Читать книгу The Powder Dock Mystery - Reed Fulton - Страница 6

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When the alarm summoned Clem once more, the sun, with the aid of a few lazy clouds, was staging a spectacular color display above the Cascades. Once she was on the beach, the girl was glad that necessity had brought her forth in time for the radiant picture spread before her. Even as she eagerly noted that the scow had swung at least ten yards farther in shore, she was conscious of the golden roadway of fresh sunlight that lay in dancing invitation across the bay. Beyond the grass line, a salmon leaped, poised, and splashed back in flashing exuberance; a kingfisher forsook his solitary piling to chatter a course northward; clear calls from birds in the alder groves found a throbbing rejoinder in the girl as she pulled the rowboat from the sand and pushed off.

“That salmon jumping in the sea of gold—I wonder if it means more good luck for me,” murmured Clem. “I don’t see how yesterday’s luck with a launch and a diamond can keep on. Of course the ring isn’t really mine yet. I’ll put an advertisement in the papers and wait a while before I do anything with the diamond. I must show the ring to Dave the minute he gets up. Oh, it’s great to be alive on a morning like this.”

Thoughts of what the summer might mean to her flooded in while she loosened the scow from the Gypsy and patiently tugged on the dock line until the floating platform was well away from the launch.

“Now, when the tide goes out my launch will be left high and dry! Hurray! Then I’ll get it all bailed out and ready for the repair man.”

“Dear one, the world is waiting for the sunrise,” came the words of a song to Clem’s mind. She hummed the chorus thoughtfully.

“The sunrise won’t do the world so much good if we’re asleep when it comes; I’m for meeting it halfway if it’s always as wonderful as it is this morning. I guess I will be meeting it, if I make a go of my plan. Make a go of it? I’ve got to. Dave’s a dear—unselfish and everything, but he’s got to save for himself. It’s a shame for him to have me on his hands when he ought to be getting more education himself or starting in some business.

“Let’s see, to-day’s the nineteenth of June. July, August, maybe September—say three months. About ninety days, and if I could only make ten dollars a day. Mercy, that would be $900! Why, even if I made only half that much, I’d have enough to last me for two years at school, if I worked part time also. I don’t suppose that I could make that much, but just the same funny things happen sometimes.”

Clem stretched herself at full length on the scow. It was a luxury to lie thus with the water close on all sides, to feast her eyes upon the glorious colors of the sunrise, and to pile up daydreams higher than the topmost bank of tinted clouds. In the background of her musing certain events glowed and faded in turn—the way Mother had put her hands on Father’s shoulders the morning after the store had burned; the visit of Great Aunt Emma, just over from some funny little country in Europe; the excitement felt but not understood by Clem over a bundle of letters from Aunt Emma’s trunk; the terrible day in her eleventh year when she had been told that her parents would never return——

Clem abruptly forced her thoughts into other channels. She turned on her back, brought the cap well over her eyes, and swept the high cliff with a glance.

Alders and ferns had been quick to clothe the walls except in some sheer spots where winter rains had sloughed off the outer sand and clay. The ravine, just up bay from the warehouse, seemed one impenetrable growth of dark green. Along the top edge of the island, second-growth evergreens had hidden most of the dreary, blackened stumps. Only here and there the relic of a forest veteran reared its skeleton branches above the green. A flock of crows, whose harsh cries came plainly to Clem’s ears, were making their flight along the edge of the island top toward their morning feeding grounds. The irregular flying order was scattering suddenly over one particular tree. Clem’s attention centered upon that tree’s sparse branches.

“Wonder why those crows are scattering when they come to that old tree; must be something unusual in the branches. I should have Dave’s binoculars——”

Simultaneous with that thought, Clem saw a movement of what she had taken as part of the main trunk. The form of a man was outlined for a moment. A short-handled flag flirted up and down from an extended arm and then dropped into the foliage below. Then the figure let itself lower until it, too, was swallowed in the sea of green branches.

