_A Mystery Story for Girls_
THIRD WARNING
_By_
ROY J. SNELL
The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago
COPYRIGHT 1938
BY
THE REILLY & LEE CO.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Flaming Island 11
II The Battle of Siskowit 29
III Beauty and a Threat 39
IV Plumdum 48
V Night Signals 58
VI Chips 72
VII Rescued 84
VIII Mysterious Youth 98
IX The Defense of Chippewa 106
X Riding the Storm 122
XI Ashes in Their Hair 134
XII The Crimson Spot 141
XIII And May You Come Back 148
XIV A Desperate Venture 154
XV The Dog’s Parachute 160
XVI Who Rides a Moose 168
XVII The Phantom of Superior 177
XVIII Father Superior at His Worst 184
XIX A Flash in the Dark 192
XX A Weird Resting Place 198
XXI Second Warning 206
XXII Strange Comrades in Battle 216
XXIII Don’t Stay Too Long 229
XXIV The Invisible Host 239
XXV Out of the Air 247
THIRD WARNING
CHAPTER I
FLAMING ISLAND
“Look, Dave. See those strange clouds?” Florence Huyler shaded her eyes
to look away toward the horizon. Her face wore an expression of
bewildered curiosity.
“Yes, I see them. They _are_ queer!” young “Captain Davie,” as everyone
called him, replied as he wrinkled his brow. After giving the wheel of
his motor-driven craft a turn, he studied those clouds. “Scurrying along
the horizon,” he murmured, “they roll quite a bit, don’t they?”
“Yes, and such a peculiar shade of yellow,” Florence added. “Oh well,
clouds are different up here on Lake Superior.”
“Nothing to worry about, I guess,” said Dave, as once again he gave his
attention to the wheel.
As for Florence, at the moment she had nothing to do but think. And such
bitter-sweet thoughts as they were! She was cruising on Lake Superior.
That was grand! She had always loved the water. What was still more
magnificent, she was landing twice a week on the shores of that place of
great enchantment—Isle Royale.
Once, you will recall from reading _The Phantom Violin_, Florence with
two companions had made her summer home on a huge wrecked ship off the
rocky shores of this very island. What a summer that had been! Adventure?
Plenty of it. The ship had at last been completely destroyed during a
storm. They had barely escaped with their lives. The girl shuddered a
little even now at the thought of it.
Florence was large, strong, fearless. A marvelous swimmer and a grand
athlete, she had little to fear on land or water. And yet, as her eyes
swept the deck of the _Wanderer_, the sixty-foot motor-boat on which she
rode, a troubled look came into her fine blue eyes. Nor were those low,
circling clouds the cause of her worry. She and her cousin Dave, quite as
courageous and venturesome as she, had embarked upon an enterprise that
promised to be a failure.
“Grandfather will lose his money. He can’t afford to lose, and it’s not
all our fault,” she told herself a little bitterly. But now her thoughts
were broken by a short, stout, bronze-faced man, an Indian who appeared
at the cabin door.
“Look, John!” she pointed, speaking to the Indian. “Look at those strange
clouds!”
“Huh!” he grunted. “Smoke!”
“Sm-smoke!” the girl stared. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh,
from Canada! Forest fires. I’ve heard—”
“No Canada. Come from Isle Royale, that smoke. Island on fire.”
“On—on fire?” It was Dave who spoke.
“Yes.”
“Then that—that’s the end.” His voice was toneless with discouragement.
Isle Royale on fire! Florence tried to think what that might mean. For
weeks there had been no rain. During their short stops at Chippewa
Harbor, Tobin’s and Belle Isle, she had often walked back into the
forests. She had found the trees, the moss, the soil dry as tinder.
“Wha—what part of the island is on fire?” she managed to ask.
“Siskowit Bay.” The Indian took the wheel, relieving Dave.
“Where all those boys are camped?” the girl asked.
The Indian nodded.
“Do—do you suppose they are in danger?”
“Don’t know,” John twisted the wheel, “Bad fire.” He scanned the horizon.
“John,” said Dave, “do you know the rocks of Harlem Reef?”
“Every rock.” The Indian showed his fine teeth in a smile.
