THE MAN IN THE DORY
Cavvy hesitated for an instant, a slow flush creeping up into his face.
Then his eyes met Haddon’s and his lips tightened.
“It was my fault, sir,” he said quickly. “The other fellows aren’t to
blame; they’d never have gone in but for me. You see, I didn’t believe
Bu—er—Taggart really saw a shark at all, and I wanted to get one more
decent swim before I saw the notice.”
The scoutmaster’s face cleared. “Oh, then you didn’t see the notice,” he
said, turning toward the camp. “That makes a difference, though I still
don’t understand—”
“I didn’t _see_ it,” interrupted Cavvy, “but one of the fellows told us
about it. I hadn’t any excuse at all. I was just sore and—”
The words died away as the two moved off together, leaving Steve to
hurry through his dressing alone. He got into his clothes swiftly, a
little anxious to know what penalty was being meted out to Cavvy, but in
his heart there was nothing but gladness at the realization that he
hadn’t been mistaken in his friend after all.
He was given little time to think of this or to speculate on the
possibilities that Cavvy’s changed attitude opened up before him. He had
not even got his shoes on before he was surrounded by a throng of boys,
all jabbering excitedly and full of eager inquiries as to how near the
shark had come, what it looked like, how he felt, and a thousand other
questions.
Haddon answered them all good naturedly, turning aside with a shrug and
a laugh the words of praise and admiration which followed. As soon as he
was dressed he headed for the camp, to find Cavanaugh standing in front
of their tent.
“Well?” he questioned eagerly as he came up. “How about it? What did he
give you?”
Cavvy grinned.
“Not as much as I expected,” he said. “He was pretty decent,
considering. I’ve got to stick around the camp limits for a week, that’s
all. He didn’t even cut out my swimming. Guess he thought going into the
cove wouldn’t be any too much of a treat.”
He laughed; then his face grew suddenly serious. “I never even thanked
you, old man,” he said in a low tone, “or said a word about the corking
way you—you went in after me, and—”
“Don’t do it,” interrupted Haddon, smiling a little. “You’d have done
the same for me, and more. Let’s cross it off the books and not think
about it again. There’s one thing I’d like awfully to know,” he want on
quickly. “Was it really a man-eater, or just a big dog fish? How close
did he get to you, anyhow? How much of him did you see?”
“How close?” repeated Cavvy slowly. “I don’t know exactly. It must have
come within twenty-five feet, though. It was a sort of
blue-gray—different from a dog fish. And big! Man!” His eyes widened and
he shuddered a little. “Of course I was scared,” he confessed, “and
maybe the reflection on the water sort of magnified it, but—”
“I don’t know about that,” put in Haddon as he paused. “It looked like a
whale of a thing to me. Say, Harry,” he called, to Ritter who was
loitering nearby, “how much did you and Champ see of the brute?”
But it appeared that they had only seen the fin, and no one else had
glimpsed of the creature. Next morning, however, the matter was settled
beyond a doubt, and very satisfactorily. About an hour after breakfast
Shrimp Willett came tearing into camp with the news that some fishermen
whose nets were out about a mile from shore were having trouble.
“They’re having the dickens of a scrap with something in the nets,
fellows,” he panted. “They’ve got three boats out there and the men are
stabbing and hitting with boat hooks and things, and the water’s
shooting up all around in regular geysers. I’ll bet it’s the shark.”
He turned and rushed away again, and with a chorus of excited yells
every boy within earshot streamed after him up the beach. The
scoutmaster was away in the motor boat for supplies, but Bruce
Cartwright, hearing the commotion, snatched up a pair of field glasses
and followed the crowd.
The nets were set off shore about half a mile above the scout camp, and
it was plain that something unusual was happening there. By the time the
boys had reached the rough little dock opposite there were no “geysers”
spouting, or other signs of strenuous activity. But the three fishing
boats were clustered in a bunch, their occupants bending over the sides
busy attaching tackle to something in the water which was invisible even
through the glass. Presently the engines started, the boats separated,
and headed for the dock.
The foremost chugged slowly and behind it streaked the distinct wake of
a heavy tow. On tiptoe with excitement the boys watched eagerly as it
drew nearer and nearer. When at length a great blue-gray shape could be
made out, they set up a shout and poured a volley of shrill questions at
the man in the stern.
“It’s a shark, all right,” answered that individual shortly. “I ain’t
seen one of ’em around these parts for years. He got caught in the net
and pretty near tore it to bits, drat him!”
He spoke with considerable heat and the other two men were scowling. But
to the scouts mere damage to nets was as nothing compared with the
thrill of seeing the great creature close at hand. They hovered around
as close as Mr. Cartwright would let them, and when the shark was
finally hoisted to the dock they were allowed to examine it to their
hearts’ content, take measurements, make photographs or do anything else
they chose.
The length of the creature from snout to tip of tail was a little over
fifteen feet, and the mouth, though small and undershot, was powerful
with its double row of razor-like teeth. Even lying there still and
motionless, the body covered with a score of wounds from boat hooks and
an old sword fish spear one of the men had fortunately had aboard, it
was an evil looking specimen. As Steve Haddon thought of their
experience of the day before he could hardly suppress a shudder.
“No, they ain’t native to these parts, praise be!” said the fisherman to
whom Cartwright was talking. “If they was we’d about have to go out of
business. They breed in the south, but once in a while one strays up
this way. I dunno why. Hungry, mebbe; or it might be jest accident.
Well, fellers, what say we get them nets in an’ start repairin’ damages?
We got a good two days’ work ahead of us, hang the brute!”