At once the girl turned on her side to search the Sound to the south. Not a craft of any kind was visible beyond the anchored fishing boats. Perhaps the signal was intended for someone in Useless Bay on the other side of the island tip. Apparently the figure had been facing to the south, however; certainly a signal had been given and yet there was no clue as to whom the signal was intended for.

“Men don’t climb trees this early in the morning just for the fun of waving a flag in the fresh air. That fellow is up to something! Can that have anything to do with what Dave was suspicious of last night?”

Clem dropped off the scow into her rowboat and hurried for shore.

When Dave yawned into the living room in answer to his sister’s low call, she recounted briefly what she had seen.

“That’s funny, Sis; can’t imagine—unless——”

“Unless what?” demanded Clem impatiently.

“The Morgan-Pondeux scrap has been threatening to boil over ever since I came here, but last night and to-day are the first times I’ve thought that there would be any more to it than letters and office meetings. Now I don’t know what to make of it. The old man, Morgan, may have someone planted on top the island. Can’t see just why. Then, of course, what you saw may have nothing to do with the powder dock.”

Dave, with Clem at his heels, strode out to the end of the porch and stood eying the slope of the cliff in perplexity.

“Can you keep an eye on the warehouse while Tom and I take a look over that ridge up there? Isn’t likely that any boats will call in the hour or so that we will be gone.”

“How are you going and when?”

“As soon as we get something to eat. We’ll take the old trail up the gulley.”

“Wish I could go along.”

“Wouldn’t do, Sis; besides, you’ve got to be here to boss the job on the Gypsy.”

“Do you think that you’ll run into any danger?”

“Naw,” scorned the lad; “we’ll be back in a couple of hours. I may pack the shotgun along. Might see a grouse.”

“Anybody live on top of the island?”

“Not up above here; the flat is too narrow. Useless Bay cuts way in on the other side and helps form this kind of a neck that is called Possession Point.”

“I guess that Twasla and I can manage the powder dock all right unless this is the day it’s going to blow up.”

“Gosh, don’t you go to talking like Bunte. He’s half crazy.”

“I’m not so sure of that. He said some pretty wise things to me yesterday.”

“Long as he sticks to fish and boats he’s all to the good, but he sure is a numbskull when it comes to powder warehouses.”

“Didn’t he say that when conditions were just right, the place would explode?”

“Sure.”

“Well, perhaps he didn’t mean weather conditions; he may have meant something about this trouble with the Morgan company.”

“Might have, but I don’t put any stock in his prophesying. We’ll climb the hill and have a look for ourselves. I’m going to wake Tom up.”

“Oh, Dave,” exclaimed Clem, thrusting her hand into her pocket, “I almost forgot. Look what I found in the gravel yesterday while you were gone.”

Dave took the offered ring with a grunt of surprise. “You found it? Where?”

“I was making an anchor by putting gravel in gunny sacks. I had three all done. I was thinking to myself how wonderful it would be to unearth an old pirate treasure with loads of jewels, and then, all of a sudden, there was this ring in my shovel.”

“Looks valuable, Clem. That ought to sell for around a hundred dollars.”

“Well, I’ll have to try first to find the owner. Some person must have felt terribly bad over losing that diamond. ‘A. C.’ are the initials inside. I wonder what the full name is.”

“How are you going to find the owner, huh? It must have been buried in the sand for years. Like as not someone dropped it off when she was going by in a boat and you’ll never find out who it was.”

“Just the same, Dave, I’ll feel better if I advertise and put up a sign down at the post office.”

“Then you’ll have everybody claiming it,” snorted Dave.

“I guess not everybody will be able to describe the ring. Unless you go and tell the whole island about the initials and the broken prong, Davie dear.”

“There you go again with——”

The door behind Dave opened and Tom Trent stepped into the room.

“Now, now,” he laughed, “we can’t have a family quarrel so early in the morning.”

Dave grinned sheepishly and promptly changed the subject by giving a rapid-fire description of the finding of the diamond ring and of Clem’s discovery of the man signalling from the tree-top. He concluded with a question.

