The Night in Black Cove
As John was afterwards to remark, that night in Black Cove turned out
to be “A night as was a night!” The anchor had barely hit bottom when
a flickering light, as from a half-covered flashlight appeared in the
bushes of the Island. Stan gripped John’s arm suddenly.
“There’s that light again! Maybe we ought to shout a greeting----”
“Nix, Stan,” John whispered tersely. “I’ve a hunch this is a poor spot
for innocent sailor men to be! Just keep mum.”
“Me too, now that I think about it! Look! The light is going up in the
darkness!”
“What’s _that_?” queried John. “Do you hear it?”
Both boys listened, but Stan heard nothing save the water lapping the
edges of the cove, which was about a quarter of a mile across, the
sound carrying clearly on the night breeze which curved down over the
bowl of hills and dipped cat’s-paws at the dark water. The same breeze
made the trees sigh a little, and outside of that there was no other
noise.
“I thought I heard a familiar sound, at least a sound I’ve heard
before, like--_look_!”
The boys saw a shimmer of broken water as they turned about, attracted
by a low humming!
“A boat, Stan, and crossing the cove at good speed, too! See, there he
goes!”
A single blink of light came from the flashlight on the hill and Stan
saw an answering blink from the boat. Then darkness enveloped all again
and the hum was heard no more!
“This calls for a council and some thinking, John,” Stan said. “Come on
below with me.”
He led the way down into the cabin while the _Water Witch_ swung at her
anchor, her sails flapping very softly in the night breeze. The little
sloop had thick curtains, which he now drew over the cabin ports. Then
he was heard to close the slide to the cabin entrance and come back
down the steps. The sputter of a match in the darkness, and Stan was
lighting one of the smaller cabin lights, which he set upon the cabin
table upon which had been spread the chart of Porpoise Island and
vicinity. There was a serious frown upon his features as the youthful
skipper faced his chum across that table.
“Here’s the situation as I see it,” Stan said, speaking in a low
voice. “This afternoon we saw a speedy motorboat of low, fast design,
painted an inconspicuous gray and fitted with an almost silent exhaust,
which disappeared round the snout of this island. Now we’ve come into
Black Cove, a rarely visited spot, and find ourselves in the midst of
symptoms of trouble--a fast, almost silent motorboat which comes in at
night, blinking signals in answer to shore lights. Is this or is it not
a dangerous spot? Are these innocent happenings, or should we get out
of here and pronto?”
John considered the problem for a minute, for he knew Stan was in dead
seriousness, and besides, he himself was creepy and scared.
“I’m inclined to think we can’t get out of here in the dark anyhow,
Stan, so we’ll have to stay here----”
“It’s a cinch we’d have trouble finding the channel, as I said a few
minutes ago on deck, John.”
“--And maybe daybreak will show us up as a couple of scatterbrained
kids. Sweet spirits of the briny deep--why should anyone hurt us? We’re
only bent on pleasure!”
Stan grinned wryly.
“Sure we’re only pleasure bent, but--what about our detective stuff,
and just supposing that whoever is here is up to something evil and
recognizes us as the two kids who got their pictures in the papers over
the Hogan case?”
“You’re right, Stan. What’ll we do?”
“My idea is this, John. Let’s up anchor and move over under sail to
the far side of this cove away from the lights we saw and stay there
to-night. We’ll keep quiet, keep turns watching, and, unless some one
starts something, we’ll let well enough alone till dawn.”
“I’d sure like to have my bow and arrows on watch, Stan! Remember how
they worked against Hogan that night he tried to snoop around at the
float-stage back in Centerport?”
They both grinned with delight at the remembrance of the snooper who
dashed off in his boat, stung in the pants’ seat by a well aimed arrow!
Stan nodded agreement to John’s suggestion of a defensive weapon, and
they prepared to up anchor and cross the cove.
On deck they took their positions, Stan at the wheel and the main
sheet, John at the jib and staysail sheets, and the anchor cables.
Quietly Stan gave the command, and John hove in on the anchor. Slowly
the dripping cable came inboard foot by foot, and was coiled on deck
as the youth hauled at it, then it tightened as the anchor took up the
slack. He heaved hard--but the anchor did not budge.
Again John tugged. The anchor refused to give way.
Nervous, John came aft and informed Stan of the situation.
“Try again, John,” Stan suggested. “Keep trying. We don’t want to lose
that anchor. It ought to break out o.k. from a loam floor.”
