Читать книгу The Sandy Steele Mystery MEGAPACK®: 6 Young Adult Novels (Complete Series) - Roger Barlow - Страница 24

CHAPTER THREE

Dog Leg Falls

The boy standing opposite Sandy grunted. “Okay, champ,” he said mockingly. “Follow me.” He swung the paddle up over his shoulder and was halfway up the embankment when Mike’s voice rang out.

“Just keep walking. We’ll find our own way.” Mike was amazed at the edge in his words. He hadn’t realized he was so angry.

The boy stiffened in exaggerated surprise and turned. He did it so slowly that it was more of an insult than an acknowledgment. A sneering smile played over his face as he stared at Mike.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Another county heard from. Maybe you’d like to ...”

“Cut that kind of talk and get out of here!” Mike’s tone was curt and hard. He took a few steps up to the boy and looked at him squarely.

The boy dangled the paddle carelessly from one hand and came down a few steps toward Mike. “You wouldn’t be thinking about running out—now would you?”

“I don’t think I’d ask that question if I were you.” Mike’s tone was deceptively soft but there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes. He glanced over at the boy’s paddle. It was swinging in a wider arc, drawing closer to him with each step. “And I’d put that paddle down before somebody gets hurt.”

For a moment Mike thought the boy was going to charge him. He shifted his weight and got himself ready, but the attack never came. The paddle suddenly stopped as the boy spun around on his heel and moved back up the embankment, motioning for his friends to follow. Silently they trooped along.

Mike took a deep breath and relaxed. Then he turned and joined Sandy and Doug at the dock.

“Whew!” Doug whistled admiringly. “You really gave it to him!”

“It didn’t take much, Doug,” Mike replied, keeping his eyes on Sandy’s worried face. “Hey, Sandy,” he said softly. “You sure you want to go through with this?”

Sandy flashed him an amused look. “Want me to run away?”

“No, but ...”

“Then I guess that’s it. I’m in too far to back down now.” Sandy reached out for his raft. “The only thing I need now is some information. How about it, Doug?” he asked. “Do I get a briefing on those rapids?”

Doug shuffled over to Sandy, one toe digging into the piled-up sand along the dock. “Sandy ...” he began in a troubled voice.

Sandy held up a hand. “That’s enough,” he said good-naturedly. “The only lecture I want to hear from you is how to get myself through those rapids I’ve let myself in for.”

Doug stared up at him in momentary indecision. “All right,” he said. “But let’s wait till we get there.”

Dog Leg Falls was about a mile upstream from the Kindergarten Rapids, in a wild and barren part of the river.

Mike took one look at the wild water, plunging noisily through the funnel of rocks, and smiled weakly over at Sandy. “Wonder where you turn off the faucet?” But it wasn’t much of a joke and nobody laughed.

Down by the falls—which weren’t really falls at all, but a series of turbulent runs of water—the banks of the river closed in on the channel like two jaws, wrenching it violently around in a sharp L-shaped turn. Through this narrow trough, the water snarled and fought its way, cascading over the rocks at the bend in towering sheets of spray.

On any other day, Sandy thought to himself, the rugged beauty and awesome power of the river at Dog Leg Falls would make an exciting spectacle. On this particular day, however, it looked vicious and threatening.

Sandy tore his eyes away from the river and forced himself to listen to what Doug Henderson was saying.

“... there’s really only one bad place. It’s just at the turn. See how the river curves to the left?”

Sandy shaded his eyes and peered over at the spray. He nodded silently.

“Well, the current will try to pull you over to those rocks on the right. You mustn’t let that happen. ’Cause if you get dumped too near the rocks, there’s an undertow that’ll grab you.”

“Won’t it carry me along through the channel?”

Doug shook his head. “No, it won’t. It’ll tangle you up in the rocks. They look solid from here, but they’re not. There are all sorts of crevices and things, worn out by the water pounding against them. That’s why it’s so dangerous.”

There was a puzzled look on Sandy’s face. “I don’t get it.”

“The crevices,” Doug explained patiently, “can catch you just like a trap. You can put your foot in one of them and never get it out. It’ll hold you under the water until you—” He faltered and looked away.

Sandy nodded in grim understanding. “How do I keep away from them?”

“When you enter the channel stay over to the left as far as you can. Keep steering to the left no matter what the current does. If you’re over far enough, you’ll make it with about three feet to spare. Think you’ve got it?”

