Victory for Den 2
At the “Y” swimming pool, Dan Carter and the Cubs lounged against the
tiled wall, awaiting the signal for start of the long-awaited Pack meet.
The gallery was jammed with spectators, for parents and friends of both
teams had turned out in large numbers to witness this decisive contest of
the season. A large silver cup, to be awarded the winning Den, stood on a
table in plain view of the swimmers.
“Gosh, I sure hope we can win that beautiful baby,” Midge said, gazing
longingly at the trophy. “Dan, we’re depending on you to do your stuff!”
“I’ll sure try,” Dan replied, shivering in his wet suit. “But you know
Ross! He’s jet propelled. Furthermore, he hasn’t forgotten how we won
that last meet.”
As the boys talked, Ross himself sauntered past. He paused to hitch up
his trunks and fix Dan with an amused eye.
“It’s going to be too bad for you, little shrimp,” he jeered. “This time,
you won’t win on a fluke! In fact, you won’t win. Period.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Midge cut in. “Take a look at the events that have
been posted.”
“What’s different about ’em?” Ross demanded suspiciously.
“The coaches got together and substituted a 75-yard free style for the
50-yard. They figure it’s a better test of swimming form. In the shorter
distance, a good turn at the wall gives a fellow a big advantage.”
“No one told me about changing the distance,” Ross muttered. “I’m going
to find out about this!”
The Cubs saw him arguing vigorously with his own coach and Mr. Hatfield.
The two men listened to his complaint but did not change the list of
scheduled events.
“It’s this way, Ross,” Mr. Hatfield explained. “The Cubs steadily have
increased their endurance as well as their speed. At the beginning of the
season, a 50-yard swim was a hard race for everyone concerned. Now it’s a
breeze. The 75-yard freestyle is a far better test of one’s real
ability.”
“Sure, I guess so,” Ross admitted, but he looked worried. Though the Den
1 coach had urged him many times to practice the longer length, he nearly
always had stopped short at the end of two turns.
While waiting for the starting signal, Dan at the other end of the pool
allowed his gaze to wander over the packed audience. In the back row near
the door he caught a glimpse of a short little man whose sharp-featured
face gave him a start.
“Midge, look over there!” he muttered, nudging his companion.
“Where?”
“He’s gone now,” Dan returned. “Slipped out through the door. For just a
minute I thought—”
A shrill blast from Mr. Hatfield’s whistle drove the matter from his mind
entirely. Scrambling to his feet, he lined up for the first event of the
meet.
In rapid order the events were run through, the back stroke, fancy
diving, the 100-yard relay race, and a breast stroke event. With only one
event remaining—the 75-yard freestyle, the score stood 20 to 16 in favor
of Den 2.
To win the meet the Cubs of Den 2 knew that Dan must defeat Ross for
first place. But in the freestyle relay event, the Den 1 swimmer had put
on a spectacular burst of speed to capture the event. The prospects
looked discouraging.
“Just swim your own race, Dan,” Mr. Holloway advised as the boy went to
the starting line.
The swimmers crouched above their lanes awaiting the signal. Sensing that
the race would be a close one, the audience rose to its feet.
Mr. Hatfield’s revolver cracked and the swimmers were off.
Almost together Ross and Dan struck the water in flat, fast racing dives.
From the start, the Den 1 swimmer took the lead.
Dan heard the groans of dismay from his teammates and instinctively
increased the tempo of his thrashing legs. Then he told himself he could
not hold the pace. Deliberately, he dropped back to his former rhythm.
The race would be a gruelling one at the end. He must save a little
reserve for that final spurt!
At the turn, Ross was nearly two body lengths ahead of Dan, his closest
competitor. Midge and a youth who swam for Den 1 were almost
neck-and-neck another three feet behind.
After the second length, Ross slowed down a bit. Dan’s arms and legs now
were moving with the easy precision of well-oiled machinery. Going into
the final turn, the boy suddenly realized that for the first time in the
race, he was a foot ahead!
The knowledge shocked him into losing the smooth rhythm of his stroke.
Ross, desperate to regain the lead, spurted ahead once more.
“Come on, Dan!” his teammates pleaded. “Come on!”
Across the pool, the Cubs of Den 1 were urging Ross to give his all. Both
boys put on a final thrust of speed.
Dan’s arms ached with fatigue but his breath was good. _Fight, fight,
fight!_ The words pounded through his brain and conveyed themselves to
his thrashing legs. His driving arms churned the water to foam as he put
forth a supreme effort.
The finish line was just ahead. As Dan surged for it with a feel of power
and strength, Ross suddenly seemed to cave in. His stroke lost all
rhythm, arm and leg movements became jerky.
Dan moved steadily ahead of him, touching the wall a full length ahead.
