SCHEMING VOICES IN THE NIGHT
“What’s the matter?” asked Lanky, who, though he had been much with
Frank, failed to recognize the kind of trouble, but merely knew that
they were in trouble when they could least afford it.
“Out of gas!” muttered Frank, though his reply was mechanical. He was
already thinking hard as to what they should do.
“Out of gas?” echoed the tall youth. “Oh, Frank, are you sure?”
“Certainly am,” was the laconic reply. “See for yourself, if you
don’t believe it. Gee, but it’s rotten luck, just at a time like
this!” and Frank gritted his teeth and heaved a long sigh.
The momentum of the _Rocket_ at the time the engine stopped, when
Frank quickly threw it out of gear, was great enough to carry it
quite a distance against the stream’s current.
“Wasn’t that an island over there?” came the question from Frank as
he recalled what had been said by Lanky only a few moments before.
“Here, Lanky, grab the oar and paddle awhile, and I’ll turn toward
that island and drift back. The current will take us down stream, and
we ought to land at the island, provided I can get far enough over to
that side.”
Already Frank was turning the _Rocket_ to the opposite side, trying
to get in line with the island, above it, so that he might drift back
to the boat landings which he remembered were on the upstream side,
for this place had for a long time been a summer resort island.
Lanky grasped the oar, as he had been bidden, and began using it to
good effect, aiding the _Rocket_ to make through the current as it
began to turn down the river. The trick was to hold it upstream as
much as possible while Frank maneuvered at the wheel to get across.
He reached for the searchlight, turned it toward the island, the
long beam of light seeking here and there to find the landing. Then,
suddenly, it went out!
Lanky Wallace quickly pulled the oar from the water and started to
fix the searchlight, when Frank called to him to stop, asking him to
keep on paddling instead, as this was much more necessary than that
the light should be fixed.
Ahead of him, since his eyes had become somewhat accustomed to the
night-lights of the river, though darkness was prevailing, he could
see the trees of the island and knew that a little more time would
bring to his eyes the bulk of the landing.
The other boys, Paul and Ralph, were not conscious of any trouble,
sleeping soundly on the small after deck.
It was a long guess on Frank’s part, yet, when analyzed, it was the
only sensible thing to do, this attempt to land on the island. If
there were other boats tied there, and it was altogether probable
there would be, it should not be very difficult for them to obtain
an amount of gasoline sufficient to take them back to Columbia. And,
whether this should prove true or no, the landing at the island
instead of drifting aimlessly down the stream would be by all odds
the wisest thing to do.
In a few minutes, sent more and more rapidly down the stream, Frank
saw through the darkness, or what might be described as a night
half-light, the landings at the island. As he drew closer he was able
to make out the blurred outlines of other boats tied there, rocking
slowly to and fro with the lapping of the passing current.
Now came the problem in Frank’s mind of making a landing safely
without bumping into other boats or without putting the _Rocket_
against the landing with too much force, nose first.
“Lanky! Quick! Get forward with your oar. No! Take the oar!” for
Lanky had started to lay it aside in obeying the sudden command.
“Hold it out in front and reach the landing. Then hold us back from
hitting too hard!”
Lanky did as he was told and his long arms and body reached forward
of the bow, with the oar held as far in front of him as was possible,
until he touched the landing with its blade. All his muscles froze
tight as he felt the rush of the _Rocket_ toward the landing. For
a second it seemed he would be swept back, but he held tensely to
his position. The strength of the lad’s arms was great enough, and
success came of the trial. The _Rocket’s_ speed slowed down.
Bump! It was only slight, not enough to do damage to the bow of the
boat, but it awoke the sleeping Paul and Ralph.
“What’s the matter?” cried Paul, rubbing his eyes and tried to locate
himself. “Are we back in town?”
“No, just at the island where we had that accident. Out of gas and
trying to find some,” muttered Lanky Wallace.
Frank’s imaginings now were of the worst, though he tried to keep a
stiff upper lip, and did so, thinking hard as to the best course to
take. How long would they be in their quest for gas? What would this
loss of time mean in the race for a life that he was making? Would
his father, fighting for his life back at the Columbia hospital,
be strong enough to hold out until he could get back with the heart
stimulant? Would the doctor fight for all he was worth while waiting
for him, and would he succeed in staying the fatal moment until he
could arrive to give his father one more chance at life?
All four of the boys stepped to the landing, Lanky taking the end of
the rope to make it fast to the tie-stake.
“What’s the first move? Where do we find gas?” Paul asked.
“Let’s look around and see what we’ll do,” slowly said Frank. “I
think the best thing is for you two fellows,” indicating Paul and
Ralph, “to remain here and watch the boat. Lanky and I will scout
around to find some gas. We’ve got to do it quickly, too.”
“Tell you, Frank!” Lanky was spurred into action. “Let’s hunt in
these boats and see what we can find. You go one way and I’ll go the
other. If you find it, whistle, and I’ll do the same.”
“Yes,” drawled Frank, thinking the while. “Look, Lanky. If you find
a can of gas in one of the boats, or any way to get some, try to
leave the owner a note telling him who we are so that we shan’t be
stealing. Hear? Got a pencil and paper? Write the owner a note and
tell where he can find us.”
Lanky Wallace started in one direction along the boat landing and
Frank in the other.
As Frank came to the first of the several boats which were tied
there, he looked through the gloom to see if there might be a can of
gasoline aboard, carried as an extra for the sake of precaution.
