THE SCREAM IN THE DARK
Lanky Wallace looked aghast as the _Speedaway_ bore squarely at them,
aimed at tearing the _Rocket_ in two.
Frank Allen, realizing what a dastardly attempt was being made to
disable the boat and probably to injure Lanky and himself, knowing
that only the coolest maneuvering would save them, was as steady as a
post.
With one swing of his arm to the motor he increased speed and with
the coolest deliberation turned the nose of the _Rocket_ squarely for
the _Speedaway_. His hope was two-fold: that he would scare off the
other men and that he might be in a better position to throw his own
craft hard over to one side at the last moment before any impact.
His movement was entirely successful in at least one respect—that he
got into position quickly for his own next move.
In a flash of time the two boats were almost touching noses. Then
came the necessary alertness and deftness of movement. With a hard
tug at his wheel Frank threw the _Rocket_ to one side.
Crunch! The sides of the two boats rubbed each other all the way from
stem to stern. As quickly as this happened Frank threw the wheel
hard in the opposite direction, with the effect that it threw the
_Speedaway_ around, and did so with such a jerk that a large box fell
overboard on the other side.
“Hey, you blame fool! What do you mean trying to run me down? What
kind of dirty tricks are you up to?” yelled Fred Cunningham as they
passed.
Frank, hearing the splash and not knowing that it was not a man
overboard, for he had seen two other men beside Cunningham in the
boat, immediately cut off speed and continued the long turning
movement started when he so quickly gave the push to the stern of the
_Speedaway_.
Her nose now downstream, Frank and Lanky saw that the _Speedaway_
had also made a wide turn and was coming back toward a box which
was floating in the river. The speed of the _Rocket_ lessened as it
neared the other motor boat.
The two men in the _Speedaway_ were busily engaged in reaching for
the floating box, which appeared to be an empty one, and were thus
averting their faces. His quick eyes taking in the scene, however,
Frank got enough of a glimpse of the men to be able to recognize them
again if he should ever see them.
“Say, what kind of business is this? Do you know that you could have
swamped this boat and put us all into the river?” called Cunningham.
“That’s about what you had coming to you,” called Frank. Since
Cunningham was playing this kind of trick and since there was nothing
to be gained by having any argument about the guilt of one or the
other, Frank merely showed his contempt for the other.
By this time the two other men had rescued the box and had placed it
on the deck forward.
“Do you think that raft of yours has any speed in it?” asked
Cunningham sneeringly. “If you think so, I’ll give you a race any
time you want it.”
“That’s exactly what I’ll be glad to do. Any time you say and where
you say we’ll show you what a regular boat can do that doesn’t spend
its time running other people down,” called Frank quite coolly.
“What’s that?” called Cunningham threateningly, getting out from the
cockpit as the two boats lay alongside each other.
Frank was equally ready, and saw that a lack of movement on his part
might be misinterpreted. Out he stepped from the cockpit of the
_Rocket_ and started toward the side.
“I said this boat was ready for a race any time, and I said it was
not in the nasty habit of trying to run into other people. Did you
get me plainly?”
“Race you any time you say, then. Better put two or three more
engines into your rowboat,” again sneered Cunningham, as he stepped
back into the cockpit of the _Speedaway_.
With that he threw the motor into gear and moved away from the
_Rocket_, which now slowly turned its nose upstream.
Frank and Lanky were both quiet. Wallace wanted to talk, but he knew
Frank well enough to know that the young captain of the _Rocket_
did not wish to say anything. Under such conditions Frank Allen was
always most quiet.
The afternoon sun was slanting its way down into the west and the
cooler breezes of the river were flitting past their tousled heads,
cooling them off a bit after the rather exciting moments they had had.
It was just at dusk that the boys came to Northeast Bend in the
Harrapin and saw the island for which they were headed.
As quickly as it was possible to do, without taking too many chances
on injuring the craft, Frank brought it up to the landing with the
engine dead. Lanky leaped ashore and tied to the landing post, while
Frank made sure he had the note in his pocket before stepping off.
“Well, we’re going to have a moonlight ride on the Harrapin
to-night—provided there’s a moon,” laughed Frank, as he came hurrying
back to the _Rocket_ and found Lanky stretched out astern, viewing
the sky.
“Good enough, only it’s going to cost someone something to eat when
we get back to town, for I’m as hungry as one of those bears they
talk about.”
“I think father ought to be the one to buy it. What do you say if you
come on to the house and we’ll have a snack laid out for us that will
improve conditions in the department of the interior.”
“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said since we started—so far
as I can recall.”
In the meanwhile Lanky pulled his frame up from the stern seat,
stretched, jumped to the landing, cast off, and the _Rocket_ was
ready to go. The stream slowly turned the boat’s nose downward as
Frank threw the wheel over. A moment later the motor was going, the
gear shifted, and the _Rocket_ started on its homeward journey.
“Better get the lights going, Lanky. And while you’re at it, get the
searchlight uncovered and start it. Might as well have all the light
we need. This is the first time we’ve navigated at night, and there
are about two hours of it to do.”