The audience burst into loud applause. Midge who came in third, after
Ross, also was given a big hand.
“Well, you did it, boy!” Brad declared, clapping Dan on the back. “Look
at that scoreboard!”
Mr. Hatfield was writing up the chalk figures—26 to 19 in favor of Den 2.
“We’ve won the silver cup!” Chips Davis added, joining in the
congratulations. “And not on any fluke either!”
His breath recovered, Ross came around to offer Dan his hand.
“You swam a dandy race and deserved to win,” he said warmly. “From now
on, I’m going in for heavy practice!”
“Next year we’ll have a real race,” Dan grinned. “You gave me stiff
competition this season.”
Following his teammates to the dressing room, the boy showered and
scrambled into street clothes. Victory had brought a warm inner glow. He
felt at peace with the world.
The feeling, however, was short lived. In leaving the dressing room, he
chanced to hear Mr. Holloway and the Den 1 coach discussing prospects of
obtaining Skeleton Island as a Scout camp.
“The deal’s definitely washed up,” Midge’s father told the coach. “Too
bad, because the site is the best one around Webster City.”
Since the weekend when the Cubs had camped on the island, Dan had not
seen Mr. Manheim or the caretaker, Jabowski. He and Brad had reported to
Mr. Hatfield their discovery of the old tunnel leading under the hotel.
However, the Cub leader had not considered it advisable to take the
matter up.
“It’s useless to speculate on what may have happened there,” he told the
disappointed boys. “To impress Mr. Manheim or the police, we need
evidence. Without it, we’ll be wise to let matters rest as they are.”
Dan also had been discouraged to learn that Frisk Fagan, the motorboat
operator, had been released from jail on bond. Realization that the man
was at liberty gave the boy a few uneasy moments. Though he expected no
trouble, he could not forget that he had been warned not to identify the
man.
As Dan removed his coat from the locker, Mack came hurrying up.
“Say, you’re wanted outside,” he informed. “A man wants to talk to you.”
“Who is he, Mack?”
“Didn’t say,” the other flung over his shoulder as he went on toward the
dressing room. “He’s waiting out in front of the building.”
Dan put on his coat and started for the street. By this time the main
part of the “Y” building was nearly deserted of visitors.
As he stepped out onto a stone porch giving exit to the street, a little
man in an overcoat pulled high around his neck emerged from the shadows.
Dan recoiled.
The man was Paper Bag Eddie.
“Hello, Dan,” the other said in his purring voice. “Want to take a little
ride with me?”
Dan started to retreat into the building, but Eddie blocked the doorway.
The dark street was deserted except for a taxi cab.
“Don’t let out a peep or make a false move,” the man said, tapping the
little paper bag he carried. “You’re coming with me.”
Taking a firm grasp upon Dan’s arm, he shoved him toward the waiting taxi
cab.
The boy braced his feet and started to resist. But as he opened his mouth
to let out a yell for help, Eddie jammed the paper bag into his ribs. He
felt the pressure of a revolver press against his flesh.
“Don’t yip, or I’ll let you have it,” the little man said in his pleasant
voice. “Just get in that taxi.”
Dan obeyed. As he slumped in the rear seat, he took a quick glance at the
driver. Though the face was unfamiliar, he thought the man resembled one
of the persons he had seen on the night Mr. Holloway’s motorboat had been
struck. It was an ugly face, cold and unfriendly. He realized with a
sinking heart that any appeal to the driver for help would be a waste of
breath.
Eddie sat close beside Dan, his stubby legs stretched out in front of
him.
“We have a little score to settle, Dan,” the man said, eyeing the boy
narrowly. “Remember?”
The words sent an icy chill chasing down Dan’s spine. Eddie hadn’t
forgotten his identification of Frisk Fagan. And this was the payoff!
“Where are you taking me?” he demanded.
Eddie merely smiled and settled back in the cab. The taxi driver, without
an order, shifted gears and they sped away.
Along the brightly lighted street, Dan saw many persons he knew walking
home from the swimming meet. But he was helpless to signal them or to let
anyone know of his plight.
At the next corner, the taxi turned, seeking a narrow, dark street.
Gradually it came to Dan that he was being driven to the waterfront. His
uneasiness increased.
The cab presently pulled up not far from a familiar group of warehouses.
Eddie made no move to leave the taxi. Instead, he seemed to be waiting
for someone.
Within five minutes, a tapping sound was heard along the dark street.
Craning his neck, Dan saw the blindman and his dog approaching the cab.
The boy’s heart leaped with hope. If only he could get word to the man,
or in some manner make known his predicament!
But a moment later Dan’s hopes nose-dived. The blindman came directly to
the cab. He greeted Eddie as an old friend.
“Sorry to be late,” he apologized. “You got the kid, I see.”