The first boat was not so provided, nor was the second, and he
wondered if Lanky were having the same sort of luck along his part of
the wharf.
“But,” thought Frank, “its the law of averages, as the salesmen all
say. That means that if we look into enough boats, provided there
are enough boats tied up there, we’ll find a can of gas, or maybe a
gas-tank filled that we can get at.”
He had looked in three boats and had come to the end of the string.
Through the darkness he tried to discern more of them tied to the
landing. Stooping low, in order to peer on a level with the wharf,
and aiming his gaze out over the water, he tried hard to see at least
one more boat.
Faintly, hazily through the gloom, he thought he saw one other craft
moving up and down on the stream, with its nose to the landing.
“That’s the law of averages,” he smiled to himself at his own humor.
But, deep down in Frank’s heart was a feeling akin to despair, though
it could not be called that properly. He was not despairing, but hope
was having a struggle to reach out far enough to grasp at the very
small straws which were floating his way.
Picking his way along the wharf, which was of oddly laid planks,
trying to hurry yet fearing to trip if he should run, Frank went
toward the one remaining craft which he could see more plainly now,
though there were trees growing at that spot, their great branches
hanging out over the wharf.
Suddenly a great hole yawned in front of him! Planks had been removed
from the wharf, or had rotted out. It was too wide to leap, and one
of the big trees leaned out, its branches like ghost-arms, to grasp
at him.
Turning carefully, picking his steps, he stepped from the wharf to
the sandy shore behind, and started around the big tree trunk. He was
in the midst of half a dozen of them, forming a shady retreat at this
point of the island.
Pitchy darkness prevailed. Frank realized that the gnarled roots of
the great old trees were sticking up from the ground like giant knees
peeping from a sandpile, and he picked his way carefully.
At the farther end of this little grove of trees a match suddenly
flared, lighting a limited area, and the man holding the match lifted
it to his cigar and carefully lighted it, the yellow glow of the
light reflected on the man’s face by the cup of his hands.
Frank Allen stopped. Three men were there, he felt quite certain,
though the others were but shadows dimly limned by the match’s glow.
This was a queer hour of the night for three men to be standing at
such a place, evidently talking together in low tones, for he had
heard no sound of voices as he came. And it was quite evident they
had not heard him.
Yet, he thought, if this were not a queer time of night for him to be
groping around on this island, why should he be sitting in judgment
and assume that this was a queer time for these men to be abroad? It
was possible that they belonged on the island, residents during the
summer.
Whether to step forward to ask them for help was the question. He
decided this was the best action to take, and certainly he stood a
far better chance of getting the gasoline.
Thereupon he groped forward, still picking his steps, and in being
so careful of his own safety, he was, quite naturally, quiet in his
action.
The three men had become two. One of them had disappeared as another
match lighted up the little area only a few yards away.
“Yes, I mean Jed Marmette.” Frank’s keen ears caught the words. He
stopped instantly, all his senses even more alert as this name came
to him.
Forgotten for the moment was all thought of his errand, his quest for
the necessary gasoline to get him back to Columbia.
Not that he was forgetful of the duty owing to his father, of
the necessity for getting the stimulant back to the doctor at the
hospital. But, his mind having been filled with the things which he
had learned on the farm of Jed Marmette, is it at all out of the
ordinary for him to have hesitated and to have lost this time in
seeking to learn why that name was spoken here, in this lonely spot,
at this unseemly hour of the night?
Moreover, was it to be expected that he would now be able to get any
help from these people? For if they were using this name, it was
almost certain they had something to do with the stolen goods that
were in that barn loft.
The next sentence he could not hear, spoken so quietly as it was—and
he moved, stealthily, every nerve keenly applied to getting closer
unseen and unheard.
“If we get there to-night and load it all in suitcases we can make a
getaway before any one is the wiser,” said one of the voices.
A grunt was the only response, and the two stood there smoking in
perfect silence while Frank Allen’s ears were turned to catch every
sound.
What had become of the third one of the party? And, if they were
going to the Marmette place (provided that was where they were
talking about going) why were they waiting here?
But that question was very soon answered. It seemed, and Frank often
thought of it afterward, that all the Fates combined at this eerie
hour of night to help him.
“If the kid would only hurry and get his bags we could get away from
here. If I knew how to run that blamed boat I’d start her off right
now,” said one of the shadows.
“Oh, well, what’s the use of getting impatient. We’ve loafed along
for a while now, things have died down, we’ve got the police
guessing, the stuff is safe, and we’ll soon be on our way,” the other
shadow replied.
With this there came the flare of a match as one of them lighted
still another cigarette. Frank started violently as the glow became
bright, fearing lest he be discovered, and held his breath in fear
that they might hear.
“It is a good thing we’ve got a can of gasoline on board. That was a
wise idea, getting an extra five gallons. We can get a long distance
away before daybreak, and then take a train. I wonder what’s keeping
him so long.” One of them was still very impatient to be on the way.
A five-gallon can of gasoline aboard that boat!
The thought struck Frank fairly in the middle of the brain, and he
wondered whether it might be possible to get it.
Just then the Fates stepped in.
“Let’s walk along and see if we can help,” one of the men suggested.
With this the two walked quietly away from Frank toward the center of
the island.
Their boat was the one he had seen. It was tied to the wharf near by
and it had a five-gallon can of gasoline on board, waiting for him to
help himself?