PIRATE WAYS ARE HIDDEN WAYS
The rain, fine and needle-like, stung Val's face. There were ominous
pools of water gathering in the garden depressions. Even the small
stream which bisected their land had grown from a shallow trickle into a
thick, mud-streaked roll crowned with foam.
But the bayou was the worst. It had put off its everyday sleepiness with
a roar. A chicken coop wallowed by as the boy struggled with the knot of
the painter which held the outboard. And after the coop traveled a dead
tree, its topmost branches bringing up against the plantation landing
with a crack. Val waited for it to whirl on before he got on board his
craft.
The adventure was more serious than he had thought. It might not be a
case of merely going downstream and into the swamp to the cabin; it
might be a case of fighting the rising water in grim battle. Why he did
not turn back to the house then and there he never knew. What would have
happened if he had? he sometimes speculated afterward. If Ricky had not
come into the garden to hunt him? If together they had not--
While Val went with the current, his voyage was ease itself. But when he
strove to cut across and so reach the mouth of the hidden swamp-stream,
he narrowly escaped upsetting. As it was, he fended off some dark blot
bobbing through the water, his palm meeting it with a force that jarred
his bones.
But he did make the mouth of the swamp-stream. Switching on the strong
search-light in the bow, he headed on. And because he was moving now
against the current, it seemed that he lost two feet for every one that
he advanced.
The muddy water was whipped into foam where it tore around shrub and
willow. There were no longer any confining banks, only a waste of water
glittering through the dark foliage. The drear habitat of the vultures
was being swept bare by the scouring of the incoming streams, but its
moldy stench still arose stronger than ever, as if some foulness were
being stirred up from its ancient bed.
It was only by chance that Val found the drying rack which marked the
boundary of Jeems' property. Here the land was higher than the flood,
which had not yet spread inland. He tied the boat to a willow and
splashed ashore. In the lower portions of the path his feet sank into
patches of wet. Something which might have been--and probably was--a
snake oozed away from the beam of his pocket torch.
The clearing was much as it had been, save that the door of the
chicken-run stood ajar and its feathered population was gone. But under
the cabin Val saw the betraying sparkle of water. The bayou in the rear
must have topped flood level.
Someone had been there before him. The lock was battered and there had
been an attempt to pry loose its staples, an attempt which had left
betraying gouges on the door frame. But misused as it had been, the lock
yielded to the key and Val went in. Warned by a lapping sound from
beneath, it did not take him long to get the chest, relock the door, and
head back to the boat.
He was none too soon. Already, in the few moments of his absence, there
were rills cutting across the mud, rills which were growing in strength
and size. And the flood around the drying rack was up a good three
inches. Val dumped the chest into the bow with little ceremony and
climbed in after it, his wet trousers clinging damply to his legs.
Something plate-armored and possessing wicked yellow eyes swam
effortlessly through the light beam--a 'gator bound for the Gulf,
whether he would or no.
The return as far as the bayou was easy enough, for again the boat was
borne on the current. But when Val faced the torn waters of the river he
experienced a certain tightness of throat and chill of blood. What might
have been the roof of a small shed was passing lumpily as he hesitated.
Then came a tree burdened with a small 'coon which stared at the boy
piteously, its eyes green in the light. An eddy sent its ship close to
the boat; the top branches clung a moment to the bow. And to Val's
surprise, the 'coon roused itself to a mighty effort and crossed into
the egg-shell safety the boat offered. Once in the outboard, it
retreated to the bow where it crouched beside the chest and kept a wary
eye on Val's every movement.
[Illustration: _Then came a tree burdened with a small 'coon which
stared at the boy piteously, its eyes green in the light._]
But he could not rescue the wildcat which swept by spitting at the water
from a log, nor the shivering doe which awaited the coming of death,
marooned on an islet which was fast being cut away by the hungry waters.
And all the time the stinging rain fed the flood.
Val gripped the rudder until the bar was printed deep across his palm.
Soon it would be too late. He must cross now, heading diagonally
downstream to escape the full fury of the current. With a deep breath he
turned out into the bayou.
