“Hey, wait!” Ross Langdon shouted. “I forgot my cap!”
Before anyone could stop him, he leaped to his feet. The over-weighted
raft tilted sharply to the left.
“Sit down!” Jabowski yelled.
The warning came much too late. Other Cubs, their feet under water, were
scrambling frantically for safety.
As the raft became even more off-balance, it tilted to a sharper angle,
sliding all the Cubs except one into the river. Jabowski, clinging to the
motor box, managed to hold on.
The water into which the Cubs had fallen was well over their heads.
Weighted down by shoes and clothing, they churned the surface in a
frantic effort to keep up.
Ross, an expert swimmer, seized one of the Cubs and towed him ashore.
Mr. Hatfield and Midge’s father both plunged in to assist others to
safety.
Two of the Cubs grasped the side of the raft and were pulled aboard by
the frightened Jabowski.
Meanwhile, on shore, Dan had kicked off his shoes, ready to help.
“Where’s Tim Tyler?” he shouted.
Tim was the youngest and smallest member of Den 1. Also, as all the boys
knew, he was the only Cub who had never learned to swim a stroke.
In the darkness there now was no glimpse of the boy. He was neither on
the raft nor anywhere visible in the water.
“He was aboard when the raft upset,” Dan cried. “I saw him just before it
went over. Maybe he’s pinned underneath!”
Without waiting for others to act, the boy made a clean dive from the end
of the dock. With the speed of a bullet he shot beneath the raft.
To his confusion, it was not flat underneath as he had expected. Instead,
the craft was laced with four large metal tanks.
At the moment, Dan had no time to think of their significance or to
wonder why they were there. Holding his breath, he groped about in the
dark waters of the cool river.
He felt rather than saw the body which was wedged between the tanks in
the very centermost portion of the raft.
Seizing Tim by an arm, Dan attempted to swim out with him. His head and
shoulders came hard against the metal tanks and he could make no
progress.
Dan’s breath now was growing short and he knew he must work fast.
Treading water, he used both arms to try to free the imprisoned Cub.
At first he could not move the boy an inch. Then Dan’s hand encountered a
jagged nail, and he realized that Tim’s clothing had speared on it.
With a hard jerk, he ripped the garment free. Then, with the limp form of
the boy on his left hip, he swam and pulled them both toward the outer
edge of the raft.
His heart began to pound and his lungs to feel as if they would explode.
Could he keep going? He _had_ to, Dan told himself. To abandon Tim never
entered his thoughts. Only a stroke or two more—
When it seemed to Dan that he had reached the very end, a strong hand
grasped his clothing. Both he and Tim, to whom he clung desperately, were
hauled up onto the raft.
“Good work, Dan!” Mr. Hatfield’s praise rang in his ears. “You saved
Tim.”
All the Cubs were taken ashore to dry out by the fire. Mr. Holloway and
the Cub leader stretched Tim out on the dock, wrapping him in blankets.
It was unnecessary to apply artificial respiration, for he soon opened
his eyes and began to breathe normally.
“We’ll look after Tim,” Mr. Hatfield advised Dan as the shivering boy
hovered near. “Hike to the tent and change your clothes.”
“Mr. Hatfield, there’s something I want to tell you—”
“Later, Dan.”
Brad threw a blanket over the boy’s shoulders and led him away.
“The Den is proud of you, Dan,” he declared as he waited while the other
changed into dry clothing. “You earned yourself a medal tonight.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dan replied. “Or rather, anyone would have done
the same.”
“You thought and acted in a split-second. That was what counted, Dan. If
Mr. Manheim hadn’t been so bull-headed about taking too many Cubs on the
raft, the accident wouldn’t have occurred.”
“It was badly balanced from the start, Brad. I can’t understand those
tanks—”
“What tanks, Dan?”
“Why there were four of them on the underside of the raft.”
“Tanks? You’re sure?”
“I certainly am. They were long and flat and made of metal. Tim was
wedged between them, his trousers snagged on a nail.”
“Maybe they were gasoline tanks.”
“They looked like it. But why would the raft need so many? These tanks
would hold fifteen or twenty gallons each.”
“Another thing, the gas tank that feeds the motor is on the top side of
the raft,” Brad said thoughtfully. “It does seem queer. You told Mr.
