A WILD NIGHT
That was merely the first of a whole week of days that seemed amazingly
alike. Mr. Fulton tried to make the work as interesting as possible by
letting them change off jobs as often as he could. But even then there
was little that under ordinary circumstances would interest a regular
out-of-doors boy. What helped was that the circumstances were not
ordinary. It was all a big game to them--a fight against odds. Perhaps
at times the screwing of greasy nuts on greasier bolts did not look
much like a game, nor did the tedious pushing of a plane or twisting a
brace and bit look like a fight, but every one of the boys sensed the
tense something that was back of all Mr. Fulton's cheery hustle.
They knew that his arm and shoulder hurt fearfully at times, but never
a complaint did they hear from him, although he was all sympathy over
the blood-blisters and cut hands of their own mishaps.
But the second week made up for any lack of excitement that the boys
had felt. The week was up Wednesday night. On Thursday morning Mr.
Fulton met them with a white face that somehow showed the light of
battle.
"Guess you'd better arrange, Boss Jerry, to leave a couple of your
Scouts on guard here nights," was all he said, but the boys felt that
something disturbing had happened the night before. They questioned
Elizabeth when she brought their lunch, which they ate from benches and
boxes to save time, but she would give them no satisfaction. Tod seemed
to know something, but he too was strangely mum.
Jerry decided to remain over that night himself, and Phil, who had
dropped a steel wrench across his toes and so had to remain for medical
attention anyway, offered to share the watch with him. After Mr. Fulton
had left them at about ten o'clock, they talked for awhile together,
but finally they both began to yawn.
"What'll it be?" asked Phil. "Two hours at a stretch, turn and turn
about?"
"Suits me," said Jerry. "Ill take the first trick."
Phil's snoring something like fifty-nine seconds later was sufficient
answer. All was still, and Jerry set about to await midnight, when he
could hope for a brief snooze. After a while the silence began to wear
on his nerves and in every night noise he fancied he heard steps. He
sat still and watchful, hardly breathing at times, his finger poised
above a push button that would ring a bell where Mr. Fulton lay
stretched out on a pallet on the floor of the tiny cabin.
But midnight came and nothing had happened. He roused Phil and then
hunted himself out a soft spot in which to curl up. But he had grown so
used to listening that now he found he could not stop. He tried
counting, only it was fish he was catching instead of sheep going
through the gap in the hedge. It was no use. At last he got up and
stretched himself.
"Guess I'll take a turn around in the cool air; I can't seem to sleep."
"Gee," grumbled Phil, "and here _I_ can't seem to stay awake. Just as
well have let me slumber on in peace."
"Well, don't slumber while I'm gone, sleepyhead."
Jerry walked across the open ground and after an undecided halt, broke
through the bushes, heavy now with dew, and made for the shore. He
stood for a long time on the bank, looking across to where the Scout
camp lay quiet in the darkness, and then turned and was about to go
back to Phil. But he paused; a steady creaking sound had broken the
night. It was drawing slowly nearer. It was a rowboat.
"Great conspirators, they are!" sniffed Jerry. "They might at least
grease their oars." He heard the mumble of low voices, the _sush_ of a
boat keel on the sand. Reaching down, he caught up a big handful of
pebbles; with a hard overhand swing he let them fly.
He heard a muttered "Ouch!" and then, after a moment's silence, once
more the _creak-crook_ of oars. "Batter out" chuckled Jerry to himself
as he scurried back to the hangar.
After that he slept.
The boys were all excitement when he told his story next morning, but
that was nothing to compare with the exclamation that arose that same
evening when they returned to camp to find that Dave, who had been left
in charge, had disappeared, and that the place had been rifled and then
torn all to pieces. Poor Dave was found not far off, tied to a tree.
His story was somewhat lacking in detail. He had sat dozing over a book
on aeronautics, when suddenly an earthquake came up and hit him over
the head. That was all he knew till he woke up tied securely to a tree.
"That settles it," declared Phil. "We ought to have done it in the
first place, but the boss didn't think it was worth while."
"What's that?" demanded Jerry, a bit sharply.
"Well, what's the idea of our coming over here every night to sleep,
when there's oodles of room there on Lost Island, where we're needed?
