BLAKE LEARNS A SECRET
Blake, looking on from a little distance, saw Joe turn aside from the
aged man.
"That's rather queer," thought the lad. "If that was his father it isn't
a very cordial welcome."
As he looked, he saw Joe walking out of the garden.
"Queerer still," Blake mused. "Even if that isn't Mr. Duncan, he must be
somewhere around, for lighthouse keepers can't be very far away from
their station, as I understand it."
Joe came walking toward his chum. His face showed his disappointment so
unmistakably that Blake called out:
"What's the matter, Joe?"
"He's gone--he isn't here! He never got my letter!"
"Where has he gone?" asked Blake, always practical.
"I--I don't know. I didn't ask."
"Look here, Joe!" exclaimed his chum. "I guess you're too excited over
this. You let me make some inquiries for you. Suppose he has gone? We
may be able to trace him. Men in the lighthouse service get transferred
from one place to another just as soldiers do, I imagine. Now you sit
down here and look at the sad sea waves, as C. C. would say if he were
here, and I'll go tackle that lighthouse keeper. You were too flustered
to get any clues, I expect."
"I guess I was," admitted Joe. "When I found he wasn't there I didn't
know what to do. I didn't feel like asking any questions."
Blake placed his arm around his chum's shoulder, patted him on the back,
and started toward the aged man, who was still leaning on his hoe,
looking in mild surprise at the two lads.
"I'll find out all about it," called back Blake.
"Ha! Another boy!" exclaimed Mr. Stanton, as Blake approached. "I didn't
know this was going to be visiting day, or I might have put on my other
suit," and he laughed genially. "Are you another son of Mr. Duncan?" he
asked.
"No," replied Blake. "I'm Joe's chum. We're in the moving picture
business together. But he says his father has left, and, as he naturally
feels badly, I thought I'd make some inquiries for him, so we can
locate him. Do you know where Mr. Duncan went?"
"No--I can't say that I do," was the slow answer. "And so you are chums;
eh?"
"Yes, and we have been for some years."
"That's nice. You tell each other all your secrets, I suppose?"
"Well, most of 'em."
"Never hold anything back?"
"Why, what do you mean?" asked Blake, for there seemed to be a strange
meaning in the old man's voice.
"I mean, lad," and the lighthouse keeper's tones sank to a whisper; "I
mean, if I tell you something, can you keep it from him?"
"Why--yes--I suppose so," spoke Blake, wonderingly. "But what is the
matter? Isn't his father here?"
"No, he's gone, just as I told him. But look here--he seems a nice sort
of lad, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I'd rather tell you, as
long as you're his chum, and if you can keep a secret."
He looked to where Joe was sitting on the rocks, watching the waves roll
lazily up the beach and break. Joe was far enough off so that the
low-voiced conversation could not reach him.
"I can keep a secret if I have to," replied Blake. "But what is it all
about? Is Mr. Duncan--is he--dead?"
The old man hesitated, and, for a moment, Blake thought that his guess
was correct. Then the aged man said slowly:
"No, my boy, he isn't dead; but maybe, for the sake of his son, he had
better be. At any rate, it's better, all around, that he's away from
here."
"Why?" asked Blake quickly. "Tell me what you mean!"
"That I will, lad, and maybe you can figure a way out of the puzzle. I'm
an old man, and not as smart as I was, so my brain doesn't work quickly.
Maybe you can find a way out. Come inside where we can talk so he won't
hear us," and he nodded toward the quiet figure of Joe on the beach.
Blake wondered more than ever what the disclosure might be. He followed
the aged man into the living quarters of the house attached to the light
tower.
"Sit ye there, lad," went on Mr. Stanton, "and I'll tell you all about
it. Maybe you can find a way out."
He paused, as if to gather his thoughts, and then resumed:
"You see I'm pretty old, and I have to have an assistant at this light.
I expect soon I'll have to give up altogether. But I'm going to hang on
as long as I can. I've had three assistants in the last year, and one of
'em, as you know now, was Nathaniel Duncan, Joe's father. Before him I
had a likely young fellow named--ah, well, I've forgotten, and the name
doesn't matter much anyhow. But when he left the board sent me this
Duncan, and I must say I liked him right well."
"What sort of a man was he?" asked Blake.
"A nice sort of man. He was about middle aged, tall, well built, and
strong as a horse. He looked as if he had had trouble, though, and
gradually he told me his story. His wife had died when his boy and girl
were young----"
"Girl! Was there a girl?" cried Blake. "Has Joe a sister, too?"