“I think so. Let’s get this thing over with.”

“You’re sure you’re all set?” Mike asked anxiously.

“Yep.”

Mike held out a hand. “Good luck, Sandy,” he said solemnly.

Sandy, who looked surprisingly cheerful, grinned confidently. “There’s nothing to it. All I have to do is remember what Doug told me. Come on.”

Sandy led the way down to the water where about twenty silent boys were gathered in tense expectation. Mike took a place near them and watched Sandy wade a foot or two into the river. Standing by helplessly, he had an overpowering urge to shout out, to stop the competition that was about to take place. But before he could make a move, Sandy turned, threw Mike a wink and swung into his raft. A second later he was floating out from shore. The older boy pushed off directly behind Sandy.

With Sandy in the lead, the two rafts shot toward the narrow opening of Dog Leg Falls. From where he stood, Mike could see that Sandy was holding the course Doug had charted. The tiny raft trembled and tugged to the right, but Sandy held her steady.

Mike felt a small hand grip his elbow with surprising strength. “He’s going in just right.” Doug’s voice was breathless with excitement.

Mike nodded and leaned forward. “Come on, Sandy,” he heard himself murmur. “You’re doing great.” Suddenly the two rafts disappeared in a boiling cloud of white spray. His muscles stiff with tension, Mike strained to pick out the bobbing rafts.

Doug spotted them before he did. “He’s okay!” he shouted. “That’s it, Sandy!”

Mike saw them the next instant. They were both leaning into the dangerous turn. Sandy’s raft hugged the left-hand side of the channel, well away from the sharp wall of rocks to his right. In another moment, he would be through. Mike felt his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands as he mentally fought the white water along with Sandy.

“He’s rounding it! There’s room to spare!” Beside him, Doug was dancing with excitement. “Look at him go!”

Suddenly there was a gasp from the boys crowded along the shore. Mike’s eyes widened with horror. The boy behind Sandy had stopped steering his raft. He had shifted his position and was leaning ahead recklessly, a paddle in his outstretched hand.

“What’s he doing?” Mike yelled.

“He’s trying to tip Sandy over!” Doug shouted. His voice trailed off as he watched the paddle snake out and jab at Sandy’s raft.

Mike stared with growing uneasiness as the two rafts slowly began to spin. Faster and faster they whipped around, both boys now trying desperately to keep their balance and stay on course.

At that distance, with both rafts floundering through towering walls of water, it was difficult to tell which raft was Sandy’s. Mike fought down an impulse to yell a warning when he saw one of the rafts steadily tip higher in the water.

“He’s going to spill!” came a cry.

Almost as if that were a signal, the raft shuddered and flipped over. There was a flash of a figure flailing the water and then, over by the deadly rocks of Dog Leg Falls, a head appeared.

“He’s caught!” Doug’s face was white and frightened. “He’ll drown!”

The second raft, meanwhile, was still afloat and coming around the turn fast. With a final leap, it shook itself free of the white water and skidded to safety.

Mike forced himself to hunt for the figure in the water. Was it Sandy? Or the other boy? There was a movement of color in the seething foam near the rocks, and then out into the quiet part of the river popped a paddle, an overturned raft and, following close behind, the head of a swimmer, striking for the far shore.

Sandy wouldn’t do that, Mike thought to himself. He’d head for the near shore. It must be the other boy! He swung around and squinted at the lone raft floating safely in the middle of the river. Whoever was in it was trying to fish something out of the water.

“He made it!” Doug yelled, dancing in excitement. “It’s Sandy! He’s all right!”

Suddenly Mike was laughing. Despite the dirty trick at the end, Sandy had won out. It was the other boy who had fallen in—not Sandy. It was a lucky thing he escaped with nothing worse than a thorough soaking.

“Come on!” Mike yelled. “He’s coming in for a landing!” Together, Mike and Doug sprinted down the bank of the river to meet the raft before it touched shore.

“Hey!” yelled Doug, breaking stride for a moment. “What’s he got in his hand?”

As Sandy guided his raft toward them Mike saw him grin and wave something in the air. Then all at once he knew what it was.

“It’s your paddle, Doug,” he chuckled. “Sandy picked it up out of the water. Don’t you remember? That’s what this whole thing was supposed to be about. Your paddle!”

Laughing as they ran, the two of them splashed out into the river to welcome Sandy.