“Sure,” Eddie replied, lowering the cab window. “Everything set?”
“The shipment’s in, settin’ out on Dock 23 covered with canvas. All we
gotta do is distract the watchman while the sawing goes on.”
As he spoke, the blindman removed his dark glasses. His eyes as they
coldly appraised Dan looked perfectly normal. With a shock the boy
realized that Joe Matt never had been blind.
“He’s been a spotter for the gang of river pirates!” Dan thought. “All
the time he’s kept watch of shipments to learn when valuable ones go
through! Hank foolishly told him everything!”
Belatedly, it occurred to him that this was the night of the 24th. The
blindman had learned long ago that a valuable shipment of furs or other
merchandise was to be sent through on this day.
As Dan figured it out, the boy Jacques undoubtedly had been assigned to
relay the information to a member of the gang. The coded message must
have referred to the shipment and was in effect “Coming through on the
24th!” But something had gone awry. Either Jacques had rebelled or had
met with an accident as he crossed the river.
“That’s why the boy wouldn’t talk,” he thought. “He didn’t dare. He was
afraid of what the gang would do to him.”
Dan’s meditation was cut short by a poke in the ribs from Paper Bag
Eddie.
“Get out!” the man ordered. “If you do exactly as you’re told, you won’t
be hurt. But don’t try any monkey business.”
Dan was forced to walk along the dock ahead of the blindman and his dog.
Eddie loitered far behind.
“Now get this,” Joe Matt said. “One false move and Rudy will tear you to
shreds. You’ll do exactly as I say. These are your orders: You’re to talk
to Hank and keep him occupied. I don’t care what you say, just so you
hold his attention. If you fail—”
“So I’m to be a decoy?”
“You’re to throw him off his guard. Just keep him away from the dock
while our work goes on.”
“Work! You’re stealing another shipment of furs!”
“Right, my boy. From under Hank’s very nose too!” The blindman paused in
the shadow of the warehouse. “See the stupid fool!”
The warehouseman nervously paced back and forth along the dock.
Frequently he paused to glance at a pile of boxes which had been covered
by a heavy canvas.
“How do you aim to get the furs?” Dan whispered. “If you make any false
move, Hank will blow his whistle and the river police will be here in a
flash.”
“Don’t you worry yourself, my boy. Just do as you’re told and don’t ask
questions.”
The blindman gave Dan a shove, following a pace behind. At sound of his
tapping cane, the warehouseman whirled around.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said in relief. “I’m a mite jumpy tonight. Guarding a
valuable cargo. She’s due to be picked up in another hour. It sure will
be a load off my mind.”
“Hank, I got a sliver in my hand a minute ago,” the blindman said in a
half-whine intended to arouse sympathy. “Will you help me get it out?”
“Can’t see a thing out here.”
“Come inside where there’s a good light.”
The warehouseman hesitated. “I shouldn’t leave the dock—”
“Oh, it will only take a minute. You can watch the canvas from the
doorway. Dan here can help you keep an eye on it.”
“My eyesight isn’t very good at night,” Dan said significantly.
The blindman’s arm pressed hard into his flesh.
“Lead me inside, Dan,” the man ordered. “That’s a good boy. You’re a real
help to a poor soul without any eyes.”
The three entered the warehouse where they switched on a bright electric
light. Carefully he examined the blindman’s hand.
“It’s only a little sliver,” he said. “Hardly worth bothering about.
Here, I’ll get it out in a jiffy.”
With his knife he removed the tiny piece of wood.
Dan, who stood where he could see the canvas which covered the crate of
furs, thought he could hear the indistinct sound of someone sawing wood.
But he could see no one.
Then the explanation dawned upon him! Hours before, a boat had slipped in
beneath the dock, lying in wait for this moment. Now the river pirates
boldly were carving through the dock with steel braces, bits and saws!
Undoubtedly the blindman himself had given the go-ahead signal by tapping
with his cane.
“Those crooks will have the box through the hole and into their boat
before Hank catches on!” he thought.
Dan sidled toward the door. Rudy growled and barred his way.
Outside the warehouse, Eddie lounged against a wall, smoking a cigarette.
All escape was cut off. Even if he could let Hank know what was
happening, Dan knew it was too late to prevent the theft.
“Well, Dan, how did you do in the swimming meet tonight?” Hank asked,
making conversation. “Give us a full account.”
“We won,” Dan answered shortly.
Again he felt Matt’s hard pressure on his arm. Knowing that he was
expected to keep the warehouseman interested, he grudgingly added a few
details.
From where the boy stood, he could see the high mound of canvas. Suddenly
it deflated like a pricked balloon.
The river pirates had succeeded in lowering the loot through the dock
hole into their boat! In another moment they would speed away unchecked.
The sight goaded Dan beyond thought of personal risk.
