The Mystery of Black Cove
The G-man’s son hurried below decks with John, and they changed to
their white sailor pants and white jerseys. As they did so, Stan gave a
low exclamation of surprise.
“Look, John, I didn’t notice that--the man who came aboard our sloop
did not take along the brass fitting from Black Cove!”
“Probably didn’t recognize it as of value, Stan,” John suggested. “Dago
wouldn’t be likely to think of it, unless he’s brighter than I think
he is! ‘From sea to shining sea,’” laughed John, “I’ll never forget
how scared Dago was and still is of the boys who helped get Dapper Dan
Hogan! Such is the result of publicity and luck!”
“Stow the gab, sailor,” Stan said, grinning, “and put down that
doughnut you just reached for. We’ve got work to do.”
He hurried to the deck and began taking the strops off the furled
mainsail, and the lanky youth ran to the jibs to do the same. In a few
minutes the mainsail was being raised till the throat of it was taut.
Then the peak went up tightly, and the jibs were raised. The _Water
Witch_ was filled off in the fitful noonday breeze puffing into the
cove, as the anchor broke ground and was hauled aboard. Dipping with a
courtesy, and rippling along, the black sloop crossed the cove, and as
she did so John lay in the bow, peering over as casually as possible,
as if idling on the deck. To anyone watching from the hills he would
have appeared to be killing time, but in reality he was trying to see
below the surface of the cove!
Shaking his head negatively after a few minutes, John sat up while the
center of the cove was left behind and the _Water Witch_ came into
sight of the channel entrance. Outside a brisk sea was running, for the
breeze, which dropped only fitful cat’s-paws down into the cove, was
blowing steadily in the open. Whitecaps shattered and broke along the
tips of the rollers, and the _Water Witch_, with sheets eased, ran out
through the channel rapidly.
“A swell day for sailing, Stan!” John called back. “Let’s head for
Europe!”
“We’ve got plenty to do at home, John,” Stan replied. “Come on aft, and
let’s figure things out, if we can.”
Grinning happily as the sloop ran lee rail deep through the marching
waves, John came aft to the cockpit, reached into his pants’ pocket for
a doughnut, and sat back to talk and eat.
“I’ve got it--(crunch-crunch)--all figured out, Skipper!” John said.
“Let’s have it, old boy.”
“Well--(crunch-crunch)--let’s sail to another cove farther
down the island,” John said triumphantly, “getting in
there--(crunch-crunch)--after dark, and then come back to our cove
overland!”
“Go get yourself a brace more of doughnuts, John,” Stan said,
chuckling, “if you can get schemes like that out of a doughnut! Just
my idea too, exactly, and that’s what we’ll do. Let’s go over to Main
Haven for the fun of it, to kill time.”
“Swell!” was John’s single comment.
The _Water Witch_ was cruising quietly along save for the hum of taut
rigging and the splash and run of water along her sides, for she was
trim of line, fast, and able. Main Haven was a small port of call on
the nearest point of the mainland. It would take all the rest of the
day to reach it and return, and the skipper of the _Water Witch_ did
not want to get back till nearly dark. There would be watchful eyes
upon the hilltop backbone of Porpoise Island, if Stan’s suspicions were
correct, and he was already afraid Mr. Nevens suspected them too.
* * * * *
And Stan was not far wrong.
Back at the cove Mr. Nevens, in the seclusion of his private office
in the back of that wonderful cabin, was confronting a nervous,
apprehensive Dago.
“Well, did you do as I told you to, Dago?” Mr. Nevens inquired mildly,
sitting back with his feet upon his desk and a cheap cigar in his mouth.
He’d never been able to take to expensive smoking, had the peculiar
Mr. Nevens. Cheap black cigars were still a pleasure to him. It was
a throw back to his earlier days when he had been somewhat less than
well-padded with money and power----On the walls of his den were odd
things: a cartridge belt and brace of six-guns slung in open scabbards.
The handles of each gun had crude notches, several notches. A big
sombrero also hung upon a big peg.
Dago, big and hulky, stirred nervously upon his great feet before the
stare of the tall, lean, much older man.
“I got out the punt, poled along under the trees round the cove,
without any noise. When I gotta to the boat, I climbs aboard like you
said----”
“Wearing rubber gloves!” interposed Mr. Nevens, sharply.
“You betta the life I wore rubber gloves!” Dago came back eagerly, and
beads of sweat began to appear upon his forehead.
“Go on,” said his employer, quietly, puffing softly on the cigar.
“Then I goes down into the cabin and looks around. I don’t find nothin’
at all like-a you wanted.”