Huh?"
"What's that 'huh'? Boy Scout for sir?" cried Jerry hotly.
Phil jumped to his feet, but to the surprise of Jerry, who had put up
his fists, the Scout Leader brought his heels together with a click and
his right hand went to the salute.
"I stand convicted," he said simply. "You're the boss of this
expedition. What's orders?"
"Orders are to break camp--it's already pretty well broken--and take
ship for Lost Island. Patrol Leader Fulton will take charge of the job
while Boss Ring goes off and kicks himself quietly but firmly."
They all laughed and good feeling was restored. The Scouts made short
work of getting their traps together, even in the dark, and it was not
many minutes before the first load was on the way to Lost Island.
Jerry, Phil and Dave followed silently afterwards in the _Big Four_
with the rest of the dunnage.
"You think _they_ did it?" asked Dave of no one in particular. No one
asked who _they_ were, nor did anyone answer, but each knew what the
others were thinking.
Mr. Fulton showed no surprise when told of their decision to camp
henceforth on the island. "Good idea," was his only comment.
They were not disturbed that night, and the next day passed without
incident, save that Budge had the bad luck to break a truss he had been
all day in making. "Good!" said Mr. Fulton. "That wood might have
caused a serious accident if it had got into the _Skyrocket_." Budge,
knowing his awkwardness and not the timber was to blame, felt grateful
that he had been spared the reproof that would have been natural.
They had been making good progress, in spite of their greenness; next
day Mr. Fulton was planning to stretch the silk over the planes; it had
already been given a preliminary coat of a kind of flexible varnish
which was also a part of Mr. Fulton's invention. The carpenter had done
his part handsomely. The launch had come down the day before with all
of the heavier framework and trusses. A few rods were still to come
from the blacksmith, and the rear elevator control was still awaited,
but enough of the material had been mended and put in place to make the
aeroplane look less like a wreck.
Jerry and Mr. Fulton had finally managed to master the secret of the
motor; that is, they finally made it run as smoothly as a top, but
neither one was ever able to tell why it had not done so from the
start. Oiled and polished, it stood on the bench till a final brace
should be forthcoming.
Camp had been pitched on the river side of the open ground, close
beside the path. The second night of their new location Mr. Fulton and
Elizabeth came over, Dick guarding the _Skyrocket_ and Tod remaining at
the cabin to look after poor Billings, who, thanks to the doctor's
daily visits and his daughter's patient nursing, was growing steadily
stronger. Elizabeth brought along a guitar, which she played daintily,
singing the choruses of all the popular songs the boys could ask for by
name. After a little bashful hesitation, Dave chimed in, while the rest
of the boys lay back and listened in undisguised delight.
Into this peaceful scene burst Tod, frightened out of his wits. It was
a full minute before he finally managed to gasp:
"They've come--they've been here! I didn't see them!"
"What in the world do you mean?" cried Mr. Fulton, shaking the excited
boy with his left hand. "If you didn't see them, how do you----"
"I didn't. But it's gone--the motor's gone.----"
"What!" yelled the whole crew at once.
"Dick and I sat outside the doorway, listening to you folks having a
good time, and I went in to see what time it was--and there was the
hole in the side of the hang--hang--the shed, and the motor had
disappeared. At least that was all we noticed was gone."
The last of this was delivered on the run, for all had set out for the
machine shop, Mr. Fulton having promptly vetoed Phil's plan to put a
circle of Scouts around the shore.
Sure enough, a big gap showed in the side of the hangar, where two
boards had been pried loose. "Lucky you were outside," grunted Phil
disgustedly, "or they'd have pulled the whole place down over your
head."
"We've got to work fast," urged Mr. Fulton. "If they get away with the
motor the stuff's all off. They're desperate men--I don't want any of
you trying to tackle them. Scout ahead, and when you sight them, this
is the signal:" He whistled the three short notes of the
whippoor-will's call. "I've got my automatic, and I guess I can take
care of them."
As they hurried out into the night they spread out, working toward the
east side of the island. Jerry found himself next to Phil, and after a
few yards he moved over closer to the Scout Leader.
