"I say, Uncle Norman, you surely have a crab of a man to look after your
turkeys," Bob remarked when the noonday meal was nearly finished, and
the boy suddenly recalled their very unwelcome reception on Isle La
Motte.
"A crab?"
"I'll tell the herd he is the prize long horn for meanness," Jim added
emphatically.
"My goodness, boys, what on earth did he do?" Mrs. Fenton asked soberly,
as if she could hardly believe her ears.
"He wouldn't let us near the place," Bob explained, then went on with an
account of their effort to see the turkey farm.
"Hezzy's all right, boys. You didn't tell him who you were."
"No, we didn't, but great snakes, about everybody on the three islands
seemed to know we were coming. Didn't seem reasonable that this fellow
did not have an idea who we were," Jim declared.
"Of course, airplane visitors are not common and the news of your
arriving from Texas did spread, but it's possible Hezzy didn't hear of
it," Mrs. Fenton told them.
"You see, boys, he's been having quite a peck of trouble. Last year they
hatched a big flock of birds, but before they were half grown, a lot of
them were stolen. We know they didn't die--only a few of them--and there
is no way for them to have wandered off. Their wings are clipped as soon
as they are big enough to get any height, and turkeys do not fly very
high or far, anyway. Some one, or some band of thieves must have made
away with them. Hezzy is hired to raise them, I haven't time to and look
after the farm, and he takes real pride in having a big flock. Some of
the young ones have disappeared already and I expect he's keeping a
mighty close watch to save as many as he can. They bring a good price
and last year was the first season we didn't realize a profit on them."
"Any idea where they go?"
"No, we haven't, but it must be outsiders. Probably some tourists
discovered the old farm tucked away there in the woods, and let it be
known, or came back themselves. We have three watchmen, and now one of
them sits up all night, but it hasn't done much good," Mr. Fenton
answered.
"Sure Hezzy isn't putting his own brand on them?" Jim suggested.
"My goodness sakes alive, child, don't say anything like that. I
wouldn't have anyone hear you for the world," Aunt Belle said anxiously.
"Hezzy is too honest for his own good, really. He wouldn't take a bent
pin that didn't belong to him. I've known him since I was a boy. He's a
fine poultry man and absolutely reliable. Keeps his records as accurate
as can be. There isn't a cent's worth he doesn't give a detailed account
of every week," Mr. Fenton supplemented.
"I didn't mean to cast reflections on his honesty, but he was such a
bear, it just occurred to me he might be feathering his own nest with
your turkeys," Jim said.
"Oh, dear me, don't say it again. Why, I should be so distressed to have
it get out--"
"We won't breath it, Aunt Belle," Bob promised.
"I'll take you over sometime and you can see the place. I ordered a pair
of good watchdogs to help guard it. They should be here in a day or so,"
Mr. Fenton said, then added. "Well, if you want to go out and inspect
what's being done on the mud hole, come along."
"Perhaps they could eat another piece of pie, Norman."
"No, we couldn't, not a sliver," Bob insisted.
"Much to our regret," Jim grinned.
"Very well," Aunt Belle agreed.
The two boys followed Mr. Fenton out of the front door, down the flower
lined path under a grove of huge maples, across the road onto the farm
proper, past the barns, around the vegetable garden and then he stopped
and made a gesture.
"Here it is." They saw the land, much as he had described it, the
alfalfa meadow rising gently on the further side, and between them was a
long pond of still water which was very dirty.
"Some hole," Jim nodded. They walked on, picking their way until they
saw a boy at work, and they stood quietly watching him. He did not
realize they were there and went on with his task quite as if he was
alone on the island.
"What the heck is he doing?" Bob whispered. The boy had some odd sort of
implement, the handles of which he grasped in both hands, stood it
upright, then jumped, his feet landing in the middle; driving the queer
tool deep into the ground. Then he stepped off, bent the handles as far
as they would go, and raised the earth.
"I think it is some sort of shovel, or plow," Mr. Fenton told them, "but
I never saw anything like it. Listen and you'll hear him sing, it's a
kind of a chant." The step-brothers listened and in a moment they could
hear, but the words and melody were unfamiliar. As the youngster
straightened up, they could see that he was lithe, his skin was dark
like his uncle's, and his heavy hair, which was quite long for a boy's,
waved in the breeze.
