THE G-MAN’S SON AT PORPOISE ISLAND
THE
G-MAN’S SON
AT PORPOISE ISLAND
BY
WARREN F. ROBINSON
The Goldsmith
Publishing Company
CHICAGO
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1937, BY
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
MADE IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I AT BLACK COVE 11
II THE NIGHT IN BLACK COVE 24
III THE STRANGE MR. NEVENS 39
IV THE MYSTERY OF BLACK COVE 55
V FIGHTING FOR LIFE 70
VI CONFERENCE WITH A G-MAN 83
VII THIRTY PER CENT OR FIGHT 100
VIII HEGARTY’S PLANS 118
IX THE G-MAN GROCER MEETS THE BOYS 131
X NEVADA’S BIGGEST PLOT 144
XI CAPTURED 154
XII DELIVERING THE PRISONER 167
XIII HEGARTY PLANS A SURPRISE 180
XIV THE G-MEN CLOSE IN 195
XV THE BOYS BECOME PRISONERS 206
XVI THE FIGHT BEGINS 216
XVII G-MEN TO THE ATTACK 226
XVIII THE SECRET OF BLACK COVE 239
CHAPTER I
At Black Cove
The cabin sloop _Water Witch_ had cleared Centerport harbor and was
well out in the bay heading towards the Catlow, or “Off Shore,” Islands
when the first strange incident happened which was to start the G-man’s
son, Stanley Sandborn, and his lanky, dark-haired chum, John Tallman,
off on an adventure which was both bizarre and dangerous. Stanley was
the first to notice the swiftly approaching gray runabout speedboat.
“Look at that fellow come!” said Stanley. “He’s doing closer to fifty
than forty knots and notice how low he is!”
“Sailing bluebirds, and slices of pickled onion!” cried John Tallman,
exploding into one of his characteristic odd remarks. “You can hardly
see him for spray!”
“And gray is an odd color for a yacht!” commented Stanley, pushing his
mop of sandy hair back from his eyes, the better to study the form and
speed of the racing boat which was now sweeping across the bows of the
smoothly sailing sloop.
The _Water Witch_ pitched and tossed in a moment or two as the wide “V”
of the speedboat’s wake crossed the course of the sailboat. The rigging
and sails of the black-hulled boat slatted and swayed drunkenly, then
she steadied in the strong southwest breeze sweeping up the bay and
continued her easy dip and roll through the waves of the open bay. The
speedboat sped off towards the islands, almost silently, save for a low
humming.
“More than one thing odd about that boat, John!” Stan remarked. “Extra
speed, gray paint, and an underwater exhaust! If this were prohibition
times I’d say--rum-runner!”
“Me too. Dunk me in the briny deep and hang me up to dry! Slide over
the hamburgers, mates, but I’ve a hunch we haven’t seen the last of
that craft!”
“Funny, John,” the G-man’s son said, half aloud, half to himself, “I’m
thinking the same thing.”
John Tallman shrugged his shoulders, then laughed as cheerfully as he
could.
“Trouble with us, Stan,” he said, “is that we’ve seen so much of
speeding boats and water fights that we just jump to conclusions!
Because we just spent the last week or so helping capture Dapper Dan
Hogan and his gang and those other mobsters, we’ve got detecting and
suspicion on the brain! Bluebottle flies and anthill creepers--let’s
drop the subject! Me for coffee and doughnuts!”
“Attaboy, John,” laughed Stan. “Stir up some eats. We ought to be close
to Porpoise Island by sunset!”
John watched the last white spray of the speedboat disappearing towards
that very spot of the barely visible humps of the Off Shore Islands, a
perplexed frown upon his lean features, then he ducked down into the
cozy cabin of the sloop to dig up a snack of food for the famished
boys, for they had been under way for hours now and were very hungry.
The trim and pretty _Water Witch_ rolled along, dipping her lee rail in
white water, for she was rather speedy and a good sailor, while Stan,
at the wheel, peered across the water towards Porpoise Island where
they planned to camp out for the next week or so, cruising betimes
among the wooded, lonely Catlow Islands nearby. Certain of the outlying
islands on the edge of the ocean were populous summer resorts and
winter colonies and had a regular steamer traffic, but Porpoise Island
and the close-by islets were rarely visited, if at all, being privately
owned and plastered with “Keep-off” signs. The two boys, however, being
bent merely on a little harmless pleasure, saw no harm in cruising
among them, and perhaps pitching a tent on one of the beaches provided
they did not trespass on the land itself.
