ON ISLAND NUMBER ONE
Dan Speedwell, naturally more thoughtful than his brother, realized
immediately that they were up against a difficult proposition.
The storm was gathering rapidly and through the curtain of snow it was
impossible to see far. It was true the falling flakes lightened the
scene greatly; yet they interposed a white wall that was impenetrable a
few yards beyond the bow of the iceboat.
In which ever direction the thieves had gone with the _Follow Me_, the
pursuers’ only chance of overtaking them was to follow by sound—not
sight. Therefore the thickly falling snow did not balk the Speedwell
boys much. It only would serve to deaden the sound of the motor
iceboat’s engine.
Although the bulk of the falling snow was swept on upon the breast of
the gale, and little stuck to the ice, the big iceboat made less noise
than usual. Her shoes did not clog; But the scale of new snow upon the
river smothered the shriek of the steel. Billy, standing on the
crossbeam, strained his ears to catch the faintest sound from the motor
of the boat they were pursuing.
If the robbers continued to use the motor only, both boys knew that the
_Fly-up-the-Creek_ would soon overhaul the stolen craft.
For they were now tearing up the river at a furious pace. On, on, on—the
boat rocking and bounding—often shooting into the air completely when
the runners struck a “hubbly” piece of ice—peeling the miles off under
the runner-shoes with nerve-racking speed.
Directly they saw the gaunt outline of tree-tops on the right hand. They
were passing some island; but which one, neither boy could have told at
the moment. The usual landmarks were wiped out.
For what point along the upper reaches of the Colasha were the robbers
headed? That was a disturbing query in Dan’s mind. Had the fellows
prepared some hide-out for the motor iceboat, even before they had
stolen her?
And the puzzle was: What did they want of the _Follow Me_? Was the
robbery merely for the sake of keeping the Speedwell boys out of the
regatta—which was now but a week away? Or, was the crime committed for
an entirely different reason?
Unless the scoundrels removed the boat from the river it would be rather
difficult to hide her for long.
“But they can make us a whole lot of trouble—that’s a dead certainty,”
muttered Dan, striving to clear his goggles of the wet and clinging
snowflakes.
“D’ye hear anything, Dan?” yelled Billy at that moment.
“Not a thing.”
“Crickey!” cried the younger boy. “Mebbe those fellers have run her
under the ice.”
Dan caught most of what his brother said, but only shook his head.
Billy, as he stood clinging to the leather hand-hold, was outlined by
the snow, which made his figure bulk hugely in the uncertain light.
Standing there, Billy should be able by now to hear the motor’s
exhaust—if ever! Unless, of course, the thieves had put canvas on the
_Follow Me_, too.
Dan was trying to puzzle the thing out. If the robbery was solely for
the purpose of putting him and his brother out of the regatta, why this
long run up the river? Suppose the three men had merely motored over to
one of the islands, or to the far shore of the river? There they could
have hidden, or destroyed, her before this. A few strokes of an ax would
have put an end to the usefulness of the motor and machinery on the
stolen boat—and _that_ might have been done at Bromley’s dock.
No; it looked very much to Dan as though, had the intention merely been
to keep her out of the race, the thieves never would have taken the
_Follow Me_ out on the river on such a blustering night as this.
There was something else behind it. Because he believed that somebody
had gotten hold of the plans he had drawn for the boat Dan, like Billy,
had jumped to the conclusion that this incident was along the same
line—that somebody who was afraid of their prowess wished to keep them
out of the ice races.
His mind had suddenly shunted back to the repeated conversation between
the strange man that afternoon on Bromley’s wharf, and Old John himself.
The man had connected him and Billy with Island Number One. There was a
mystery about that island—and the unfortunate lad who spent at least a
portion of his time in that locality.
The connection between this present affair and the stranger’s
conversation was suddenly clinched in Dan’s mind. The mist of
uncertainty which had bothered him was dissipated on the instant.
“Those fellows aren’t trying to do us out of the races,” he thought.
“It’s something about Island Number One and the dummy. They never came
up the river as far as this—and that’s good reason why we don’t hear the
motor.”
His decision brought about instant action. He yelled to Billy and the
latter heard:
“Look out, boy! I’m going to swing her over!”
Dan took up the sheet and for a few moments the boat lost headway. Then
the stiffened canvas filled again and they shot away on the other tack.
Billy shouted some objections; but Dan gave him little attention until
he had swung her clear across the river and they were headed down
stream, and on the other side of the chain of islands.
“Don’t give it up! don’t give it up, Dan!” begged the younger lad.
“I’m not. But I’ve got a hunch, Billy,” returned Dan. “See where we are.
What light is that?”
“Must be the light at Benzinger’s Inn,” sang out Billy, after a moment.
“But it’s hard to tell. Landmarks seem different when the river’s
frozen——”
“You’re right! you’re right!” cried Dan. “It’s the Inn. I see the big
oak beside it.”
“That white staff——?”
“Yes. It’s the snow makes it look so ghostly. Now we’ll slip across
nearer the islands.”
“What for?”
“Because we’re going to try to make Island Number One,” declared Dan,
emphatically.