“Quick, Hank!” he shouted. “They’re stealing the furs!”
The watchman whirled toward the door, only to have Joe Matt’s cane crash
down on his head. Hank staggered back, slowly collapsing on the floor.
When Dan would have leaped to the man’s assistance, the dog barred his
way.
Joe Matt seized the boy by the arm, pushing him roughly out the door. Dan
resisted with all his strength. But he was powerless in the grasp of the
other.
The motorboat, loaded with the boxes and crates of furs, had emerged from
beneath the dock. As it coasted alongside, the blindman shoved Dan ahead
of him and down into the craft.
Frisk Fagan crouched at the steering wheel. Jabowski, his face well
hidden beneath a cap, huddled beside one of the boxes which had been
shoved half way into the cabin. Jacques sat slumped over in the stern of
the boat.
“Hey! What’s the idea?” Frisk Fagan growled. “We can’t take that kid
along. We’re overloaded now.”
“We got to take him along,” Joe Matt answered. “If we don’t, he’ll spill
everything to the cops. Git going!”
Leaping down into the boat, the man bound Dan’s legs and wrists with a
stout piece of cord.
“Better gag him too,” Fagan advised. “The river is swarming with cops.
Three boats out watching the shore. We can’t risk having him yip at the
wrong minute.”
“I’ll fix him right,” Joe muttered. He pulled the thongs tighter about
the boy’s wrists and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth.
The motorboat sped away from the dock, nosing directly toward Skeleton
Island.
Scarcely was the craft well out from shore than those aboard heard the
shrill blast of a police whistle. Dan’s heart leaped with hope.
“We’ve been seen!” Joe Matt muttered. “Either that, or Hank has revived
and given the alarm! Faster, Frisk!”
“I’m pushin’ her as hard as I can.”
“A police boat is putting out from shore now,” Joe Matt informed,
scanning the river. “Probably armed with a 45-calibre submachine gun!”
“Keep cool,” Frisk advised. “We have a head start. We’ll make the island
okay and can hide the boat in the tunnel.”
“And if it’s found there I’ll take the rap,” Jabowski whined. “I wish
you’d never mixed me up in this dirty mess. And you dragged Jacques in
against his will—”
“Shut up!” Frisk said harshly. “We’ll get out of this. But if we don’t,
we’ll all take the rap together.”
“Throw the cargo overboard,” Jabowski pleaded. “Then the cops won’t find
any evidence even if they do catch up with us.”
He arose and reached for one of the smaller boxes. Joe Matt shoved him
back.
“Lay off!” he ordered. “We went to plenty of risk to carry out this job
tonight. We ain’t pitching any $10,000 haul just because a copper blows a
little tin whistle!”
By this time, a powerfully motored police boat had taken up the pursuit.
Jabowski watched anxiously as its brilliant searchlight swept the water.
“She’s coming up fast!” he exclaimed. “They’ll soon be within firing
distance.”
“Keep your shirt on,” Frisk advised, hunching lower over the steering
wheel. “The cops don’t know for sure we got the stuff. They may take the
boat for Manheim’s just as we figured. While they’re wondering whether
they dare risk taking a shot, we’ll make the island.”
“I dunno,” Jabowski said fearfully. “They’re gaining.”
“We’ll make the island,” Frisk repeated with more confidence. “The Dawson
Street bridge is just ahead. Once past there, we’ll be hidden from view.
We’ll slip behind the island into the tunnel. You left Manheim’s boat
tied to the wharf?”
“Sure, just as you ordered.”
“Good. If the cops come by and check they’ll find the motor cold. You can
claim you haven’t been away from the island all night.”
“They’ll question me. I’m not willing to take the rap while the rest of
you get away.”
“The cops can’t prove a thing once we make the tunnel,” Fagan growled.
“This is our last haul in this area. You’ll get your share and we pull
out to a safer spot.”
“We pull out all right,” Jabowski muttered. “After tonight I’m through. I
never should have dragged poor Jacques into this mess—he tried to run
away—”
The caretaker glanced briefly at his nephew, huddled in the stern of the
boat. Jacques gave no sign he had heard.
“If the cops overtake us—” Jabowski whined.
“Oh, pipe down,” Frisk said irritably. “We’re coming to the bridge now.
We’re safe!”
Lying quite helpless on the deck of the speeding motorboat, Dan suddenly
saw Jacques come to life.
With no warning whatsoever, the boy sprang to his feet. Savagely, he
hurled himself upon the surprised Frisk Fagan, wresting the steering
wheel from him.
“Hey, have you gone crazy?” Frisk shouted.
With both hands he gave the boy a mighty shove which sent him reeling
backwards over the gunwale.
Out of control, the motorboat crashed with terrific impact into the
bridge pier.