They were particularly anxious to visit Black Cove, a little known and
very snug small harbor which Mr. Sandborn, Stan’s father, had noticed
on a chart while the boys and the G-man were poring over the marine
maps of the bay and waters around the islands a few nights ago.
“There,” Mr. Sandborn had remarked, “is something to look into. I bet
I’ve studied this chart dozens of times in the last ten years, boys,
and cruised some about the islands, and I never happened to notice what
a perfect little harbor Black Cove should be for a small boat like
yours.”
He had pointed to the spot on the chart and shown the boys that the
cove had a narrow but comparatively deep channel and that the center
of the land-locked little harbor was a good twenty feet deep and had
a dark loam bottom. Because of the dark mud and loam under the water
there the water itself would seem almost black even on clear days,
thus giving the cove its name, no doubt. This Mr. Sandborn surmised
from past experiences with small anchorages and different types of sea
bottom.
“Sounds mysterious, too,” John had interrupted, excitedly, that
evening. “Rally round the saucepan, boys; the cook’s serving soup!”
Mr. Sandborn had been taking a well-earned vacation of a few days
after the capture of the notorious gangsters, chiefly represented by
Mr. Dapper Dan Hogan, in which event the two boys had had no small
part. The _Water Witch_, you will remember, played a big part in the
adventures attendant upon the pursuit and capture of the criminals as
did also Stan’s and John’s bow and arrows. And during those few days
the boys had been planning the cruise to the Catlow Islands.
It was a cruise they had had in mind ever since acquiring the _Water
Witch_ and save for the interference and subsequent capture of Hogan
and the other gangsters, the boys would have made the big cruise
sooner. Now they were making up for lost time. Below decks were their
bows and arrows, cameras, including the special G-man camera Mr.
Sandborn had loaned them in case--just in case--they might have use
for it; their sleuthing paraphernalia of fingerprint powders, brushes,
and magnifying glasses; some adventure books and boys’ magazines; lots
and lots of food (for John was a prodigious eater!); charts of the
waters they were entering for the first time; and the hundreds of items
needed to make the trip an outstanding success. Bit by bit it had been
stowed away, a task in itself considering the rather short length and
small capacity of sloop. And in all her brave black top sides and green
underbody, with the bullet holes from the big battle at Cedar Island
all properly plugged and shipshape, the _Water Witch_ had sailed out of
Centerport Harbor, pleasure-bound.
The sun was dipping lower and lower as the boat covered the last long
mile across the bay in the dying breeze. The aroma of delicious hot
coffee came drifting back from the galley and John could be heard
mumbling and humming an off-key tune. But for snitches of doughnuts as
he was preparing the meal, the cook would have been able to sing right
out!
At last came the welcome news to the helmsman that dinner, or supper,
was ready.
“Call it anything you like, but serve it, Cookie!” Stan rejoined. “I’m
about ready to gnaw a chunk out of this wheel!”
“Here you are! Why not lash the wheel, Skipper, and come below for
eats?” queried John.
“O.k., be right down!”
With that Stan slipped a bit of roping over the spokes of the wheel
and, jockeying the craft a bit to get the right pressure of the rudder,
tightened a hitch about a cleat. He had already done the same with
the main sheet and the keen little vessel now sailed along by herself
on a fairly good course in what was left of the evening breeze while
the Captain joined his cook below decks at a meal that was filling and
appetizing. Rolls and butter, some canned beef with sauces, plenty of
jam, a slice or two of cake, a few doughnuts, coffee, and a liberal
glass of milk were enjoyed amidst much joking and fun. John was a
“scream,” always thinking of some funny remark and keeping the more
serious Stan in general good humor. They were just finishing supper
when the _Water Witch_ jolted hard to port, dumping the remains of the
meal into John’s lap, for he sat on that side of the small portable
table, and pitching Stan half onto his chum!
“Help!” cried John. “Bluebirds and fireflies--and bushels of
grape-juice-biscuits! We’re wrecked, Skipper!”
