The Secret of Black Cove
After leaving the boys that afternoon in the capable hands of Butch,
Gallagher had gone back to Nevada to talk over certain plans in
connection with Hegarty’s expected attack. And he had been so engaged
when Marzonij had been shown up. He had left the room wondering just
what it was Marzonij had brought in the way of news and he had more
than a hunch that it concerned himself. He waited patiently with Dago
while the interview took place, and was doing some fast thinking by the
time Cowboy sent him to the supply room. Cowboy had told him to check
the small arms supplies. They’d already been checked twice by Dago, so
Cowboy could only be stalling him for time!
He went to the supply room and walked about it trying to remember
every detail of Marzonij’s remarks while he was getting Cowboy to
agree to a private interview, trying to guess Cowboy’s thoughts after
that interview by the look of Nevada’s face, estimating his chances
of having been exposed as a law-man! But he could not arrive at any
certainty in his conclusions. He must go on bluffing till he learned
his bluff had been called! It was his duty! And if Cowboy suspected
that the truth trapped him and elected to shoot him down in cold blood,
he’d take it like a man, remembering that the F. B. I. expects the
courage of a soldier in its men!
It was getting dark outside by now, Mr. Sandborn knew, and he knew that
by this time two nights hence Hegarty would try conclusions with the
notorious Nevada!
The first intimation that things had reached a climax already was the
flinging open of the store-room door as some one entered from the cabin
tunnel. At the same time a man came into the supply room from a side
aisle. Both men were tense and spoke in sharp, nervous voices.
“Hegarty’s here, Gallagher!” cried one.
“We’re in for some hot typewriting to-night, Gallagher,” said the
other.
And at that moment, Dago himself appeared in the doorway from the
cabin. He was purple of face as seen in the electric lights of the
store-room. He was gripping a submachine gun in his paws.
“Grab him, men!” cried Dago. “He’s a Fed!”
But the two men, who now stood, quite by accident between Dago and Mr.
Sandborn, were too startled by what Dago yelled to do anything for a
full second. For all they knew it might be a big joke on Dago’s part,
though why Dago should be kidding when Hegarty’s men were in full
attack, was beyond them!
By that time Mr. Sandborn, his own thinking conditioned by training and
habit, had darted like a shadow down a side aisle and was streaking it
for the tunnel entrance near the aquarium before Dago could get into
real pursuit! Then came the whine of steel as Mr. Sandborn covered
the last forty yards to the entrance! The slugs bit and rang on the
woodwork and metal of the entrance, but the G-man was through and in
the open in a flash now!
His first concern was for the boys, and he raced over a path, noting
as he ran that the firing of the battle was coming from the land
ridge on the west of the cove! That would mean that Hegarty had sent
an overland party to draw attention from a main attack elsewhere! The
fleet-footed G-man did not know that as he dashed down one path towards
the waiting room he passed within ten feet of the hidden boys, who had
been crawling forward to find their arrows.
He reached the entrance to the waiting room tunnel, fumbled for a
second for the release catch, then raced down the steps and the
tunnel towards the spot where the boys should still be in the company
of Butch! He entered the waiting room to stumble headlong over the
prostrate figure of Butch! One glance at the man’s bonds told the
story, and the elated G-man raced back again through the tunnel,
disregarding the muffled groans from the unfortunate Butch.
Now where would the boys be? Mr. Sandborn did not know, but he’d have
to look about for them. He became now a silent shadow slinking swiftly
about from one spot of the field of action to another, examining tunnel
entrances, bushes, the boat-house, and the launches for the boys.
Marzonij meanwhile had raced out of the channel to meet the oncoming
_Sea Hawk_. He had been taken aboard, reported his trip to Hegarty, and
confirmed the fact of the beginning of the Big Fight, then taken his
place at a gun as the big yacht moved into the channel to the cove. The
_Malcon_ had come up the sea side, having dropped her landing crew, and
the _Canton_ had come round from the bay side around the snout.
The big yacht tore into the cove first, opening fire as she came, and
the others followed at short distances behind.