“Not a thing?”
“No.”
“No letters of any kind at all?”
“Just one letter, like-a from another boy. They ain’t-a no talk bout
you and me in there.”
“You sure you read it carefully, you ignorant fool?” Mr. Nevens
demanded.
Dago trembled a little again.
“I read-a every word-a. Slow. And I _did_ find-a one those cameras
special for G-men!”
Mr. Nevens puffed slowly and hard, his eyes smouldering. He put his
feet down upon the floor, leaned forward now, elbows on desk, and
staring into Dago’s black eyes.
“And you probably figured you were doing me a big favor by smashing it!”
“How did you know?” asked Dago, startled. “I didn’t-a tell-a you!”
“You didn’t have to, Dago. You know that! I guess I know ten years
ahead just what you’ll do and say any given minute. Twenty years
worrying over you from the Tonto Trail to this place has taught me that
you’re almost more bother and worry than----”
“I’ll do what you say, Cowboy! Honest I will!” Dago cried as if his
employer had threatened him with death or torture.
“O.k., Dago. I was just giving you fair warning, that’s all. Now, did
you see anything else?”
Dago named almost everything he had handled in the cabin of the _Water
Witch_ and Mr. Nevens, known as “Cowboy” to his henchman, made no
remarks till Dago casually spoke of “A piece of brass like-a from a
yacht.”
“Brass fitting? Did it have--what was it like?” Mr. Nevens demanded,
sharply.
Dago described it as best he could. Mr. Nevens purpled till his
leathery face was a mask of rage.
“And you left that fitting behind?”
“Yes. I no see what-a good it was!”
Mr. Nevens rose to his feet, suddenly quiet in manner. He stepped
directly in front of Dago and was about to turn and walk away,
dismissing Dago, when he suddenly asked, “Where are the gloves, Dago?”
The man stuttered.
“I thought I heard some one coming and I getta nervous and take off the
gloves to put them in my pocket!”
“Let’s have them!”
Dago put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it at once, cursing, and
pop-eyed.
“Gone!” he said, simply, and in terror.
* * * * *
At Main Haven the _Water Witch_ tied up to the steamboat wharf while
the two boys went ashore for peanuts, and a glass of soda. A little
later they climbed aboard again, cleared the harbor, and headed back
for Porpoise Island. The sun was getting low long before they drew down
on Porpoise Island. The chart showed two good coves and inlets along
both sides, and they chose one on the further end of the island. It was
sheltered, had good holding bottom, and the entrance was wide and free
of rocks. The breeze was dying with the setting sun as usual on good
summer days at the Catlow Islands and they slid into the cove, hours
later, on a light night wind, under the stars. A thin crescent moon
hung in the sky, but gave very little light. It was an ideal night for
the task in hand.
Getting into their bathing suits, the boys prepared to go ashore.
Stanley grinned as he took a length of cloth and tied the binoculars
on top of his head, so that he looked as though he had a toothache to
boot. Then, thus keeping the glasses dry, he let himself slowly and
carefully into the water and started for the beach. John followed as
silently as possible and they were shortly ashore.
“We’ll follow the paths along the hilltops, John,” Stan said, “till we
get to the places we saw to-day. Then we’ll go along the cove and to
the shore. If we get separated, we’ll meet at the place where the path
goes into the clearing, where Mr. Nevens confronted us this morning.”
“O.k., Skipper, let’s go.”
Untying the cloth, Stanley tucked the binoculars under one arm, wrapped
the cloth about his waist for safe-keeping, and they went along in the
starlit darkness adventure bent. It was a matter of a mile or so to
the cabin, and they made it without any difficulty, for they held to a
general direction by the stars and soon were down on the shore of the
cove.
Out in the center of the cove lights moved about on a low boat as men
worked. Voices drifted back but no words could be distinguished. The
night glasses showed the boat to be a low working barge, and there were
five or six men upon it. Among them the starlight glinted on metal,
rounded and shiny! The startled G-man’s son, grunting, handed the
binoculars to John.
“What do you make out, John?”
“Thunderous herds of beetle-bugs!” murmured John, “and droves of winter
cabbage! A diver!”
“John, I guess we’re on the trail of something illegal. Here is a
diving operation being carried on at night. Why avoid daylight, which
is dangerous enough, underwater? What is down there on the cove floor?
And, if a wreck, what does it contain?”
“Let’s swim out and get a closer look, Stan!”
“Two of us might attract attention. You keep watch, here, and I’ll go
out there, John.”