Quickly, even as the _Water Witch_ righted herself and the scraping
sounds which had penetrated the interior of the sloop disappeared, the
boys were in the cockpit staring wildly about!
Nothing greeted their startled eyes save the unruffled water of the
bay, for the last of the breeze had died with the fast setting sun and
only an occasional “cat’s-paw” disturbed the surface here and there.
The sloop heeled slowly, creaking just a little, to one of these soft
puffs of wind now.
“Well, tender chunks of jellybeans--what happened?” John wanted to
know, scratching his head and running lean fingers through the dark
hair, while his dark eyes pondered and stared.
“John, in the first place, we struck something that was submerged.
Might have been a water-soaked log, or almost anything. Let’s take a
bearing and see what the chart says. Should have five fathoms along
here if my memory serves me!”
The chart showed six fathoms of water and there were no indications of
rocks or obstructions of any other kind in the spot where the _Water
Witch_ had struck.
“I took a careful bearing from the trees on top of Porpoise Island,
Stan,” John pointed out, “and another on the Centerport Watch Hill
Tower that we can just see across the bay. The angle is a good one
and I’m sure I got it right. Then whatever we struck is a ‘foreign
body’----”
“Maybe the upper structure of some sunken ship, John!” Stan interrupted.
“Upper structure or keel, I don’t know, Stan, but--I do know that the
last of my coffee soaked my pants!”
John went below to change into something dry and while he was there he
quietly inspected the forepeak of the craft where the anchor cable was
stored, and the spare sails and lines, and then peered under the cabin
floor boards but found no signs of extra water. Evidently the ship had
not been damaged by contact with whatever the object had been. In dry
attire, John went back on deck and relieved his friend at the wheel.
Stan now went below and studied the charts for some minutes, coming
back on deck after a short time and indicating the eastern tip of
Porpoise Island. The long low island bore a faint resemblance, when
seen from a distance, to the back of a sporting porpoise, hence its
name, and the eastern tip was the “snout.”
“Keep clear of the snout there, John, by at least a hundred yards,
because of low water and rocks, now that we’re getting in close, and
put her on the other tack after we round the point.”
“Righto, Skipper. Blow me down, my hearties, and smack the main brace!”
Both boys peered curiously at the bushes and clusters of cedar trees
and the few oaks covering the slopes of the island as the boat sailed
slowly, half-drifting, past the snout and they were able to see the
seaward or southern side of the island. Black Cove should be about a
half mile down that side and the angle of entrance was so sharp that
the boys actually sailed past without spotting the opening! It was Stan
who first detected their mistake.
“John, we’ve gone past the entrance to Black Cove, I’m sure. It’s
getting so dark I can hardly see a thing, anyhow and we’ve sure missed
it!”
It was indeed getting dark in spite of the lingering twilight and the
_Water Witch_ swung about and back, feeling the strength of a brisk
night breeze now springing up. The breeze might last an hour or less
and they must make the cove before it died again. Intent, anxious, Stan
stood by the mast of the boat, peering sharply ahead as the heeling
sloop closed in with the island, risking danger among the scattered
rocks, to find the clear, deep entrance to the harbor.
Suddenly Stan cried out and pointed!
A bright light had flickered for an instant or two somewhere on the
island and the way in which it had disappeared caused Stan to say,
“That light was on the far side of the cove, John, I’m sure, and it was
the eastern edge or hill at the entrance that cut it off! Ease off the
sheet and head for there!”
John did as Stan said, for he had great confidence in his chum’s
ability and hunches, and the _Water Witch_ heeled lively and spryly
right between two high banks of woods, through a clear channel into the
darkness of the cove!
The light, which had been the cause of their success in finding the
entrance, had gone and there was neither sight nor sound in the
darkness. The hills seemed to surround the spot and the lighter blue
of the sky overhead, now starlit, seemed to rest upon the edges of the
hills.
“Pheww!” breathed John, deeply, from the wheel, as the sloop rounded
to and the anchor was dropped with a low splash into the deep waters.
“This place gives me the honorable creeps! Creeping skeletons, and
bleached bones--I’d rather go to live with Blackbeard the Pirate than
spend the night in Black Cove!”
“I’m afraid,” said Stan, and his voice was not too steady, “that we’re
here to stay for the night--for I can’t even guess where the entrance
is now!”