“Then I think,” Dave weighed his words carefully, “I think we’d better
put in there. It’s off our course, but—”
“What’s that?” a voice broke in sharply, “A fire on Isle Royale?”
“Yes, we—”
Florence did not finish. As she looked into the eyes of the man who had
spoken she read there something that almost frightened her.
He was a short, stout man, one of the few passengers on that voyage. In
his face she seemed to detect a look almost of antagonism. “But why?” she
thought in sudden consternation, “I’ve never seen him before, I am sure
of that. What can we have done to him?”
When the man spoke, none of this was to be detected in his words.
“A fire on Isle Royale?” He even forced a smile. “Too bad. But I can’t
say that concerns us. This is a passenger boat, bound for Rock Harbor.
Lake Siskowit, I’m told, is some twenty miles from there——”
“A fire,” Captain Davie spoke slowly, “any fire that destroys property
concerns all of us.”
“Swing her about, John,” he turned to the Indian. “We’re going in there.”
“But your schedule calls for first stop at Rock Harbor,” the man
insisted.
“That’s right, but an emergency exists. We—”
“Emergency my eye!” The man’s dark face flushed angrily. “You’ve
contracted to have me at Rock Harbor by four o’clock, the _Iroquois_
docks an hour later. I shall have just time to transact my business and
catch the _Iroquois_. If you don’t get me to Rock Harbor on time, you’ll
regret it.”
“Perhaps,” was Dave’s slow rejoinder. Turning to the Indian he said
quietly, “John, we’re putting in at Siskowit.”
“I’ll break you!” the man exclaimed angrily.
“That,” Dave laughed uncertainly, “that’s impossible. We’re already
broke.”
Turning on his heel, the passenger strode away.
“Big shot,” said Indian John, jerking his head toward the retreating
figure.
“What kind of big shot?” Florence asked.
“Don’t know.” John twisted the wheel. “Not Houghton man. Came from
somewhere. Don’t know where.”
“Well,” said Dave, “big shot or no, we’re off for Siskowit.”
Leaving the pilot house, Florence walked to the prow of the boat, then
dropped into a steamer chair. At once her alert mind was busy on past and
present. They were headed for an island. It was on fire. The island was a
regular tinderbox. There was gasoline on board. Their boat was
motor-driven.
“Three hundred gallons of gas,” she thought with a shudder. “To be of any
real help we’ll have to draw in close to the island. That’s
dangerous—might be disastrous.”
Then, like a weather-vane whipped suddenly about by the wind, her
thoughts turned to the past. It was to have been a rich and glorious
adventure—this summer cruise. Four months before she had been seated with
a jolly, friendly group, her own people for the most part, listening to a
promoter’s rosy tale of money to be made by a boat running from the
mainland to Isle Royale.
And they had the boat! Ah! yes, there had been their weakness. The
_Wanderer_, her grandfather’s boat, had been tied up at the dock for two
years. Before that it had carried fruit across Lake Michigan. Trucks had
ruined this trade. Then, too, a weak heart had forced her grandfather
into retirement.
“But you young people!” the promoter had exclaimed, “you know how to run
the boat, don’t you?”
“Oh sure,” Dave had grinned, “I’ve been on the boat with the captain here
for two years.”
“And Rufus is a fine engineer,” Florence had exclaimed, “Why not?” Her
heart had given a great leap at the thought of fresh and glorious
adventure. “I—I know a lot about the island. I’ll be first mate.”
“There you are,” the promoter had begun pacing back and forth before the
open fire, “you’ll make a fortune! You know the island is being made into
a national park,” he had enthused, “Thousands will be wanting to go
there. Most beautiful spot in all the Midwest.”
“And the temperature,” he had fairly exploded, “It’s never above seventy,
even when all the rest of the country is melting at a hundred in the
shade. Ten dollars round trip. Fifty to seventy-five passengers to the
trip. Three trips a week. You’ll wear diamonds! You’ll go to college!
You’ll—”
“Yes,” the girl thought now, sitting there watching the distant island
come nearer, “yes, we took it all in. Half of what he said was true. It
is a glorious island. The temperature is wonderful, but how many people
know it? Not many. How many are coming? Very few. We’re licked, that’s
all. Grandfather spent two thousand dollars he couldn’t well spare to fit
out our boat. Here we are making trip after trip, taking in enough to
make expenses, not earning a cent, and paying back nothing. Diamonds!