Mr. Sandborn, trapped between the fires of both the yachts and the
machine gun crews on the ridges, made haste to get out of his present
position as quickly as possible. As he did so he came face to face with
Dago. Dago had just come round a flower bush in the dark, gun in hand,
and the men recognized each other at once. Dago’s gun muzzle bore down
as Mr. Sandborn’s right hand brought up the automatic he carried. As
the G-man’s trigger finger squeezed, he contrived to slip to his knees!
The blast of Dago’s submachine gun seemed almost to lift the G-man’s
hat from his head, but it was high and clear! Mr. Sandborn’s shot hit
the gangster in the fingers, and, yelling with pain, Dago turned and
bolted.
Mr. Sandborn gave chase, and Dago darted along the cove trail towards a
certain gun nest! As the swarthy fellow tore along he suddenly leaped
off the ground with a scream of pain, and fell in a sprawling, clawing
heap! Mr. Sandborn was upon him in an instant, clipping him sharply
on the head with the muzzle of his automatic. The big mobster now
senseless, the G-man tied him securely with torn strips of clothing,
and left him gagged and helpless in the bushes. He’d be found when
needed, Mr. Sandborn suspected!
“Dad!” came a loud outcry of a youthful voice.
The G-man darted in the direction of the voice and was standing in deep
bushes grasping his son with strong, glad hands a moment later.
“I’m sure glad you’re safe, son,” said he.
“How’d you like that shot, Mr. Sandborn?” queried John. “Did you see
Stan’s arrow sticking in Dago’s pants?”
The truth was that the arrow had been dislodged by Dago’s sprawling
fall, but the G-man had no doubt that a steel-tipped hunting arrow had
caused Dago’s yowl of pain!
“It was a swell shot, boys,” agreed Mr. Sandborn. “But you boys had
better get back to the beaches away from this dangerous scrap! Are
there any G-men ashore, do you know?”
Stan explained that Holmes had left lookouts behind and gone for aid,
and Mr. Sandborn then said it was wise to get through the lines, if
possible, and be clear of the actual fight for a while at least.
But as the boys and the G-man emerged from the bushes, they came face
to face with Cowboy Nevada himself! He was hurrying up the trail,
evidently bound on a visit to one of his machine gun emplacements, and
he was surprised to meet Gallagher. Before he could say or do a thing,
the G-man had flung himself upon Nevada.
Nevada, an old hand at scrapping, shook off the G-man, trying to
maneuver for a shot or two with his six-guns, but Mr. Sandborn whipped
out with alert hands and grabbed the wrists of the desperado!
He twisted hard as he did so, and the guns clattered to the ground out
of reach, where Stanley and John picked them up and hoved them away
from the fight. Grunting with the effort of his blows, the trained
G-man flung himself again upon Nevada, intent on knocking out the
Westerner and taking him alive! Nevada swapped punches for a moment or
two, then turned and ran for the cabin!
The suddenness of this retreat took the G-man by surprise, and Nevada
had a dozen paces head start. But Mr. Sandborn was not to be left
behind, and he closed up, reached out his right hand, and grabbed the
fleeing gunman and crime head by the shoulders, spilling him to the
ground! Then, as Nevada got up, Mr. Sandborn with perfect timing ducked
a punch and slapped home a stiff uppercut that floored the head of the
country’s biggest crime corps for the count!
Expertly, Mr. Sandborn gagged and bound the man as he had done with
Dago, then he dragged the unconscious man into deep shrubbery and left
him there.
At this time the situation at the cove took a turn towards a climax as
Hegarty put the _Sea Hawk_ close to the boat-house and his men leaped
ashore! Nevada’s men came pouring down into the hollow to intercept and
fight the invaders, and Mr. Sandborn and the boys had to duck into the
bushes as this took place.
“Our best bet, boys,” shouted Mr. Sandborn, for the noise of gunfire
drowned out ordinary talk, “is to get up the ridge in case our men are
coming over. Holmes should be back by now with aid.”
The three of them dashed up the path to the ridge, and, as they did so,
they met the G-men coming up the hill by every path, alert, able men
well armed, well trained, anxious to get in at close quarters with the
gangs!