Hatfield?”
“I aim to. He was too busy working on Tim.”
Dan finished dressing and the two boys sought the warmth of the fire.
Tim, wrapped in blankets, was brought there.
The other drenched Cubs were lent clothing by the more fortunate boys of
Den 2.
Presently Mr. Manheim returned from across the river. Informed by
Jabowski as to what had occurred, he was profuse in his apologies for the
mishap.
“I can’t understand how it happened,” he said to Mr. Hatfield. “Why,
we’ve transported lumber and very heavy objects on that raft. We never
had an accident before.”
“There’s always a first time,” the Cub leader replied. “Fortunately, no
serious harm has been done. But it was a miracle the raft upset at the
dock and not in mid-stream.”
After Mr. Manheim had taken the Den 1 Cubs ashore in the motorboat, the
Skeleton Island camp settled down for the night.
Not until then did Dan have opportunity to tell Mr. Hatfield of seeing
the gasoline tanks beneath the raft.
“I think that’s what made it upset,” he declared. “When the load shifted,
all the fuel ran to the same side.”
“Fuel tanks on the underside of a raft,” Sam Hatfield mused. “That seems
odd. Why would a raft need such large carrying capacity?”
“Maybe to supply another boat.”
“But Mr. Manheim’s motorcraft has a large tank. It doesn’t make sense to
me.”
“I figure Jabowski’s been supplying that motorboat Brad and I saw signal
from across the river,” Dan said.
“He may be selling Mr. Manheim’s gasoline and picking up a little extra
money for himself, Dan. I wouldn’t put it past him. That, I suppose,
would explain those tanks underneath the raft.”
“I’m wondering too if Jabowski may not be mixed up with the river
pirates.”
Mr. Hatfield gazed at the boy in amazement.
“Hold on, Dan!” he exclaimed. “You’re going too fast for me.”
“No one likes Jabowski,” Dan argued. “He has no friends. I know because
I’ve inquired.”
“The man isn’t very likeable, I’ll grant, but to accuse him of being a
crook is something I wouldn’t venture to do.”
“I’m not accusing him, Mr. Hatfield. I’m only wondering. You recall, on
the night the furs were stolen, a motorboat almost like Mr. Manheim’s
tore into Mr. Holloway’s sailboat.”
“I remember, Dan.”
“Since then, police have watched the waterfront for that boat. Especially
gasoline outlets.”
“I’ve read so in the papers, Dan.”
“According to the stories, police have been puzzled as to where the boat
owners put in for fuel.”
“I see you’re well informed on the subject, Dan,” Mr. Hatfield said,
smiling.
“I’ve read every word, because I’m interested. Maybe those river thieves
have moved out of here, but I have a hunch they’re just biding their time
before pulling another job.”
“Be that as it may, Dan, the Cubs can’t afford to mix themselves in any
such business. As I said before, if I thought Skeleton Island had become
a hideout for the river thieves, I’d never recommend that this camp site
be bought.”
“But if we don’t investigate, how can you know if the camp’s really
safe?” Dan argued.
“So that’s where this conversation has been pointing,” Mr. Hatfield
chuckled. “You’re proposing that the Cubs do a little sleuthing before we
leave here?”
“Couldn’t we?”
“What could we learn, Dan?”
“I’d like to find out more about Jabowski and his habits. I have an idea,
Mr. Hatfield, if you’d hear of it.”
“What is this idea, Dan?”
“You know that game we sometimes play of ‘Follow the Trail.’ One Cub goes
ahead and lays out a trail which the others tried to follow.”
Mr. Hatfield nodded. “It’s excellent training in observation for the
Cubs.”
“Well, I thought, if you’re willing, we might lay the trail across the
island and around Jabowski’s place. The Cubs could be instructed to
notice anything unusual and report.”
“Spy out the old hotel, you mean?”
“That’s right. Maybe it wouldn’t net anything. Then again, we might pick
up considerable information about Jabowski.”
Mr. Hatfield thought the matter over for a moment.
“We’ll be here only one day longer,” he said. “If we tried out your idea,
it would have to be early in the morning.”
“Then we may do it?”
“I’ll think it over,” Mr. Hatfield replied in a tone which was a
half-promise. “Get to sleep now, Dan. We’ll talk further of this
tomorrow.”