It was like fighting some vast animated feather-bed. His greatest
efforts were as nothing against the overpowering sweep seaward. And
there was constant danger from the floating booty of the storm. The
muddy spray lashed his body, filling the bottom of his craft as if it
were a tea-cup. And once the boat was whirled almost around.
Val was beginning to wonder just how long a swimmer might last in that
black fog of rain, wind, and water when his bow eased into comparatively
quiet water. He had crossed the main current; now was the time to head
upstream. Grimly he did, to begin a struggle which was to take on all
the more horrible properties of a nightmare. For this was many times
worse than his fight against the swamp-stream.
Twice the engine sputtered protestingly and Val thought of trying to
leap ashore. But stubbornly the outboard fought on. If there ever were a
sturdy ship, fit to be named with Columbus' gallant craft or Hudson's
vessel, it was that frail outboard which buffeted the rising waters of a
Louisiana bayou gone flood mad.
It achieved the impossible; it crept upstream inch by inch, escaping
disaster after disaster by the thinness of a dime. Since he had
apparently not been born to drown, Val thought as he saw his headlight
touch the tip of the landing, he would doubtless depart this life by
hanging.
Then his light picked out something else which lay between him and the
landing. The sleek, knife-bowed cruiser certainly did not belong to
Pirate's Haven. And what neighbor would come calling by water on such a
night? It was moored by two thick ropes to a sunken post, and already
the mooring was dragging the bow down. Val headed in toward it, running
the outboard between the stranger and the landing.
Out of the blackness ashore a shadow arose and waved at him frenziedly.
Then he saw Ricky's white face above her long oil-silk cape. Her hair
was plastered tight to her skull and she was protecting her eyes from
the fury of the rain with her hands.
Val sent the boat inshore until it bit into the crumbling surface of the
levee with a shock which threatened his balance. Ricky snatched at the
painter and held steady while he jumped. They made the boat fast and Val
landed the chest. The passenger did his own disembarking, making his way
into the garden without a backward look. Then Val demanded an
explanation.
"What are you doing here?" he tried to out-screech the wind.
In answer she clapped her wet, muddy hand across his mouth and pulled
him back from the levee.
They reached the semi-shelter of a rotting summer-house where he put
down the chest. Ricky pushed her wet hair out of her eyes. It was
impossible for them to hear each other without screaming madly.
"Jeems told me--after you left--Val! How could you be so mad!"
"I made it." He touched the chest with his toe. "After we had
practically kidnapped him, we couldn't let his belongings just float
away. But why are you out here? And where did that boat come from?"
"I came out here after Jeems told me. I'm all right." She laughed
shakily. "I've got my oldest clothes on--and this," she touched her
cape. "I couldn't stay in there--waiting--after I knew. And I didn't
want Rupert to ask questions. So I said that I was going to bed with a
headache. Then I slipped out here to the levee. And I hadn't been here
two minutes before that boat came downstream. There were four men in it
and they got out and went into the bushes over there. And, Val, Rupert
is down at the other end of the garden where they are having trouble
with the levee. Holmes and Creighton went down to see if they could
help, too, just after you left. There's nobody but Charity up at the
house with Lucy and Letty-Lou. Val, what are we going to do?" she
appealed to him.
"First I'll investigate these visitors," he said easily, though he felt
far from easy within.
"Me too," she said firmly if ungrammatically, and since Val could not
wait to argue, she went along.
They took the route she had watched the invaders follow, wriggling
through wet bushes and around trees.
"Val, look out!" She grabbed his arm and so saved him from tumbling
headlong into a black hole in the ground. Vines and a small shrub or two
had been ruthlessly torn out to bare the opening. It was here that the
visitors must have gone to earth. And then Val had a glimmering of the
truth; the "Boss" and his friends had at last found Jeems' private door.
Prudence urged that they return to the house and send Sam Two or some
other messenger down to the cross-roads store to summon the police by
phone. Prudence however had never successfully advised any Ralestone.
They had a decided taste for fighting their own battles. So, torch in
hand, Val dropped into the hole. And a moment later Ricky slid down to
join him.
They stood in a rough passage. Stout timbers banked its sides and
guarded the roof. There was a damp underground smell such as Val had
noted in the cellar of the house, but the air was fresh enough. After
the first hasty survey, the boy held his fingers over the bulb of the
flashlight so that only the faintest glimmer escaped to light their
path.