"He had--whether he has yet, I don't know," went on Mr. Stanton. "I'll
tell you all I know.
"As I said, Nate Duncan seemed to have had lots of sorrow, and he told
me how, after his wife died, he had placed the boy and girl in charge of
some people, and gone off to the California mines to make some money.
When he come back, rich, the children had disappeared, and so had the
people he left 'em with. He never could locate 'em, though he tried
hard, and so did his half-brother, Bill. But Bill was different from
Nate, so I understand. Bill was a reckless sort of chap, while Joe's
father was quite steady."
"That's right," spoke Blake, and then he related how Joe had come to get
a trace of his father.
"Well," resumed Mr. Stanton, "as I said, Duncan came here, and he and I
got along well together. Then there came trouble."
"Trouble? What kind?" asked Joe.
"Trouble with wreckers, lad. The meanest and most wicked kind of trouble
there can be on a seacoast. A band of bad men got together and by means
of false lights lured small vessels out of their course so they went on
the rocks. Then they got what they could when the cargo was washed
ashore."
"But what has that got to do with Joe's father?" asked Blake.
"Too much, I'm afraid, lad. It was said that the light here was allowed
to go out some nights, so the false light would be more effective."
"Well?"
"Well, Nate Duncan had charge of the light at night after I went off
duty. And it was always when I was off duty that the wrecks occurred."
"Do you mean to accuse Joe's father of being in with the wreckers?"
"No, lad. I don't accuse anybody; I'm too old a man to do anything like
that. But ugly stories began to be circulated. Government inspectors
began to call more often than they used to, inspecting my light--my
light, that I've tended nigh onto twenty-five years now. I began to hear
rumors that my assistant wasn't altogether straight. He was said to be
seen consorting with the wreckers, though it was hard to get proof that
the men were wreckers, for they pretended to be fishermen.
"Then come a day when, with my own eyes, I saw Nate Duncan walking along
the beach with one of the men who was said to be at the head of the
wrecking gang. I could see that they were quarreling, and then Nate
knocked the man down. He didn't get up right away, for, as I said, Nate
was strong. I knew something would come of that, and I wasn't much
surprised when that day Nate disappeared."
"Disappeared?" cried Blake.
"Went off completely, and left me alone at the light. I tended it all
night, same as I had done before, many a time, and the next day I
reported matters, and I had a new assistant--the same one I have now."
"But that doesn't prove anything," said Blake. "Just because Joe's
father, and a man suspected of being a wrecker, had a quarrel, doesn't
say that Mr. Duncan was a wrecker, too."
"There's more to it," went on the old man. "The day after Nate Duncan
disappeared detectives came here looking for him."
Blake started. There was more to the story than he had suspected. He
looked at Mr. Stanton, and glanced out of the window to where Joe still
sat.
"So that's why I say maybe it would be better for Joe if his father was
dead," went on Mr. Stanton. "Disgrace is a terrible thing, and I
couldn't bear to tell Joe, when he asked me about his father."
"But where did he go?" asked Blake. "Didn't he leave any trace at all?"
"Not a trace, lad--folks most generally doesn't when the detectives are
after 'em. Hold on, though, I won't say Nate was guilty on my own hook.
I'm only telling you what happened. I'd hate to believe he was a
wrecker, misusing this light to draw vessels on the dangerous rocks; but
it looks black, it looks black."
"Did the detectives actually accuse Mr. Duncan?" asked Blake.
"Well, they as much as did. They said some of the wreckers had been
arrested, and had incriminated the assistant light-keeper. But Duncan
was smart enough--provided he was guilty--to skip out. As I told Joe,
his father left just before the letter from Flagstaff came, so he
doesn't know his son is alive. Poor man, I'm sorry for him. He told me
how he had searched all over for his children, and at last, becoming
tired and discouraged, he took this job just to have something to do,
for he's well enough off not to have to work."
"And there's no way of telling where he went?" questioned Blake.
"Nary a one that I know of, lad. As I said, maybe he's better off lost."
"Not for Joe."
"Well, maybe not; but for himself. There are heavy penalties for
wrecking, and it's well he wasn't caught, though, as I say, I don't
accuse him. Only it looks black, it looks black. If he was innocent why
didn't he stay and fight it out? Yes, lad, it looks black."
"I'm afraid so," sighed Blake. "How can I ever tell Joe the news?"
"You mustn't!" exclaimed the old man. "That's just it. You must not tell
him. I'd hate to destroy his faith in his father. It would be cruel.
That's why I asked if you could keep a secret. You won't tell him; will
you?"
"No," said Blake, in a low voice; "I won't tell him."