Determined to get that anchor in, John heaved away, grunting, and--with
a snap of release, the anchor broke ground! Up it came, and John
hauled it wet and muddy on deck. As he did so he gave a low cry of
surprise! But the sloop was heeling off now as the breeze filled the
mainsail and John promptly “backed” the jib to help push the sloop
onto a course and under way. In a minute or two the _Water Witch_ was
rippling to the opposite shore from the spot where the flashlight had
glittered a short while before.
Close to the bank the anchor was again dropped overboard and the cable
slacked off. With flapping sails, the sloop drifted off till the slack
was taken up, then swung to the wind, at anchor. John said nothing
about his discovery in the bows until the sails had been lowered and
furled for the night, the strops tightened about the canvas, and the
sheets belayed with plenty of slack in case of rain. The sky was clear
and the stars glittered overhead, but a good seaman always leaves his
running rigging slack at night, for rain would promptly tighten it and
stretch the rope dangerously. All being snug now, the boys brought
their bows and arrows up on deck, stowed them ready for instant use,
placed a focusing flashlight handy, and held council in the cabin
again. It was then that John Tallman went upon deck to return with
something which he now handed to his friend.
“A brass fitting!” cried Stan, staring. “Where did you get it?”
“The anchor snagged on something in the cove, Stan, probably a sunken
wreck, and I brought up this! Piece of brass trimming, isn’t it? Might
be from a yacht?”
“It’s expensive, whatever it belongs to, John. Fancy trimmings at sea
don’t appear on commercial ships. Yacht is the best guess! Wonder What
a yacht is doing sunk in Black Cove?”
“Maybe that other thing we struck in the bay was part of a ship, Stan,
too!”
“I doubt it, John. Probably just a half-submerged log. But this brass
is definitely from a wreck, I figure.”
“Listen--What’s that?”
Voices and subdued noises took the boys to the deck at once, where
they carefully shut the cabin slide to keep the light from showing
while they peered across the water of the cove. There in the darkness a
low boat of some kind appeared to have anchored, and men were moving
about on it, for their footsteps on deck could be heard, and there were
occasional flickerings of light as if a lantern were in use.
“Thank goodness for one thing, Stan, I don’t think we’ve been
discovered, yet; do you?”
“No. What’s going on over there?”
“Shades of the Caspian Sea and blessings on thee little man, I wish I
knew! Hear that low, throbbing sound, like a pump working?”
“Probably a salvaging job; but why at night, John?”
“Dear me, Oswald, old bean!” laughed John, “Why ask me? Your guess is
as good as mine.”
The noises of whatever operation was under way continued for hours, and
Stan went down to his bunk to sleep while John stood first watch. A low
whistle was to be the signal for the G-man’s son to hurry to the deck
should any attack or disturbance occur.
For a long while John sat huddled in the corner of the cockpit,
thankful for the sweater he had slipped on, for summer was well
advanced and the night cool. His bow and arrows were handy, and he
watched what little could be seen of the strange things taking place
across the water. He could be sure of nothing, and towards the latter
part of his watch gave up guessing. Probably the men were salvaging
the sunken ship if such the cove contained. Overhead the bright stars
twinkled, and alongshore in the darkness the leaves switched in the
breeze. John Tallman was not sorry when his radium-dialed watch showed
midnight.
Sleepy-eyed, dog-tired, in spite of the excitement of wondering what
the later hours might bring, the youth went below to wake Stan. He
found that worthy half-awake, for the sandy-haired skipper of the
_Water Witch_ had slept poorly.
“I say, a cup of coffee and a doughnut, Stan!” John said, rubbing his
eyes, and then his stomach. “Cockpits and maintops, but I’m hungry.”
They made coffee and munched doughnuts but said little about the
strange surroundings. Stan went on deck then and, in his turn, listened
to the sounds of work upon the surface of the cove. He came no nearer
to a solution of the problem than had John, and went back to bed at
four.
The dimly outlined boat moved off before dawn, and the slowly
brightening sky of morning disclosed only a cool, deserted cove. The
surrounding hills showed only trees, green and thick, right down to the
water’s edge and, in most places, overlapping the water with widespread
branches.
At breakfast, as the sun came over the eastern hill, the boys gave each
other questioning looks.
“If I was not so sleepy, I’d swear I’d been asleep and dreamed the
whole thing, Stan,” John said, yawning and looking longingly at his
bunk. “Whatever and whoever was at the center of this cove last night
is gone, now.”
“Get some sleep, John, and then we’ll put up our sails and find the
entrance. I’m quite sure it’s just round that hill over there.”