College!” She laughed a trifle bitterly.
No time now for regrets, however. The _Wanderer_ was rapidly nearing
shore. She could catch the red glow of the fire. Would there be real
danger? There were ten passengers on board. Was it right to endanger the
lives of these, even to the slightest degree? Dropping back to the side
of her stalwart cousin, she confided to him her fears.
“We’ll be careful,” said Dave. “There may be some small boat that can
take the passengers on to Chippewa.”
“I hope so,” the girl agreed.
As the _Wanderer_ at last rounded the point of land hiding the camp on
Siskowit Bay, it took no second look to tell them that the situation was
critical. Creeping slowly forward from bush to bush and tree to tree, the
fire was moving like some slow, red serpent toward the stout camp that
had been built by so much labor and such willing hands.
“They’re nice boys,” Florence breathed, thinking of the C.C.C. boys who
had built the camp.
“Fine chaps,” her cousin agreed.
Once before the _Wanderer_ had put into this harbor with supplies and,
becoming storm-bound, its crew had spent several happy hours with the
campers. Having seen neither mothers nor sisters for months, the fellows
had treated Florence as if she were a queen.
“We may be broke,” Dave muttered grimly, “but we’re not too broke to
offer a helping hand.”
“You’re not going in there?” demanded an angry voice. Once more it was
the “big shot,” as Indian John had called him, who spoke.
For a short space of time no one replied. In that brief moment, the
number of questions that passed through Florence’s mind was astonishing.
Who was this man? What did he really want?
“Yes,” it was Dave who spoke at last, quietly as ever, “yes, we are going
in.”
“You’ll blow this can of yours sky high and all of us with it.”
“Not you,” said Dave with a touch of scorn. “See! There’s a fisherman’s
boat coming to meet us. We’ll send you on to Chippewa with it.”
At that the man subsided into silence. As the small boat pulled closer,
Dave saw that Captain Frey, in charge of the camp, was on board.
“We’re coming in,” Dave shouted cheerfully. “We’ve a good pump and an
inch-and-a-half hose.”
“That’s great,” was the young captain’s heartened response. “You might
save us. But is it safe? How about the passengers?”
“Whose boat is that?” Dave asked, pointing to the small fishing schooner.
“Holgar Carlson’s, from Chippewa,” Frey answered.
“Hello, Holgar!” Dave called. “How much to carry ten passengers to
Chippewa?”
“Oh, I tank mebby ten dollar,” Holgar drawled.
“All right. Come alongside.”
“Here.” Dave waved a greenback when all passengers had been transferred.
“No you don’t. This is on us,” and Captain Frey slipped a bill in the
fisherman’s hand.
“You don’t know,” he commented a moment later, as he stood beside
Florence on the _Wanderer_, “you’ll never know what this means to us.
We’ve worked so hard getting a camp. Rain, cold, swamps, mosquitoes—it
sure has been tough on the boys, and now this!” His arms swept a wide
circle. “We’re not to blame for the fire. The boys were here, all of
them. They didn’t set it. It just came creeping down upon us from
nowhere. The boys have been fighting it for hours.”
For a time after that, as guided by Indian John’s skillful hand the boat
glided shoreward, nothing further was said. Once, as the wind veered, a
heavy cloud of yellow smoke engulfed them.
“Oh-o,” Florence gasped, trying to breathe. “This—this is terrible.”
“It’s what the boys have been up against for hours,” Captain Frey said
quietly. “We’ll be out of it in a moment.”
As Florence looked at the captain she thought, “Efficient, brave!”
Then a spectacle of the great fire caught her eye, and she gasped with
astonishment. One moment a great fifty-foot, moss-covered spruce tree
stood proudly against the sky, the next, with a loud roar, flames rushed
from its roots to the topmost branch. “Alight, like a giant candle,”
Florence exclaimed, “and there are thousands of them on the island!”
“Yes,” the young captain replied. “Close to our camp they stand some
distance apart. If only we can wet down the earth about the camp, keep
the fire from creeping, then turn the hose on it when it comes, we’ll
win.”