Lanky took up his task, whistling the while, but suddenly ceased the
music and cried:
“Say, Frank, there’s not a bit of juice. What’s the big idea? Can’t
light one of them.”
“Throw the main switch on.”
“I have, but not a bit comes through. The line’s dead.”
Here was something more to concern them. Frank Allen knew he did
not dare go far down the river without lights, for the many islands
in the river and the tortuous path it followed at times would put
their own safety at risk, while anything that might be floating in
the stream would be an additional risk. On top of all would be the
risk to themselves and to others should they meet a motor boat or a
rowboat coming upstream.
“Here, take the wheel and hold her in the middle of the river,” he
directed Lanky, as he threw the engine out of gear with the drive and
started to seek for the trouble.
Fifteen minutes passed without any degree of success, and actual
darkness was on them.
“Put her nose over to shore, Lanky. No use taking any chances. We’ve
got to find the trouble.”
Whereupon Lanky did his duty, and the _Rocket_ was soon tied to the
bank, the engine was stopped, and the two boys began their search for
the trouble. They started at the battery end to trace out the wiring.
Doing the work carefully, not dodging about after one connection or
another, working methodically, as was Frank’s wont in all things,
they came across a grounded connection which was causing the trouble.
“What has always got me,” said Lanky, as Frank declared it was a
ground, “is that you call that kind of a connection a ground, or you
say the current is grounded, when there’s no ground near the boat.”
“Simple as can be to a high-class, first-grade, expert electrical
engineer such as yours truly,” declared Frank, poking out his chest
and striking an attitude.
“Yes, like I’m a good jeweler!”
“Now, little playmate, wilt thee kindly cast off the vessel from
yonder coral reef?” Frank continued his attitude.
Lanky went shoreward, loosed the rope, and threw it on board at the
bow, gave the _Rocket_ a push and leaped aboard himself, hastily
grabbing the oar once again to push the stern away from the shallow
water.
“Put-put!” and the engine started as he gave the flywheel a spin,
Frank at the wheel ready to throw it in gear and get to midstream.
All lights were going properly.
Silence now held the boys for a while as Frank picked his way easily
to midstream and headed for Columbia.
“You know,” Lanky suddenly broke the stillness, still, except for
the muffled exhaust of the motor, “I’ve been wondering about that
fellow Cunningham, Frank. What the mischief is that fellow up to?
What does he want around here? Who are those two men who were with
him? Why did he try to run us down to-day? And any other questions I
may have forgotten.”
“You haven’t forgotten any. But you sure can have the first chance to
answer all or any of them, too. I don’t know the answers. Wish I did.”
Lanky was silent again. Frank joined him.
The _Rocket_ was skimming the Harrapin at a fair pace, no great
amount of speed, however, being shown, for Frank Allen was not
anxious to run into trouble. The searchlight was lighting the river
fifty yards in front of them, first flashing across to the tree-lined
banks as they came to great curves in the river, and again lighting
up some one of the emerald-like isles, though now looming up out of
the water like spectres. No moon was up.
“Getting down toward home. There’s the Parsons island ahead of us.
We’ll pass it on this side, and then I believe I know the river
better from that point to home.”
“What’s that over there?” excitedly cried Lanky, as he pointed to
a shadowy thing which had been brought up out of the river as the
searchlight swung toward the shore.
Back again Frank swung the light, disclosing a rowboat tied to the
bank, with a form, much resembling a living being, at the bow of the
boat. But the light was not strong enough to bring out details.
“Some one tied there for a while, I guess,” and Frank turned the
searchlight again toward the middle of the stream.
“Look! A signal!” Lanky had seen a flare of light in the direction of
the boat.
“Rats, Lanky, you’re letting this darkness get on your nerves.”
“Well—maybe. Anyhow, if it wasn’t a signal of anything else it was a
signal or sign that he was lighting his pipe.”
Then a distant hail came to their ears above the put-put of the
motor. They were almost on a line between the Parsons island and
the Parsons home on shore. Frank stooped and cut off the motor,
permitting the boat to drift with its headway. Both the boys
listened. There was no sound.
“Guess I’m the one that let the light and the sound get on my nerves.
What time is it, Lanky?”
“Half-past nine o’clock.”
“That’s early for anything wrong to be happening anywhere, so I guess
there’s nothing happening. Those sounds are common to the river, no
doubt,” and Frank stepped over to grasp the flywheel and start the
engine.
“Help!” It came across the water from the shore of the Parsons estate.
Frank straightened and listened. Lanky was sitting bolt upright. Once
again there came the shrill scream of a woman. No other sound.
“Wonder what it is, Lanky!”
“Some one in trouble over at the Parsons place.”
In a trice Frank grasped the flywheel, gave it a twist, the motor
started, and they swung to the shore. Wallace went forward, hoping to
catch any sound that might come across the lessening expanse of water.
Cutting off the motor, throwing the nose around so as to strike the
bank easily, with Lanky ready to leap ashore with a line, Frank
maneuvered the _Rocket_ expertly.
Just as Lanky Wallace jumped ashore, as Frank held tight to the
wheel, there came again the shrill scream of a woman from the Parsons
house!