“Righto, Skipper!”
And the rangy lad hit the bunk with a sigh of relief.
Stan worked about on deck, washing the sloop down, and glancing around
from time to time with interest in the hopes of spotting life along the
opposite shore.
He was thus engaged when curiosity got the better of him. He could
never, he decided, sail out of Black Cove without an explanation of
what he and John had seen and heard. He woke his chum about eight
o’clock and suggested that they swim ashore and look Porpoise Island
over.
At first John was reluctant, but he too was curious, and besides, the
warm sunlight had robbed the pretty cove of its atmosphere of danger.
They might be a couple of young fools, for all they knew, but they
meant to find out. With the two boys, to come to a decision was to go
into action, and they stripped, slipped into bathing togs, and went
over-side at once. Quickly and with ease, for they were both fair
swimmers, they covered the few yards of water, swimming in under the
branches of the trees to the rich loamy shore, onto which they climbed.
Hearts thumping a little, they pushed through some bushes looking for
a path. John was the first to cry out, being in the lead. Sure enough,
there was a path! A little-used passage through the bushes and trees,
it led them winding uphill, and they followed it silently with their
bare feet making no sounds. At home in the woods as well as upon the
water, the two boys moved onward, alert for anything!
But nothing happened, at least for a period of twenty minutes, during
which time they passed several bypaths and went along seeing the
glitter of the cove as they circled it. All of a sudden they came out
of that path, through the bushes right smack into a clearing in which
stood a trim cottage built of rustic materials. A well built dwelling,
it gave hints of wealth, for it was furnished with modern windows and
the latest type of weather-resisting roofing. A bright, new pump stood
at a well near the door, and everything spoke of good upkeep. While the
boys stood pop-eyed with wonder they saw no sign of life.
Then a soft voice broke the silence of enchantment.
“Well?” came the query.
Startled, they turned about to find, standing right behind them, a
peculiar old man! The peculiar thing about him was the leathery skin of
his face and the paleness of his gray eyes. It was a kindly appearing
face but not one you would have liked. Something in the set of the
smile and the paleness of those eyes would have warned you to be on
the alert for--unsuspected danger!
“Well?” repeated the man, still smiling.
Stan and John knew that they were trespassing, and that made them feel
guilty. Added to that was the odd feeling of danger. They exchanged
glances of appraisal with the old fellow; then Stan spoke.
“That’s a peach of a cabin you have, Mister!”
The man’s face muscles, which had given an air of tenseness to his
smile, now relaxed, and he said, “I’m glad you like it. I like it
myself!”
“I don’t blame you!” Stan admitted. “By the way, we sailed into Black
Cove last night not knowing anyone was around here----”
A look of surprise crossed the man’s tanned features. His smile
disappeared for a moment.
“You sailed into Black Cove?”
“Yes; is that surprising?”
“Why, no, but----”
“Boss!” bellowed some one, and footsteps sounded in the path. “Boss!
They’s a yacht anchored on the far side of the cove----!”
The owner of the voice appeared from the pathway and stopped,
speechless before the boys and the old man. If the gray-eyed owner of
the cabin was peculiar, tall, slender, and well dressed, the newcomer
was just the opposite in appearance. Small-eyed, heavy-browed, and
fat-faced, he was a disagreeable sort of chap. Apparently of foreign
parentage, he was swarthy, and looked as though he had eaten a great
deal for many years but never bothered to take a bath. His clothes hung
baggy and unkempt, and he gave the air of being a blundering fool in
action.
The old man glared for a split second at the fat one.
“Dago,” he said, “Meet my guests,----”
“I’m Stanley Sandborn, and this is John Tallman,” Stan introduced
himself and his friend, and he had a feeling that he was known to the
old man.
“Yes, I know,” responded their host, smiling again. “You see, I read
the papers every day! You did a marvelous job in helping capture Mr.
Hogan and his accomplices!”
“Boss--them’s the kids that caught Hogan?” demanded Dago. His red face
spoke volumes.
“Dago is troubled with a bad heart, boys, and doubtless worries about
his past,” explained the host. “I am Mr. Raymond Nevens, and Dago is my
trusted man-of-all-work.”
“The kids what captured Hogan!” stuttered Dago; then he burst into a
volley of strange oaths ending with, “Of all the blessed luck!”
With a lightning fling of a quickly balled right fist, Mr. Nevens
struck out at Dago! The blow landed fairly, and the man-of-all-work
went sprawling into the bushes!