Naturally the capture of the shark affected the swimming situation at
camp. Mr. Wendell did not at once remove his restrictions, but when a
day or so passed with no signs of any more about, he relaxed the new
rules a little. The scouts were allowed to go in at the old place
provided they did not venture out too far. Two guards were also
appointed who rowed back and forth about a hundred yards from shore,
keeping a constant lookout for danger.
Cavanaugh enjoyed these swimming periods extremely, for though he made
no complaint, he found restriction to the camp limits very dull. He had
quite recovered his spirits and also a good deal of that old good
natured, easy air of leadership. With Haddon, however, there was a
marked difference. He still joked and chaffed the big, slow-speaking
chap, but the chaff was all good-natured now, with a subtle touch of
affection in it. Instead of Steve’s making advances, it was Cavvy who
sought the other out, who moved his seat at table, who found a place
beside his friend in the wide circle around the evening camp-fire.
There was nothing forced or obtrusive in his actions. He simply sought
Haddon’s companionship in the direct, matter-of-fact manner he went
after anything he wanted, and yet he was not selfish in his seeking.
That, perhaps, was the most marked feature of the moral change which was
taking place within him. In the old days if he liked a fellow he was apt
to monopolize him regardless of the other’s feelings in the matter. Now,
though Steve would have been perfectly content to spend all his time
within the camp limits with Cavvy, the latter refused to allow it.
“No reason why you should stay cooped up here just because I have to,”
he said one afternoon in his quick, decisive manner. “You’ve spent three
days hanging around doing nothing; it’s time you had a change. If you
hustle you can get off with that bunch fishing.”
“But I don’t give a hang about fishing,” protested Haddon.
Cavvy grinned. “Well, get a canoe, then, and find someone to take a
little exploring expedition with you,” he suggested. “I’m going to write
letters and don’t want to be bothered.”
Steve laughed, shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He saw through
his friend perfectly, for Cavanaugh never wrote letters if he could help
it. But after all perhaps it would be better for them to separate for
the afternoon. One can have too much of almost everything, and Haddon
had no wish to endanger the association which meant so much to him.
He secured his canoe—it was the last one to be had; but when it came to
finding a companion, all the fellows he particularly liked had departed
on other expeditions, so he decided to go alone. He was an expert
paddler and enjoyed it thoroughly. He also liked poking about in new
places, and when he rounded the point and pushed out into the Sound, he
turned unhesitatingly westward.
Long Point thrust out its blunt nose from a stretch of rather wild,
deserted beach on the south shore of the Cape. Amongst the sand dunes to
the eastward were a few fishermen’s huts. Several miles in the other
direction lay the village of Shelbourne, and beyond it, along both sides
of a wide estuary, sprawled the raw, staring buildings, the many dry
docks and numberless other appurtenances of the big, new Government ship
building plant. But between the village and the camp the shoreline cut
abruptly inland for upwards of a mile, forming a wide, deep harbor which
did much toward isolating the camp site from the rest of the world.
Across the mouth of this harbor and reaching well out into the Sound
itself, there lay a multitude of small islands, some mere jutting rocks
to which a few scraggly pines clung tenaciously, others larger and
thickly wooded. All of them were steep and rocky, and between them the
tide rushed ceaselessly in queer, erratic, frequently dangerous
currents. It was a fine place for fish of many sorts, but little more
could be said for it, though on one or two of the larger islands duck
shooters had put up rough huts which they used in the late fall and
early spring when the season was on.
Steve had never happened to visit these islands. He had, in fact, seen
no more of them than was visible from Shelbourne the day they made an
inspection of the shipyard over a week ago. And as he headed the canoe
toward the nearest one, he looked forward with increasing eagerness to
an afternoon of exploration. They looked interesting, and as he drew
nearer he got attractive glimpses of little coves and miniature harbors,
of wooded points, rocky slopes masked with green, of turbulent, rushing
channels, and a dozen other features which thrilled him, and made him
regret his wasted opportunities.
The reality quite equalled his expectations. He went from islet to
islet, clambering about the rocks, pushing through trees and
undergrowth, poking into everything to his heart’s content. There was a
touch of the wilderness in it which appealed to his imagination. It
seemed, indeed, a perfect paradise to the furred and feathered wild
things many of whom were heedless or oblivious to his presence, and
their presence added greatly to his enjoyment.
It was already fairly late when he first saw the great blue heron. It
was later still when, having followed the bird across the small island
to the edge of another—one of the largest of the group he crouched
amongst some bushes amusedly watching the solemn, awkward, long-legged
creature stalking sedately away from him along a narrow strip of beach.
Suddenly with a great whir and flapping of wings, the heron arose and
sailed out of sight. At the same instant Steve was conscious of the
popping of a motor’s exhaust coming rapidly nearer, and turned curiously
to see what it might be.
Swiftly the boat came into sight, a dingy, unpainted dory propelled by
an auxiliary of unusual power. In the stern sat a single figure, bare
headed and clad in rough fishing clothes. Almost unconsciously, Steve
had not emerged from the bushes, and as the dory passed his hiding place
scarcely a dozen feet from him, he had for an instant a clear,
unrestricted view of the man’s face.
He gave a start and frowned; raised himself partway and then dropped
back on his haunches. The boat swept on and disappeared around a jutting
point, the sound of the motor grew rapidly fainter—ceased. Still the boy
crouched amongst the bushes, staring blankly at the spot where the craft
had left his vision.
When he stood up a little later and moved slowly toward his canoe, there
was a puzzled, troubled expression in his face. And in his narrowed eyes
was the look of one groping blindly through his memory for something
which he cannot find.