The passage was short, ending abruptly in a low bricked room. Save for
themselves, a tangle of rotting rope in a far corner, and two lively
black beetles, it was empty.
"Val," Ricky's throaty whisper reached him, "can't you guess what this
is? The first pirate Ralestone's storage-house!"
It was a likely enough explanation--though nothing could have been
stored there very long; the place was too damp. Beads of slimy moisture
from the walls dripped slowly down, shining like silver in the light.
At the other side of the room was a corridor branching away. But this
they barely glanced into, little knowing how that neglect was to prove
disastrous in the end. It was the main door to their right which
interested them most, for that led, so far as Val could determine,
toward the house. And that must have been the one the mysterious
visitors had followed.
Thus they came into the second of their pirate ancestor's store-rooms.
This one was long and narrow. Three wooden casks eaten with decay and
spotted with fungus stood against the wall, testifying to the use to
which this chamber had been put, though the all-pervading damp could not
have been good for the wine.
Again a dark archway tempted them on, and the third room into which they
came had a more grim reminder of the scarlet past of the house. For
Ricky stumbled over something which clinked dully. And when Val used the
flash they looked down upon a telltale length of chain ending in an iron
ring, its other end soldered into the wall.
"Val," Ricky's voice quavered, "did--did they keep people here?"
"Slaves, perhaps," her brother answered soberly and shoved the rusting
metal aside with his foot. But there were two other chains hanging from
the wall, speaking of past horrors of which he did not care to think.
And then as their light picked out these damning testimonials, Val
thought that the Ralestones, for all their pride and fine, brave airs,
had been only pirates after all, akin to those whom they were now
hunting through the dark.
There was a low arched doorway of brick on the right side of the room,
and this they passed through. Beyond were three broad stone steps, worn
a little on the treads, one cracked clear across. These led to a wide
landing paved with brick. Here the walls were brick as well. Ricky
touched one involuntarily and drew back her hand with a little
exclamation of disgust. She wiped her palm vigorously on the wet surface
of her cape.
Everywhere was the smell of rot and slow, vile decay. In spite of its
historical associations, decided Val, this vault should be sealed
forever from the daylight and left to the sole occupancy of those
nameless things which creep in its dark. The very air, in spite of its
freshness, seemed tainted.
Another flight of stairs was before them, the treads fashioned of stone
but equipped with a rotted wooden hand-rail. And above was the faint
reflection of light and the sound of voices. Val hesitated and realized
for the first time how foolhardy their expedition was.
Those above would be prepared to handle interruptions. Val was
determined to keep Ricky out of trouble, and to go on alone was the
rankest folly. But, as he hesitated, the decision was taken out of his
hands, for the light above suddenly became brighter. Grabbing at Ricky's
arm, he stumbled back into the shelter of the archway, pulling her after
him.
A round circle of light shone plainly at the top of the stairs. Someone
was coming down. Ricky's breath was warm on Val's cheek and she moved
with a faint crackling of her cape which sounded as loud as a
thunderclap in his ears.
"How're we gonna do it without bustin' the wall down?" demanded an
aggrieved voice from the top of the stairs. "There ain't no knob, no
handle, no nothin' to work it from this side. And these guys what stored
their stuff here in the boot-leggin' days never got into the house."
"The boy got through, didn't he?" Val knew that voice, the Boss of the
swamp meeting. "Well, if he did, we can."
"Lissen, Boss, it's a secret, ain't it? An' we gotta know how it works
before we can work it. An' lissen here, you swamp bum, you keep outta my
way--see? I don't care if you were one of Mike Flanigan's boys; that
don't cut no ice with me." This truculent warning must have been
addressed to an unseen companion on the same stair level. The listeners
below heard a faint sound which might have marked a collision and then
the hiss of swamp French spoken hurriedly and angrily.
"What're you gonna do now, Boss?"
The light half-way down the stairs paused. "There is some way of opening
that panel--"
"An' we gotta find it. All right, all right. But tell me how."
"I don't know whether it will be necessary to open it--from this side."
"What d'ya mean?"