"Gosh, he looks a little like an Indian, a good one," Jim remarked.
"Will he mind if we go closer?"
"No, but I wouldn't pay too much attention to him," Mr. Fenton advised.
"I'll go about my job and you amuse yourselves." He left them, and the
boys proceeded to where the young farmer, or whatever he was, was
engaged. They marveled at the speed with which he turned over the earth
and before they were very close they saw that he was making some kind of
trench. At the nearest end the work seemed to be finished, and then they
could tell that he was making a terrace along the edge of the alfalfa
plot. About half way down he had taken some very large rocks, fitted
them with great nicety, filled in the crevices with smaller stones,
filled in the space toward the hill with earth, and above the dark soil
poked two rows of tiny green shoots of young corn.
"Gosh, he's planting as he gets the land ready. Great job, isn't it?"
Bob whispered and his step-brother nodded. Presently they came up to the
boy. When their shadows fell across his plow, he glanced up quickly and
sprang back. They grinned cheerfully to let him know they were friendly,
and Jim pointed to the new terrace.
"Fine," he declared.
The boy smiled, his eyes lost some of the terror which had leaped into
them, and his body relaxed. He eyed them for a moment, then motioning
with one hand, he led them back to the other side where he showed them a
narrow trench. With one scoop of his shovel he removed the earth that
still held the water as a dam, and it started to tumble through and race
off toward the road, where it would be carried away into the lake. For
several minutes they watched, and then they glanced at the useless bog.
"Cracky," Bob shouted with admiration. "Some irrigator. Look, it's
draining off."
Sure enough, the long strip was getting dry around the edges, and
promised to be emptied inside of an hour.
"If it stays dry, Uncle Norman will be tickled pink. Say, Jim, what do
you suppose he is?"
"Search me," Jim responded.
"Seems as if I've got a kind of hazy idea of reading something about
some old race or other using plows like that," Bob remarked.
"Me too. Maybe it was the Egyptians."
"Maybe, but holy hoofs, what's this kid doing it for?"
"As I said before, my esteemed step-brother, you are at liberty to
search me thoroughly, but if you find anything, you have to let me in on
it," Jim laughed. The boy watched them a few minutes longer, then
picking up his tool, he hurried back to his work.
"You know, Jim, we thought this neck of the woods was going to be dull
as ditch-water, but I've got a hunch that if we stick around we may be
able to crowd some real excitement into our visit. I'm dying to know who
this kid is and where he came from, mystery number one; I'd like to do
some flying about Isle La Motte and perhaps we can see something that
will solve mystery number two--what's happening to Uncle Norman's
turkeys--"
"I'd like to do some observing and see if we can't get a line on that
gang that is giving friend Bradshaw such deep furrows between his
handsome eyes," Jim laughed.
"Me too, but gosh all hemlock, wouldn't Dad kid the life out of us if he
knew we are out to help the little old world!"
"Not only Dad, but the whole shooting match on the ranch. Tell you
what, Aunt Belle and Uncle Fent said we could stay as long as we
like, and they meant it, even if we are boys. Let's organize a
secret--s-e-c-r-e-t--mind you, detecting bureau, or what ever it is,
and stay until we solve the three mysteries!" Bob proposed.
"I'm on. This end of the world doesn't look so bad to me. We'll let the
folks know we're taking root for a while, the three of us, that includes
Her Highness. We'll keep on the job until we win, or we have to admit
we're licked." Bob held out his hand and the agreement was made, without
further discussion.
"We'll have to explain to Her Highness," the younger boy declared.
"Sure thing. She'll be disappointed unless there's a lot of air work to
it, and I have a hunch there will be."
"Oh, boys--"
"Yes Aunt Belle," Bob shouted.
"Do you know where your uncle is working?" Mrs. Fenton called from the
roadway. "There's a telephone message for him."
"We'll find him for you," Jim promised. They hurried off in the
direction Mr. Fenton had taken when he left them and soon the sound of a
hammer ringing in the distance informed them they were on the right
trail. A moment later they could see the man repairing a place in the
rail fence that bounded the pasture.
"Uncle Norman, you're wanted on the telephone," Bob roared.
"All right, coming," the man waved, and dropping his work, came as fast
as his long legs could carry him.
"Guess you're party's holding the line," Jim volunteered.
