THE STORM
Chet Morton laughed.
"We heard there were some queer things happening around here, but that
doesn't frighten us."
"There's nothing to laugh at, young man," returned the fisherman
tartly. "I've lived here for twenty years and I'm no fool. The caves
ain't healthy just now."
"Rum-runners, I suppose," said Frank.
But the fisherman scorned this suggestion.
"If it's rum-runners, they'd be bringin' their cargoes out to the road,
wouldn't they? Not much sense in 'em hidin' the liquor in the caves and
leavin' it there, is there?"
"I wouldn't think so. But perhaps they bring it out to the road
quietly."
"Nothin' of the sort. It's been investigated. There's been no queer
doin's on the road at all. All the queer doin's are right in the caves.
If it was rum-runners, they'd be bringin' the stuff in by boat, and
there ain't been any boats seen around here that can't be accounted
for."
"Just what are the queer doings?"
"Lights, mostly. And shootin'."
"But has no person been seen?"
"Not a livin' soul."
"That's strange."
"Strange ain't the word for it!" declared the fisherman. "It's
downright spooky. Like ghosts or somethin'."
"Do you believe in ghosts?" asked Joe.
"I don't. If I did believe in ghosts, though, I'd say there was ghosts
down in them caves lately and that's all I'd think about it. But not
believin' in ghosts, I don't know what to think."
"Have you gone down to the caves yourself?"
"I went down there a couple of weeks ago, but I didn't see anything
until just when I was comin' back that night. Then I saw a light away
down in one of the caves I'd been in just a couple of hours before.
Next I heard two or three shots, and then a yell."
"A yell!"
"The most awful screech I ever heard."
"Well, that proves that there's _somebody_ down there," remarked Biff.
"Maybe it does and maybe it don't. I wouldn't say it was a human voice
I heard. More like an animal."
"But an animal couldn't make a light."
"And there ain't many human bein's could make that yell. So there you
are."
"Yells or no yells, we're going to explore the caves," declared Frank,
with finality. "What say, fellows?"
"I'll tell the world we are!" exclaimed Chet. "You couldn't drive me
away now with a squad of marines."
The fisherman shrugged.
"It's your funeral," he said. "I'm thinkin' you'll come away from there
a lot faster than you go in."
"Perhaps," agreed Joe, with a grin. "And perhaps we'll find out just
who or what is causing all the disturbance. We'll go prepared for
anything that may happen to turn up, at any rate."
"You'll need to," said the fisherman gloomily. "Don't say that I didn't
warn you. You're welcome to put your machines in the shed, and if you'd
like a bite to eat, I guess my wife can fix up a bit of a snack for
you."
This hospitality was appreciated by the boys and they saw that the
fisherman's bark was worse than his bite, as the saying is, but they
politely declined, as they had eaten just a short time before. Chet,
who could--and would--eat at any time, was not very emphatic in his
refusal; he would willingly have accepted the invitation. But the
other lads were anxious to be going on.
"It's very good of you," said Frank, "and I hope you don't think we're
rude in going ahead to the caves after your warning. But there are four
of us, you see, and we think we can look after ourselves pretty well.
So, if you'll just let us leave the motorcycles in the shed while we're
around here we won't bother you any further."
"You're welcome to do that. And I suppose if you're bound to go on to
the caves, nothin' I can say will stop you."
The fisherman led the way to the shed, where the motorcycles were
safely stored. The machines would be under cover in the event of rain,
and there was a stout padlock on the door that ensured their safety
against being stolen. The lads unloaded their supplies and each filled
his pack with provisions.
"Have we got everything?" asked Frank finally. "Matches, flashlights,
revolver, bullets, bread, salt, coffee--"
"Everything needed for an expedition to the South Pole," said Chet,
shifting his pack to a more comfortable position on his shoulders.
A complete check-up showed that they had everything they needed; so,
after bidding good-bye to the fisherman, who drew them a rough map
showing the route they should follow in order to reach the caves, they
set out up the path just back of the cottage.
"Nobody seems very encouraging about this trip," said Biff, as they
ascended the hillside.
"What do you think _can_ be the trouble down in the caves?" asked Joe.
"Rum-runners, I'll bet! In spite of what the fisherman says, I can't
think of any other explanation," Frank replied. "They probably have
some way of getting the stuff out to the road without being seen.
Underground passages, or something of the sort."
"It seems likely. The shots and the yells were just to frighten people
away."
"Well, we should soon find out."
Although the hillside path had not seemed very formidable from the
shore, the boys found that it was steeper than it looked, and it was
more than an hour before they finally reached the top of the cliffs.
Here a magnificent view awaited them. Far below, the fisherman's
cottage seemed to lie at their very feet, like a toy house. The ocean
lay like a flat blue floor, far to the east, north, and south, and back
of them was a great, barren expanse of tumbled rock, without sign of
path or road. Venturing close to the edge of the cliff, the lads saw
a sheer wall of rock, many feet in height, at the bottom of which the
waves were lapping.
"No wonder we couldn't reach the caves by skirting the shore!" said
Frank. "The only way along the base of that cliff is by boat."
"We'll have to go ahead and search for the ravine the fisherman told us
about," suggested Joe.
Chet looked up at the sky.
"Yes, and we can't afford to lose any time about it either. We're in
for a storm."
Although the lads had noticed that the sun had gone behind a cloud,
they had not seen the heavy black cloud banks massing above them, so
intent had they been on their climb up the steep, winding path. Now,
when they looked up, they saw that a storm was indeed imminent. The
breeze bore to their ears a rumble of distant thunder.
"It looks like a bad one," said Biff. "We'd better hurry."
Without further ado, the boys hastened off along the faint trail that
led among the rocks. They could see no sign of the ravine, but judged
that it would be almost invisible until they came almost on it. Their
progress was slow, as it was difficult to make haste over the rocks and
boulders.
The storm came up swiftly. Within ten minutes the clouds were banked
blackly in the sky above. A streak of livid lightning rent the gloom
and there was a peal of thunder.
"We're out of luck if we can't find shelter before this storm breaks,"
panted Chet. The air was insufferably close. A few scattered raindrops
warned the lads that they had no time to lose.
They plodded on, mentally wishing that they had remained at the
fisherman's cottage but realizing that it was too late to turn back now.
Another flash of lightning, a terrific thunder-clap, and the storm
broke.
Rain began falling heavily. It streamed down from the black skies as
though the clouds had opened. The wind rose. Far below them the surf
boomed and the waves crashed against the base of the cliff. Rain poured
in a veritable deluge. The lads had neglected to provide themselves
with slickers, as they were already burdened by the weight of their
supplies, and they were soon drenched to the skin.
They stumbled on, scarcely able to follow the faint path in the gloom.
Lightning flickered, thunder crashed constantly, the wind rose to a
howl. There was not the slightest vestige of shelter, not even a tree,
out on this rocky waste. Frank looked in vain for a boulder large
enough to offer some protection.
They plunged forward into a streaming wall of rain.
Frank was in the lead. Chet and Biff were next, and Joe brought up the
rear. They could scarcely see one another in the gathering gloom. On
and on they went, heads bent to the storm, and, to Chet especially,
time seemed to stand still in a gray world.
Suddenly Frank looked behind, then came to a stop.
"Where is Joe?" he shouted, above the clamor of the gale.
The others looked back.
Joe had vanished.