“Now, Tom, what do you make of the situation?”

“Well,” replied Tom Trent thoughtfully, “if Morgan has any funny work on hand he’s going to get a warm reception. He ought to have sense enough to know that he can’t get away with any gang stuff. In fact, I can’t make up my mind that he has anything to do with this man your sister has seen. I’ll tell you what I’d like to do. Let’s take a run up on top the island and if we find this fellow we’ll see if we can’t get to the bottom of things. What say?”

“Just what I told Clem I want to do.”

“All right. Breakfast first and then ‘over the top.’”

“You know, Dave,” said Clem, after Twasla had put the mush and strawberries on the table and returned to the kitchen, “I found out that there’s some connection between this man Morgan and Twasla! She told me that Morgan knows how the scars got on her arms.”

“Scars!”

“Yes, around her arms at the elbows.”

“And she told you that Morgan knows how it happened?”

“Just that.”

“Oh, shucks, she’s just filling you up with Indian blah!”

“No, she was serious.”

“Well,” put in Tom Trent, “President Morgan may have more of a past than we thought for. I wonder if it’s because of his past that he is so anxious to get possession of this end of the island.”

Thirty minutes later Clem waved good-by to the young men as they disappeared into the ravine, and then she hastened down to where the ebbing tide was exposing the Gypsy foot by foot. Here she remained, engrossed with her plans, eagerly viewing each detail of the Gypsy as it came to light.

The whistle of the Seattle boat sent her hastening to greet the repair man Mr. Morgan had promised to send. Clem introduced herself to the tall, sandy-haired man in working clothes who came down the gangplank with a box of tools in his arms.

“Name’s Hawkins,” he declared, as he set the tool box on an empty chicken crate and swallowed Clem’s extended hand in his mammoth paw. “Somebody or other called me up late last night and says I’m to come to the powder dock on Whidby Island and fix a launch in first-class condition. So here I am, Missie.”

“I’m glad you came, Mr. Hawkins,” replied Clem. “You look as though you could fix up anything, no matter what had happened to it. I’m afraid you’ll find this a very particular job because there’s quite a hole, and you see it’s my first boat and——”

“Don’t start worrying before you hear the sound of a hammer, Missie. Just you show me the wreck an’ I’ll do the rest if there’s enough pieces left to make out the shape. You see they’ve put off some special lumber for me to work with.”

“The launch is right over there; see it?” replied Clem, leading the way along the dock.

As he worked, Mr. Hawkins answered Clem’s unceasing questions in a good-natured way. In fact, he seemed pleased with an audience that appreciated his remarks on bracing, patching, and fitting. He even went so far as to draw diagrams on an old envelope, illustrating his explanation of the gas engine: how it works and how to work it.

Clem drank in the information like a small boy absorbing a strawberry soda. She felt that much of her later success depended upon an understanding of the Gypsy, although only an oracle might have glimpsed the moment when her very life would rest upon her knowing how to put the launch through its fastest paces.

“This here’s a fast little tub, Missie,” observed Hawkins, pausing to fill his pipe. “What are you shaping to do with it, eh?”

“Well,” replied Clem, “I’ve a plan. I haven’t told my brother about it because he’s—well, he has plans, too, as to how I shall spend the summer. I need to earn some money and I think I can catch salmon out on the banks just as well as these fishermen, after I’ve had some practice.”

“Turnin’ fisherman, eh?” commented Hawkins, with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve heard tell that salmon are all-fired particular customers, but seems like you ought to get their trade with a fancy boat like this one.”

“Can you fix some poles on the Gypsy like those on the regular fishing boats?”

“Easy enough, Missie. And if fishing ain’t profitable, you ought to be able to hire the Gypsy out to the people down below at the summer cottages.”

“I could, couldn’t I! I never thought of that.”