"They don't mind that around here," Mr. Fenton replied. He went ahead
and the boys followed more leisurely.
"This certainly is a good looking spot. No wonder the early pioneers
settled in rock-bound Vermont, but, gosh, what a fight they had to put
up to get a living out of those rocks," Bob remarked as his eyes roamed
admiringly over the green hills, across the blue water, on to the
distant mountains.
"It isn't a rich state yet, but it has produced some fine men. Real
rip-snorters, rearin' to go," Jim added. By that time they had reached
the "hole" and could see the strange boy working industriously at his
terrace.
"You know, Bob, we want to be kind of careful because we don't want to
do any butting-in on that kid. Maybe, far as he's concerned, we had
better mind our own business."
"Reckon you're right, but let's try to make friends with him," Bob
suggested, and that was passed without a dissenting vote.
"Oh boys."
"Here," Bob shouted to his uncle.
"How long would it take you to get me to Burlington?" the man asked as
he came up to them.
"Less than an hour," Bob answered.
"Would it be too much trouble for you to take me?"
"Not one bit," Jim assured him. "Ever been up in a plane, sir?"
"No, I haven't," the man admitted.
"Do you get dizzy easily, that is, does it make you sick to your stomach
when you get on a high place and look over?"
"Oh no. I never get dizzy."
"That's all right then."
"We can strap you in," Bob offered.
"Will the plane carry three of us?" the man asked.
"Sure. There's an emergency seat in the back, and she'll carry some
freight besides," Jim explained.
"Our dad didn't leave anything undone when he bought that plane, and
besides, we helped in the selection. She'll do anything except herd
sheep," Bob said proudly.
"We have parachutes and everything. Maybe you'd like to try one of them
out," Jim offered.
"Not this time unless I have to," Mr. Fenton laughed. "A chap called me
up on important business, and if I can get it attended to today, it will
be a big help."
"Well then, get a heavy coat on. We have an extra helmet--"
"Shall I need rubbers?"
"If you intend to come down with the parachute over the lake," Bob
answered.
"It's mighty nice of you--"
"We'll get Her Highness in ship shape."
"I'll be with you in five minutes," Mr. Fenton promised, and he was. He
joined his young guests at the pier, Bob was already in the back, while
Jim was fussing about the pilot's seat. Mr. Fenton was given the extra
helmet and a pair of goggles, both of which he adjusted when he took his
place after he had submitted to having the parachute and safety strap
buckled properly.
"All O.K.?" Jim shouted finally. Mrs. Fenton had come down to see her
husband start on his first flight, and she watched a bit nervously.
"I don't know about those contraptions, Norman," she said anxiously.
"They're great inventions, Belle. When we get rich, we'll have one," he
promised her.
"I'd rather have a good horse and buggy," she retorted.
"A horse is all right, Aunt Belle. He never loses an engine or gets his
wings ripped off," Bob shouted, then added. "All set in the rumble seat,
Jim!"
"Right-you-are." Jim glanced at their passenger, assured himself that he
was secure, then, opened her up, and they sped forward over the water,
which was smooth as a sheet of glass. Mr. Fenton's lips moved, but
whatever he said was lost in the roar of the motor. He grabbed the edge
of the seat as Her Highness lifted her nose eagerly, and he hung on
grimly as she spiraled in wide curves over the lake. At a thousand feet
the young pilot leveled her off and they roared swiftly south toward the
State's largest city. After about ten minutes, Mr. Fenton sat less
rigidly. Jim picked up the speaking tube and handed the end to him,
making motions how to use it.
"How do you like flying, Uncle Norman?" Mr. Fenton nodded and smiled. He
didn't feel quite equal to carrying on a conversation yet. Jim followed
the lake, and as they were approaching their destination, he spoke again
to his passenger. "If we land on the water will that be all right for
you, can you get to your place easily?"
"Yes, the office isn't far from the east shore." Mr. Fenton felt like an
old timer now. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.
"Ten minutes more," Jim told him, and he nodded. Presently the pilot
shut off the engine, and the man looked startled at the sudden silence.
He glanced at Jim, who grinned reassuringly as he kicked the rudder
about and brought Her Highness into a long glide toward the spot he had
selected for the landing. The plane touched the water lightly, sped
along a few yards and stopped beside a long pier.