"I say, Phil," he called guardedly; "you ready to listen to the wildest
kind of a notion?"
"Shoot," came the answer.
"I don't believe our visitors came on the island for that motor at all.
What good would it do them?"
"It'd stop our launching the _Skyrocket_, for one thing."
"But there are lots of lighter things that would do that. I don't trust
those two ruffians--or their boss, either."
"Well, who does?"
"That's not the point. Mr. Fulton figures that they merely want to keep
those others from buying his idea, so that when the first option
expires, _they_ can. But if they could steal the plans in the
meanwhile--get me?"
"I get you. Then you think that stealing the motor was just a blind,
and that they are----"
"Getting us out of the road so they can take their time going through
the workshop. If we're wrong, there's plenty of Scouts out trailing
them--it'd be too late anyway, as it's only a few hundred feet to where
they would have left their boat. What say we sneak back, see if there's
a gun at the cabin, and take them by surprise when they start
burglarizing the hangar?"
Phil turned about by way of answer, and stealthily they approached the
cabin. A light showed dim in the invalid's room, and through the
curtained window they could see Elizabeth's long braids bent over a
book. She merely looked up when they stopped at the window, and at once
came out the back door to where they stood.
"Is there a gun in the house?" questioned Phil.
"A thirty-two Colts," she replied. "Want it?"
"Quick as we can have it. _They_ are on the island."
But she did not wait to hear the rest of his explanation. In a jiffy
she had brought them an ugly looking revolver. "Be careful," she said
as she handed it to Phil; "it shoots when you pull the trigger."
The boys stole across the narrow space between the cabin and the
hangar, and flattened themselves against the log walls as they wound
their way toward the little "night door" near the other end. As they
passed the big sliding doors they paused an instant and pressed their
ears close against the planks, but all was still. Both had an instant
of disappointment, for they were counting strongly on being able to
crow over the rest.
But when they came to the crack where the two doors came together, and
looked within, their spirits jumped up till they hardly knew whether
they were pleased or frightened. For just an instant a flash lamp had
lighted up the darkness!
Not quite so cautiously now, and a good deal faster, they made their
way to the little door, guided by their sense of feeling, for the night
was black as the pitch in the old saying. Jerry turned the catch firmly
but slowly, and the door swung open without a creak. They stepped
inside.
They were now in a walled off ante-room used for small supplies. It
opened into the main workshop by means of a narrow doorway. Standing in
the middle of the tiny room they had a full view of the whole place.
Like two monstrous fireflies a pair of dark figures darted about,
ransacking Mr. Fulton's desk, tearing open the lockers and cupboards,
searching out every likely nook and cranny where papers might be hid,
their flashlights throwing dazzling light on each object of their
suspicion.
The two boys realized suddenly that the attention of the two had been
focused in their direction, and Jerry jumped back behind the shelter of
the door-edge just in time to escape the blinding rays of the
flashlights. Phil evidently realized that their time of grace was over
and there was nothing to be gained in further delay.
With raised pistol he stepped out into the light.
"Hands up!" he ordered gruffly. "Your little game is ended for
to-night."
But he had miscalculated somewhat. With startling suddenness darkness
closed in about them, there was a quick rush across the littered floor,
a thud as a heavy body dashed against the shed wall and crashed through
the inch boards. Phil's gun roared out twice. As the two boys hastened
to the gap in the wall they could hear the crash of the pair as they
tore madly through the brush. Then all was still again.
But not for long. Panting from the run, Mr. Fulton and three of the
Scouts came chasing like mad through the darkness.
"What's happened?" he cried when he saw it was Jerry and Phil. He
listened as patiently as possible to their disconnected story, laughing
grimly at the end. "Well, they'll swim it to shore, because we found
their boat, and we sunk it under about a ton of stones."
"Yes, but----" began Jerry, a premonition of further disaster in his
mind and on the tip of his tongue, when from the east shore of Lost
Island came wild cries of rage and chagrin. "Just what I thought!"
exclaimed Jerry, by way of finishing out his sentence.
"What's that?" demanded Mr. Fulton and Phil in a breath.
But Jerry did not answer. There was no need. Down the path came an
excited group, shouting:
"Somebody's made off with the _Big Four!_"