Protesting, John was left upon the bank, while Stan plunged in and swam
slowly and carefully out into the cove. John watched the faint ripples
of Stan’s progress for several minutes. Fifteen minutes went by, during
which time he lost track of his friend against the dark water of the
cove, then he heard a loud outcry from the men upon the barge, saw a
rowboat push away, and knew that Stan had been discovered!
With fast beating heart, John Tallman stared through the binoculars as
the boat rowed hard, then slowed. That would mean that Stan had gone
underwater trying to elude his pursuers! Suddenly the shout went up
again and the boat darted off in a new direction. This time there was a
struggling at the end of the row and John knew Stan had been captured!
What could he do to help his chum? He did not know, but an idea came
to him and he did not hesitate to act upon it. Undoubtedly they would
take Stan to the cabin. So John did not wait to see that done. Instead,
he darted up the trail, raced pell-mell along the ridge of the Island
for the sloop! It would not have mattered if it were ten miles to go
instead of two! He had to get there and come back!
In the meantime Stanley Sandborn sat huddled and cold in the bottom of
a boat while he was rowed to the barge. There he was hauled dripping to
the deck and stood up in the middle of a group of hard faced men. One
of them was Mr. Nevens!
“Well, my boy, and what are you doing, snooping round here?” inquired
Mr. Nevens.
Stan did not know what to say. If, by any chance, Mr. Nevens were a
law-abiding citizen and minding his own business, Stan was then a
stupid trespasser! And if he were really a criminal, Stan’s remarks
could not release the youth. The boy held his tongue and made no reply.
“Take him to the house, Dago,” ordered Mr. Nevens, “and stick him in
room 8.”
Dago grabbed the youth by the nape of the neck with evident delight at
his opportunity, and half flung, half pushed him into another boat.
Then he pushed off and began rowing ashore with his captive. But he had
not reckoned with Stan’s brains!
They had hardly got halfway to the boat-house when Stan pointed ahead.
“Look, Dago!” he said, as if surprised.
Obligingly, Dago turned to glance over his shoulder. There was nothing
unusual there. The big yacht had gone, and no lights showed. He turned
back, angrily--and his eyes popped! Stan had disappeared.
Sick at the thought of what Mr. Nevens would say, and _do_, Dago rowed
in frantic circles trying to find his escaped prisoner! When Stan broke
water, after a minute of stiff swimming, he came up yards from the
circling boat.
Afraid to yell for help, yet afraid to lose Stan, Dago grunted savagely
and rowed towards the youth.
“Dago, you fool!” cried Mr. Nevens from the barge. “Where you going to?”
“It’s o.k., Cowboy, o.k.!” Dago replied, cheerfully, then bent to his
oars, cursing under his breath.
It was twenty minutes before he closed again with the desperate youth
and hauled him, fighting, aboard. Then he gave the youth such a clip
under the short ribs that Stan lay doubled over, sick and gasping,
while the boat was rowed to the boat-house. He was still weak and sick
when Dago carted him ashore and began marching him up the path to the
cabin!
But, sick as he was, Stanley Sandborn was not licked yet, and, as his
breath came rapidly back, and they neared the door of that cabin, Stan
took one deep breath, and darted off across the clearing!
He made a path before Dago and led that worthy a merry chase. Had he
been fresh, Stan would have easily gotten away. As it was, Dago was
just a step or two behind all the time, and Stan eluded capture for a
while only by twisting about and turning from the outstretched hands of
the man.
Dago grabbed him again, however, and triumphantly dragged him towards
the cabin door, hugely satisfied with his luck in at last cornering
the youth. This time Stan would not escape him, he said aloud, and got
an even tighter grip upon the youth’s right arm. Stan knew that this
time he could not escape, being winded, sick, and gripped by a powerful
hand. Frightened, but game, he was dragged to the cabin door, and Dago
reached out his hand to press upon that door.
Even as he did so he gave a loud outcry of pain! His hand let go of
Stanley, and he began running in short circles, grabbing at his pants’
seat, and bellowing with alarm as if stung by a whole nest of hornets!
“Oh-h-h!” he bellowed, “I’m dead, dying! Ouch! Fire, bees! Wan Ho Din,
help!”
Stanley Sandborn thought himself too tired to run, but he now seized
his chance and darted for the path to the cove! There he almost
collided with his chum. The two of them headed for the hilltop and
towards the _Water Witch_.
And it was not until they slowed down to catch their breaths some
distance from the cabin that Stanley turned looks and words of inquiry
upon his friend.
For answer, John handed Stan an object he had been carrying.
It was his bow. And he had three or four arrows tucked away in a light
quiver over his shoulder!