"Are we here?" Mr. Fenton asked.
"Yes sir. How do you like air traveling?"
"It's wonderful, but I did almost get heart failure when the motor
stopped," he admitted.
"Begun to wish you had brought your rubbers?"
"My rubbers and a boat."
"Is this place near enough?"
"Plenty." Jim helped him out of the straps, and by that time Bob stepped
over the fuselage to give a hand.
"Glad you didn't try to jump over, Uncle Norman. How are your air-legs,
wobbly?"
"A bit cramped." He stretched them both, found they would work, and in a
moment he mounted the boat pier. "I don't expect to be more than half an
hour."
"We'll wait here," Jim promised.
"Oh, look at the hydroplane," shouted a small boy on the shore.
"They are calling Her Highness names," Bob scowled.
"She's a hydroplane for the minute," Jim replied. "Let's taxi around the
water."
"It's getting kind of rough. Up at North Hero it was as smooth as a
sheet," Bob answered. "Wish I knew more about water and its tricks."
"I think we're going to have a blow," Jim speculated as Her Highness
went rocking over the waves.
"There are some black clouds over south and west and they sure do look
as if they are in a hurry. We'll have them on our tail as we go back.
Got plenty of gas? I read that in some places Lake Champlain is three
hundred feet deep, and it's wet clear to the bottom," said Bob.
"There's an extra tank besides what is in the bus. Guess I'll feed her
up. Somehow, I think a nice Texas desert is pleasanter to land on than
water." Jim busied himself with the task and Bob helped look things
over.
"Why don't you go back above the shore?" he suggested.
"We have to land on the cove when we get home, so why switch gears. If
there's time this evening, we might locate a place to land on the farm,
but we'll have to ask your uncle about that or we'll be coming down on
some field he's planted."
"O.K. with me."
"Whoooo boys," Mr. Fenton shouted from the pier where he was standing
with a group of men and an army of small boys who had come to see the
take off.
"An audience. Do your prettiest, Your Highness," Bob urged the plane as
his step-brother brought it around in fancy style.
"It isn't every farmer who has a couple of pilots to bring him to town
in a private plane, free of charge," one of the men joked.
"Certainly looks like the farmers are getting some relief," another
added. "They are going up in the air about it."
"It's time we did something," Mr. Fenton responded. "Shall I get in now,
Jim?"
"Sure." Bob gave him a hand, the straps were re-adjusted, and the
younger boy crawled back to his seat, attached his own parachute, and
was finally ready. By that time the shore was lined with spectators.
"All ready. Contact," Caldwell shouted. Jim opened the throttle, and
they were off in a jiffy. They could see the people waving and cheering
as they came about a few feet above the lake. Then Her Highness zoomed,
high and handsome and the town was left behind.
Because of the rising wind the return trip was not so smooth. They ran
into bumps and pockets, and the force of the approaching storm drove
hard behind them, pushing them forward swiftly. Jim zoomed to ten
thousand feet in an effort to get above the troubled air, but even at
that altitude there was no improvement. Occasionally he took a second to
glance at his passenger, but Mr. Fenton was facing it bravely, although
his eyes showed that he was a bit anxious. The young pilot took the
speaking tube, signaled to the boy in the back, and almost instantly
there was a red flash on the dial board, which meant Bob was paying
attention.
"Better put your cover over, old man."
"Got her up," came the answer. "I'm snug as a bug in a rug. Want to know
the readings back here?"
"Yes." Bob read them off while Jim compared them with the records on his
own control board, and when it was finished, he called.
"All correct."
"You covered up?" Bob demanded.
"Going to fix it now. So long. Meet you on the ice."
"You needn't. I'm not a skate," came the chuckling response. Then Jim
drew the storm cover over the cock-pit, switched on extra lights, and
the plane raced forward, guided entirely by compass, and the sensitive
instruments which kept him fully informed as to how high they were and
how fast they were going.
The coming of the storm suddenly hit them with a bang and the young
fellow fought with the controls to keep Her Highness balanced.
Glancing through the tiny window he was startled to see that it was
pitch dark, and he had to look at his watch to be sure that night was
still several hours away.
"Some storm," he remarked to Mr. Fenton, who answered courageously.
"Lake Champlain is noted for them. They are pretty tempestuous at times
and this looks like a rip-snorter."