Читать книгу Daughter of the Coast Guard - Betty Baxter Anderson - Страница 4

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The Gas Gull flew swiftly over the familiar route to the Coast Guard buildings, clustered at the top of the cliff overlooking Lake Michigan. Abruptly, Win stopped the car, not bothering to put it in the parking space.

“Come on, Cherry—.” The tall girl raced over the clipped lawn to the glistening white building which was the living quarters for Captain and Mrs. Travers, Winifred and the crews.

The enticing odor of freshly-baked doughnuts filled the huge square kitchen. Mandy, the colored cook, turned with a grin to greet them. “Ah might a-knowed Ah’d never get these here friahed cakes finished without the smell floatin’ clear up to that high school!”

“Where’s Dad, Mandy? It’s important.” Almost unconsciously, Win’s hand dipped into the half-filled crock of warm doughnuts.

“Ah think he’s at the lookout station. What’s wrong, honey?”

“Tell you later—.” Winifred turned and sped out the door. Cherry hesitated a moment, grinned, winked at Mandy, reached for a couple of doughnuts, and followed her friend, all in a split second.

Win was half way up to the observation tower, on the edge of the cliff, shouting for her father.

Captain Travers’ blue-clad figure seemed to hurtle from the lookout. “What’s wrong, child? Have an accident with your car?”

“No. But it’s about an accident,” Win told him, a little breathlessly. Cherry joined the group. “I went to the Tribune office after school, and Bill just got back and told us about a truck that was wrecked last night or early this morning on the Indian road. It was just discovered this afternoon.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“The driver. He’s still out of his mind. But, Dad, here’s the queer business. The truck is full of unmarked fur pelts, and there wasn’t any identification mark on the car, or the driver.”

The man’s eyes narrowed and he whistled softly. “So—o—o. Maybe I’d better look into it.”

“I’ll be glad to drive you out in the roadster,” Win said eagerly. “Then Cherry and I can go along——”

The Captain laughed. “No need to run an unnecessary risk. I’ll take my car.” At the disappointed look in the girls’ faces, he added, “Would you like to go, too?”

Cherry impulsively thrust her first finger, circled with two doughnuts, under the Captain’s nose. “Like one? Just snitched them from Mandy.”

Gravely, the tall, erect officer accepted it, and the three strode to the garages, munching.

The girls agreed that the Travers’ sedan was a trifle more speedy and comfortable than the Gull, and in a quarter of an hour they reached the spot where the unfortunate driver had left Indian road. News had traveled rapidly, and a dozen cars of the curious had parked on the curve.

Captain Travers and the girls scrambled down the steep sides of the sandy ravine. A uniformed highway policeman stood guard, and saluted Captain Travers smartly.

“A bad crash, sir,” he remarked.

“Yes.” The officer silently surveyed the splintered truck for a moment. “Removed the cargo yet?”

“It has been taken to the court house in Lake Haven by the sheriff,” the policeman answered. “Whoever claims it as the owner is going to have a bit of explaining to do.” He pointed to the empty license-plate holders.

“Could the numbers have been removed, after the crash?” Win asked, unexpectedly.

Both her father and the policeman looked a little startled. “Why—I suppose so,” the cop agreed, doubtfully.

“Perhaps the driver had a companion who wasn’t hurt in the crash,” Win pointed out.

Captain Travers gazed up the steep incline and traced the fall of the truck by the broken and crushed bushes. “Car must have turned over three or four times. Of course, it would be possible for a man to escape with scratches and bruises, but it’s not likely.”

“But, Dad,” Win continued, “Indian road is fairly well traveled. It’s patrolled, too, by the highway cops. They’d be sure to spot a truck without any license plates at all. The lights were on——”

“It sure is a mystery,” the policeman agreed.

“Maybe the accident was really discovered earlier, and the identification marks taken then,” Cherry suggested. “It just doesn’t seem possible that anyone would be cruel and mean enough to do that, though, and not try to get help for an injured man.”

“Might have thought he was dead,” Win said.

Captain Travers took a last, keen glance about the ravine and at the battered truck, sighed, and said, “We’ve seen all there is to see, girls. Can’t be far from dinner time. Shall we get along home?”

Captain Travers stopped before the handsome white stone house, “Twin Anchors,” where the Hudsons lived.

“Thank you for letting me go along,” Cherry said.

“Call me up if you find out anything more,” Win shouted, as they drove on.

Cherry pushed open the huge wooden wheel-gate, suspended between white wooden anchors, and hurried up the walk. She’d have to race to freshen up before dinner, and the scramble down the side of the ravine hadn’t helped her appearance.

A swift glance about the huge living room reassured her. Good! Dad and the boys weren’t ready yet, either.

Cherry’s room was true to the nautical motif of the entire house, but the soft greenish-blue colors made it unmistakably feminine. There were bunk beds, with a ship’s ladder mounting to the upper one, and a white chest. The trim dressing table had a round mirror etched with little stars. Book-cases lined two sides of the walls. There was a deep reading chair with a good lamp, and a small white desk.

With a glance at her watch, Cherry regretfully noted there wouldn’t be a chance for a shower. She removed her jacket, washed her hands and face, ran a comb through the rebellious and loathed reddish-brown curls, and changed the striped sweater for a clean blue blouse. “If only,” she mourned often to Win, “it weren’t for my awful hair and my terrible brothers, I could be truly happy.”

Winifred had chuckled, and said, “What if you didn’t have any brothers and your hair was straight?”

Cherry had never known any other home, and she loved “Twin Anchors” for its being different and original. She’d been just a baby when her mother had died, and her father, unable to torture his grief with the memories associated with their former home, had planned this rather unconventional shelter for his family.

The huge story-and-a-half living room, with its hand-hewn fir beams, was the center of the U-shaped structure. A picture window nine feet wide gave a priceless command of the lake below. Logs crackled now in the half-circle fireplace, on the twin-anchor andirons.

As Cherry entered, her two brothers were lounging in deep chairs drawn to the fire, and her father stood, leaning on the mantel and discussing the accident with them.

“Captain Travers took Win and me out to see it,” Cherry told them.

“Did he, now?” Bill asked alertly. “Did he have any ideas about the smugglers? Find any clues?”

“No,” Cherry confessed. “At least, if he did, he kept them to himself.”

Denny chuckled. “That must have come as a great disappointment. I’ll bet you planned to trot right down and send off an International Press Association story and have by-lines all over the country.”

Cherry flushed, and was relieved when Mrs. Morrow, the grey-haired housekeeper, announced that dinner was ready. She’d made the error, several months before, of telling her family that it was her burning ambition to rate a solo scoop, so fine that it would be by-lined with her name by every I. P. A. paper.

Since, scarcely a day had passed that her brothers had failed to rib her about it. “I suppose I should be grateful,” she told herself resignedly, as she went in to dinner on her father’s arm, “that they seem to have forgotten to tease me about my red hair lately.”