There seemed to fall a lull in the gale. The iceboat creaked over the
gathering drift of snow that had sifted down here and lay in a thick
sheet upon the ice in the lee of the islands.
And how deep it was! How fast it had gathered! It actually amazed Dan
and Billy that so much snow had banked up here in so short a time; for
on the other side of the islands—between them and the river bank—there
were but small, thin patches.
“There’s Island Number One!” shouted Billy, pointing ahead.
Dan shook his head at his brother and put a finger for a moment on his
own lips in warning.
The _Fly-up-the-Creek_, at greatly reduced speed, crossed the open space
between the two islands. They saw nothing of the missing _Follow Me_;
but in a very few minutes their own craft staggered into a tiny cove and
the runners plowed into a two-foot drift.
Dan dropped the canvas, and it came down stiffly and creakingly. Billy
trampled it into some sort of a bundle on the main beam of the craft. He
grumbled meantime:
“What are you doin’, Dan? We’ll never catch those fellows—never!”
“How about if they’re _here_?” queried Dan.
“Where’s the _Follow Me_?”
“We’ll look,” grunted Dan, stamping his feet and trying to slap some
life into his numbed hands.
“This is some storm, Dan.”
“It sure is.”
“Regular old blizzard—just as you said.”
Dan seized his brother’s arm suddenly, and held it tight. “What d’ye
know about _that_, Billy?” he asked, pointing with his free hand into
the tops of the snow-masked trees above them.
There was a faint, rosy glow just above the tree-tops on the high
hogback of the island. This dim, ghostly light was twenty feet above the
ground, at least, and all of forty feet above the ice where the two boys
stood.
“That—that beats me!” chattered Billy.
“What does it look like?”
“A fire in the air.”
“Isn’t that just about where you thought you saw the smoke that other
day?”
“I bet you!” gasped Billy. “A fire in the air,” he repeated.
“No. The reflection in the air of a fire, I grant you,” Dan chuckled.
“But—but——Say, just what d’ye mean, Dan?”
“It means that there is somebody on this island,” Dan said, gravely.
“Whether it is that poor dumb chap, or these robbers—or both!—we’ve got
to find ’em.”
“But the _Follow Me_ isn’t here,” objected Billy, weakly.
“How do you know?” returned his brother. “Mean to tell me you can see
all over this island—into every cove and inlet—from where we stand?”
“No-o——”
“Then don’t be foolish, Bill! Maybe the boat isn’t here. But I’m going
to find out what that light means——”
“It’s gone!” exclaimed Billy.
“Yep. The fire was so fierce for a minute that its rosy hue reflected on
the smoke. We can’t see the smoke now—the snow drives altogether too
hard.”
“Crickey, old man!” ejaculated Billy. “We’ll be buried here if we stand
much longer.”
“Then let’s keep moving. Come on!”
Dan started for the higher part of the island at once. It was a rocky,
steep ascent, and the snow covering everything made the way more
arduous. As they panted along Billy whispered:
“D’ye suppose that dummy and the three men that stole the boat are in
cahoots, Dan?”
“Give it up,” returned Dan. “But we’ll find out.”
“Maybe they’ll treat us as badly as they did Old John—if they’re here,”
suggested Billy, showing more caution than usual.
“We’ll be careful,” said Dan, in the same low tone. “They won’t be
expecting us, I bet!”
“That’s right. They’d never look for pursuit in this storm.”
“B-r-r-r! I guess not,” grumbled Dan. “It’s not fit for a dog to be out
in.”
“Well—if there’s a fire——”
“And there must be some shelter,” added the older lad. “If it’s only the
dummy we’ll get under cover all right.”
“And let the _Follow Me_ go?” groaned Billy.
“My goodness, Billy!” muttered Dan. “It’s snowing so hard now that we
could not see our hands before our faces. Lucky we beached the
_Fly-up-the-Creek_ as we did.”
Just then Billy fell over something. It was a section of tree trunk.
Beside it was quite a heap of split wood, too.
“What do you know about this?” asked Dan, helping his brother to his
feet.
“Cord wood, by crickey!” exclaimed Billy.
“Sh!”
“But who’s been cutting wood over here on this island——? Why! the
dummy—if he’s the one that’s got the fire,” muttered Billy, asking and
answering his own question.
“Correct!” agreed Dan.
By this time they were among the trees that covered the backbone of the
island. There was quite a thick grove at this point.
“Step softly,” begged Dan.
“The snow will come pretty near deadening our footsteps,” whispered
Billy. “Hullo! here’s a hollow stump.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Dan, under his breath. “A hollow tree?”
“Stump, I said. About twenty feet high. It was a big tree once, you
bet,” whispered Billy. “When Lettie and I were ashore here the other day
we found it. I know it’s only a shell, for I pounded on it.”
He lifted his fist, but Dan stopped him. “Don’t pound on it now, you
chump!” ordered the older boy.
He put out a tentative hand himself and touched the black tree trunk. He
had already noticed that no snow clung to it. The bark was still on the
wood and there was no mark to show that the big stump was hollow.
But when Dan placed his bare hand upon the bark it seemed to him as
though the hollow stump was warm!
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