“I have an idea that most of their boats are too small for ridin’ out in the middle between the head of Whidby and Point Nopoint on the mainland. So like as not when they get tired fishin’ ’long the grass line you could step into the Gypsy an’ run ’em out to where the whales are.”

“Oh, listen, Mr. Hawkins! Maybe I could organize picnic parties for trips to different parts of the island. Wouldn’t that be fun? I could charge so much for the ride and if they wanted me to, I could furnish the lunch, too.”

“Ho! Ho! You’re loaded to the gunwale with ideas,” laughed the boat carpenter. “You’ll make some money with the Gypsy; I can see that. I’ll have to hurry up ’cause every minute the launch is laid up you are losing a carload of profit.”

“Oh, I hope I can persuade Dave!” cried Clem. “I don’t think he wants me running around by myself on account of something that he’s worried about. The powder dock is a load on his mind, and some funny things have happened. He’s up on the top of the island now trying to find out what is at the bottom of some of the things.”

At noon, Clem began to wonder why Dave and Tom Trent had not returned. Her uneasy glance sought the mouth of the ravine more and more as the afternoon wore on.

At four-thirty, a placid incoming tide gently floated the repaired Gypsy and Hawkins gathered his tools to depart.

“There you are, young lady, as pretty a piece of patchin’ as ever I did, barring none. To look at her ridin’ there you wouldn’t know that she’d ever been under water with a hole in her bow. Ain’t she a peach?”

“That’s just wonderful, Mr. Hawkins. Do you suppose we could try the Gypsy out now? Right here in front of the camp? You can’t get away before seven. I’ll expect you to eat dinner with us. My brother and Mr. Trent ought to get back any time.”

“Well, now, I don’t know as I care. I can see you’re plumb anxious to get the contraption to runnin’, and I wouldn’t mind putterin’ with the engine myself. Here, we’ll put up this plank from the beach to the boat. Now, can you shinny up on deck?”

Clem forgot her anxiety concerning the boys in the excitement of learning to adjust and start the motor. Their first trials were not successful because of the wetting the machinery had had, but, after considerable fussing, the occasional cough from the cylinders changed to a steady hum.

“Take the steering wheel,” instructed Hawkins, as the Gypsy moved forward.

“This is just wonderful!” exclaimed Clem. “Lots more fun than steering a Ford. Now let me try starting and stopping all by myself.”

After several attempts, she succeeded in the performance with no aid from her instructor, and steered a hazardous course to a landing alongside the powder dock.

“There, we didn’t bump so very hard, did we? I wish Dave had been here to see me do it. You know——” Clem paused.

“Mr. Hawkins, I’m—I can’t see why—when Dave left he said they would be back before noon.” She broke off in distress.

“What made ’em go, eh?”

“Oh, there has been some trouble over the powder dock and this morning I saw a man signaling from that tall tree up there, so Dave and Tom Trent decided to investigate.”

“We’ll tie up the launch and then, if you like, Missie, we’ll climb the trail to the top of the island and spy out the land. Like as not your brother has just gone on a bit farther than he expected to.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hawkins; you’ve said just what I hoped you would. Let’s hurry and go before we eat.”

They fastened the Gypsy below the dock and then walked rapidly up the path, past the powder dock, toward the thick grove that marked the mouth of the ravine. Clem was silent, busy with disturbing thoughts. As they circled the bungalow, Twasla appeared on the back porch.

“Me hear dog—heap bark——” She pointed up the trail.

“A dog!” ejaculated Clem. “No dog belongs near here that I know of. When was this, Twasla?”

“Soon,” replied the old woman, pointing once more at the dense green.

Clem cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted at the silent cliff: “Who-o-o! Who-o-oee! Dave!”

With the echo came a short emphatic bark. The listeners whirled toward the trail and waited breathlessly. A powerful-looking hound trotted into view dragging something at his side.

Running forward, Clem met the animal halfway and bent over the object he dropped at her feet.

“Oh!” she gasped, drawing back and half turning to Hawkins. “It’s a shoe—Dave’s moccasin shoe!”