“And we will,” Dave exclaimed. “We’ve got a marvelous pump. If only—”
“If only you can get in close enough.” The captain stood up and stared
ahead. “How large is this boat?”
“Sixty feet long, by twenty wide.”
“Good!” the captain replied. “I’m sure there is room. The water along the
shore is deep, thirty feet. A little way out are shoals.”
“We’ll slide right in there near shore,” Dave took the wheel.
“It’s a close little berth,” he said five minutes later, as Rufus, their
young engineer, suddenly put the engine into reverse. “Rocks before us,
rocks to right and left. It’s like cruising in a bath tub.”
They dropped anchor, let down their lifeboat, sent the hose ashore, then
started the pump. At once a powerful stream of water was busy soaking
down the dry, moss-covered earth. At times it set up a terrific sizzling
sputter, as it played on a tree that had just caught fire.
Encouraged by these reinforcements, the loyal band of camp workers,
toiling with ax and shovel, redoubled their efforts.
“Will we make it?” Florence asked anxiously.
“I hope so,” was Captain Frey’s reply. “If the fire gets by us here, the
whole island may go. Think what that means! A forty-mile long island
covered with virgin timber, last stand of primeval beauty, future
playground of thousands!”
“Yes,” Florence agreed, “it does mean a great deal.” Then, and for weeks
to come, she forgot her own disappointments, her lost hopes, whenever she
thought of this larger cause which meant so much to many.
For two long hours, with the heat at times growing all but unbearable,
with the peril of a gasoline explosion ever threatening, the boat’s pump
chugged on.
There came a time at last, however, when the weary fighters leaned on
shovel handles and watched the flames fade. Then there rose a glad shout:
“The wind! The wind! It’s changed. It will drive the fire into the bay!”
This was true. The wind had changed. But Dave’s brow wrinkled. He and
Florence were for the moment on shore. “Come on,” he exclaimed. “We’ve
got to get the boat out of the bay. In a half-hour that fire will be
dangerously close to the boat and our gasoline. It’s swung round their
camp—that’s safe. But it’s coming our way with the wind up. Our pump
won’t stop it. In an hour—”
He did not finish. Instead, he rowed swiftly across to the _Wanderer_.
“Rufus!” he called. “Cut off the pump. Their battle’s won. Pull in the
hose. We’ll back out of here in a jiffy and be away.”
“Thanks. Thanks more than we can say,” Captain Frey shouted hoarsely from
the shore.
“Say-ee!” Dave stared down at the water before the prow. “We’ve shifted.
Current carried us in. I wonder—”
He did not have long to wonder. As Rufus set the motor roaring, the
boat’s propeller stirred up a great, white mass of foam, but the boat
moved never an inch.
“Grounded!” Dave groaned. “Stuck between two rocks. We’ll never get off
with our own power.”
“How terrible!” Florence was almost in tears. “We’ve tried to help, and
now this! The fire is coming! The boat—”
“What’s up?” Captain Frey shouted from the shore.
“Aground,” Dave called back.
“Wait!” The captain sprang toward the slope where the campers were
resting.
A moment later, Florence felt her throat tighten as she watched the weary
boys swarming shoreward. The hose was carried to land, and this time the
pump did double duty. The boat rocked with the throbbing of its motors.
With a heart that at all times seemed to stand still, the girl saw the
bravest of the boys in blue overalls force the nozzle of the hose almost
upon the onrushing fire.
Was the stream of water large enough? Would the fire be stopped before it
was too late? For a time it seemed that, with the hose alone, the fire
might be conquered. Then, of a sudden, a fresh and stronger gale sweeping
across the bay sent bright flames leaping along the spruce trees and into
the sky.
“We’ll lose,” Florence choked.
“Try the motor again!” Dave ordered. “We might get away now.”
The engines were accelerated, but in vain.
“Getting pretty hot down there.” Rufus mopped his brow as he came up from
below.
A wave of despair overwhelmed Florence. What would be the end? Then a
thrilling sight met her gaze. Fifty boys, each carrying a shovel or an ax
and each with his head covered by a damp cloth, marched out of the camp
cabin and straight toward the conflagration. “To do or to die for us,”
she thought.
Then the boys struck up a song.