“The Chief sent word for you to report to me, Sandborn,” said Holmes,
“and I’m to give you orders!”
“All right, Holmes, let’s have your orders. I am ready.”
Holmes grinned.
“You’ve done a swell job, Sandborn, and so have the boys, unless my
guess proves pretty wrong when you spill the evidence in court, and my
orders are for you to go with the two boys to the _Staghound_, raise
her sails, and head for Centerport for another brief vacation!”
Protesting, Mr. Sandborn finally agreed to those orders, but before he
started down the slope with the boys he left clear instructions as to
where Dago and Nevada could be found, and pointed the directions of
tunnel entrances. The agent in charge shook hands with Mr. Sandborn and
the boys, and led his eager men in a long, circling line down into the
cove! It would not take those fine young fighters long to tame the wild
disordered ranks of cheap gunmen and wipe out the last of the biggest
crime army yet to levy tribute on the country’s business and people!
And with the capture or death of those men would go the crumpling of
the entire vast syndicate with its network of pillage and spoilage! The
F. B. I. would add another splendid page to its excellent record of
arrests and convictions!
Down at the _Staghound_ the boys and the tired Mr. Sandborn enjoyed a
cup of coffee and doughnuts before raising the sails.
“Wow, what an adventure that was!” breathed Stan. “And I’m glad it’s
over, Dad!”
“No gladder than I am, and your mother will be!” said the clear eyed
man, smiling. “Let’s stay home a few days and keep Mother company.
We’ve been nothing but worry to her for some time now!”
“The water’s no place for pleasure lovers, I can see,” laughed John.
“Great gobs of whipped cream--we’ll have to hike on the road next time,
or go camping, or build us a trailer and become tin-can tourists! Maybe
then we’ll just have a good time and keep clear of gangsters and crime
syndicates!”
“Dad,” said Stan, breaking into John’s facetious remarks, “both John
and I are dying to know what the wreck was at the bottom of Black Cove
and what it contained!”
Mr. Sandborn helped himself to another doughnut while John poured more
coffee.
“The whole story is this, in a few words, boys,” said he: “some years
ago a rum-running yacht called the _Shanghai_, owned and operated by
underworld interests, became a floating bank for the deposit of the
vast sums of money stolen by that particular gang from dozens and
scores of big bank robberies, and kidnapings! Besides that, those
mobsters added actual gold and silver bullion stolen en route from
mines to mints, and chests of precious stones gathered by confidence
men and thieves from the necks and safes of rich victims. Besides a
normal cargo of liquor which enabled the _Shanghai_ to pose as an
ordinary rum-runner, she carried the immense loot I have spoken of.
“For some months while the wealth was being accumulated in that single
hull, and while she rode her place along notorious ‘Rum-Row,’ the
secret was safe; then some one talked, and in time Cowboy Nevada, a
small time racketeer, heard of it.
“He conceived and executed a clever plot by means of which he took
possession of the yacht on the seas, took her into Black Cove, which he
had figured as a perfect spot for his plan, and sank her at once during
the same night, so that at daybreak there was no trace of the vanished
rum-runner!”
John choked on a doughnut, he was so surprised.
“That certainly was an ingenious way to set himself up in big-time
racketeering!” said Stan. “No wonder he had wealth to start him off on
his way to a syndicate!”
“You’re right,” agreed Mr. Sandborn, soberly. “And Nevada made sure
to rescue, by a diver, only what he really needed in ready riches
to handle his vast enterprises. He kept a pile of cases loaded with
currency in his store-room, but the _Shanghai_ must still contain a
vast store of jewels, money, and bullion. Most of it will find its way
shortly to its rightful owners!”
They finished the brief meal, and, warm and somewhat rested, the boys
hoisted sail, stowed the tender on deck, and slacked off the sheets
while the fleet _Staghound_, which had been not so long ago the
black-hulled _Water Witch_, bore the G-man, the G-man’s son, and the
faithful and amusing John Tallman towards the far lights of Centerport,
and home!
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
copyright on this publication was renewed.