"Use that thick skull of yours, Red. Doors swing two ways, don't they?
They can be used either to go in or to go out."
"Got it!" The thick voice was oily with flattering approval. "We can get
out this way--"
"Smart work, Red. Did you think that out all by yourself?" asked the
other contemptuously. "Yes, we can come out this way when"--his voice
was sharp with purpose--"we are finished. Send one of these swampers
down to the levee where the men are working. As long as this flood keeps
rising we're safe. Then the other three of us will go for the house. We
may be seen that way, but there's no use spending any more time here
playing tick-tack-toe on that wood up there. We locate what we want, and
if we're cornered we can come out through here to the bayou. Slick
enough."
"Great stuff, Boss--" Red began. But the rest was muffled, for Ricky and
Val drew back into the room of the chains. There was only one thing to
do now--reach Rupert and the others and prepare to meet these skulkers
in the open. But before they had quite crossed the room Ricky came to
grief. She caught her foot in one of those gruesome chains and stumbled
forward, falling on her hands and knee. The noise of her fall echoed
around the low chamber with betraying clamor.
A white light beat upon them as Val stooped to aid Ricky.
"Stop!" came the shout, but Val had only one thought, to dim that light.
He swung back his arm and flung his own flash straight at the other.
There was a grunt of pain and the light fell to the floor. With the
tinkle of breaking glass it went out. Val pulled Ricky to her feet and
threw her toward the door, forgetting everything but the wild panic
which urged him out of that place of foul darkness. They bruised their
hands against the brick as they felt for the opening, and then they were
out in the other chamber.
"Val," Ricky clung to him, "I've got that little flash I keep under my
pillow at night. Wait a minute until I get it out of my pocket. We can't
find our way out of here without a light."
Muffled sounds from behind them suggested that their pursuers were on
the trail even without light. After all, given time enough, it would be
easy for them to feel their way out of the vaults. Val hustled Ricky on,
taking his direction from one of the wine-casks he had bumped into. And
before he allowed her to hunt for her torch they stood in the first of
the chambers.
The light she produced was poor and it flickered warningly. But it was
good enough for them to see the dark opening which led to the outer
world. They ducked into this just as the first of the other party came
cursing into the open. At Val's orders, Ricky switched off the light and
they crept along by the wall, one hand on its guiding surface.
But the way seemed longer than it had upon their entering. Surely they
should have reached the garden entrance by now. And the surface
underfoot remained level instead of slanting upward. Suddenly Ricky gave
a little cry.
"We've taken the wrong passage! There's only a blank wall in front of
us!"
She was right. The torch showed a brick surface across their path, and
Val remembered too late the second passage out of the first chamber.
They must go back and hope to elude the others in the dark.
"They may have all gone out, thinking we were still ahead of them," he
mused aloud.
"Well, it's got to be done," Ricky observed, "so we might as well do
it."
Back they went along the unknown passage. This appeared to run straight
out from the first chamber. But why it had been fashioned and then
walled up they had no way of knowing. Ricky's torch picked out the
entrance at last.
"Wait," Val cautioned her, "we had better see how the land lies before
we go out in the open."
They stood listening. Save for the constant drip, drip of water, there
was no sound.
"I guess it's clear," he said.
"Wonder where all the water is coming from?" Ricky shivered.
"Down from the garden. Come on, I think it's safe to have a light now."
Ricky must have been holding the torch upward when she pressed the
button, for the round circle of light appeared on the supporting timbers
above the door. They both looked up, fascinated for a moment. The old
oak had been laid in a crisscross pattern, the best support possible in
the days when the vaults had been made.
"How wet--" began Ricky.
Val cried out suddenly and struck at her. The blow sent her sprawling
some three or four feet back in the passage. There might be time yet to
cover her body with his own, he planned desperately, before--
The sound of slipping earth was all about them as Val flung himself
toward Ricky. As he thrust blindly at her body, rolling her back farther
into the tunnel, he felt the first clod strike full upon his shoulder.
Ricky's complaining whimper was the last thing he heard clearly. For in
the dark was the crash of breaking timber.
He was felled by a stroke across the upper arm, and then came a chill
darkness in which he was utterly swallowed up.