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Boys' Life's, January 1924, with "A Son of the North Woods"
The Boy Scouts' Craig Kennedy, Harper & Brothers, 1925,
with "A Son of the North Woods"
NEW ROYAL HOTEL, NASSAU.
SOMETHING HAS GONE WRONG ON THE TREASURE HUNT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS. IT LOOKS AS IF ONE OF THE PARTY WAS DOUBLE-CROSSING THE OTHERS. COME AT ONCE.
KEN ADAMS.
"WHAT do you think of that, Walter?" asked Craig, as he shoved a radio message over to me.
I laughed as I read it. "Well, I should say, 'Yes, we have no vacations.'"
"Ken was supposed to be having the time of his life, on this hunt for the seven millions they say went down on the Gulf liner Arroyo last year," remarked Craig. "Evidently he is."
Only a few days before, Kennedy and I had arrived in Nassau in the Bahamas on a vacation, the winter following the "Radio Detective" episode.
From Craig's sister, Mrs. Coralie Adams, we had been interested to learn that just before we got there young Harry Davison, her nephew and Ken's cousin, son of the banker, Dwight Davison, had embarked in his father's two-hundred-foot power yacht, Diving Belle, on a treasure hunt with two chums of his college fraternity, Bob Barrett and Jack Whiting.
Ken had gone wild over the idea. First he had got on the right side of his cousin Harry to be taken along; then he had succeeded in persuading his mother to let him go. I am sure that when Ken grows up he is going to make a politician. There was another boy along, too, also about fourteen, Ken's age. This was Guy Duval, son of the captain of the Arroyo, who had gone down with his ship. Guy had been taken along by Burleigh, former purser of the ill-fated ship. It was really Burleigh who had organized and engineered the treasure hunt, talking Harry Davison and his chums into it.
Thoughtfully, Kennedy paced a few steps from the desk in the main lobby of the hotel. I studied vacantly the decorations, of much more interest, I thought, than are usually found in a colonial hotel. Not far from us was a sculptured group, "Blackbeard Burying His Treasure," by a famous New York sculptor. On all sides were paintings depicting the landing of Columbus and other historic scenes. Just off the lobby was an aquarium made like an undersea cave, with every variety of tropical fish.
We were standing before the Palm Room with its high vaulted ceiling and stone floor, opening out on a wide dancing porch—when down the main stairway, over which hung an amusing "Mappe of ye Bahama Islands," I saw Craig's sister hurrying. She caught sight of us. In her hand was a copy of the same wireless that had come to us.
"Craig," she cried, "what shall I do? Ken's in some kind of danger? Oh, why did I let that boy go on that cruise? How shall I get him home?" There were tears in her eyes. "Can't you get a boat, go out there immediately, bring him back?"
"The Cay d'Or—the Key of Gold—that's one of the southernmost of the Bahamas," considered Craig as if talking aloud to himself. "Who else is with the boys besides this Bill Burleigh? Who is he?"
Mrs. Adams shrugged. "All I know is that he was the purser. There weren't many lost in the wreck. He was among the saved. The captain was lost and Burleigh has been looking after the two children, the boy, Guy, and an older sister, Nanette. Harry Davison seemed to think he was all right."
"Who's captain of the Diving Bell?" I asked.
"Jorgen Erickson, a pilot and sea captain from the Virgin Islands."
"Is that all, except the crew?" asked Craig.
"No, they have a diver along, too. I think I told you the hunt was to be carried on by means of some new deep-sea diving apparatus, something very wonderful. They had an exhibition of it here at the hotel before they sailed. This man Colwell is an expert diver and one of the inventors of the apparatus."
As she enumerated them I recalled now that we had been told that the six, the three college chums, the purser, the captain and the diver, had sworn an oath to stick together and share the treasure equally, share and share alike—a million each. The expenses for the yacht, royalty for use of the new diving apparatus, supplies, crew, and so on were to come out of the other million and if there was any balance that also was to be divided among the six.
"Oh, Mrs. Adams! What's happened?"
The interruption came from a young girl of unusual beauty who had suddenly appeared from the porch off the Palm Room. Mrs. Adams greeted her rather coldly, I thought.
"Is it news from Ken—or Harry Davison?" the girl persisted, in spite of the coldness.
"Just a message from Ken. Nothing from Mr. Davison," answered Mrs. Adams, quietly.
A less impulsive person, I thought, might have taken it as a rebuff and have retreated. But this girl did not. "I—I saw you were worried—and I heard something about getting a boat. I was worried, too." The girl turned her lustrous eyes toward us. "If you go, please take me with you."
Her eyes rested on Kennedy. Suddenly it dawned on me that this must be Nanette Duval, sister of Guy and daughter of the lost captain of the Arroyo, one of Burleigh's protegées now.
I felt an instinctive sympathy for the girl. But on the other hand, there was the coldness of Mrs. Adams. What was the reason? Nanette had called Davison "Harry." Mrs. Adams had insisted on "Mr." Did she think, I wondered, that Nanette was just a little adventuress seeking to marry Harry Davison's money? I must say that Nanette's manner of thrusting herself forward did not impress me, either.
Kennedy seemed to feel it, too. "Why do you want to go?" he asked, not unkindly.
Mrs. Adams started to speak, but Nanette did not give her a chance. "My little brother, Guy, is out there. If there is anything wrong, I want to know. Is that so strange? What is the matter on the Diving Belle. It is my right to know. Not only is my little brother on it, but the man to whom I am engaged, Harry Davison. It's my right!"
The girl's eyes flashed dangerously as she spoke. She was small, of a gypsy type, but in spite of her size one felt there was strength back of those flashing, shrewd eyes. Her cheeks were full of color and her short, bobbed hair was in tight curls from the dampness blowing in from the sea. Mrs. Adam's eyes flashed, too. It was easy for me to see now that the coolness was indeed over the conquest by Nanette of the susceptible Harry Davison.
"I think Mr. Burleigh will take care of Guy," Mrs. Adams said.
Nanette did not accept that as an answer. "You haven't answered me, Mr. Kennedy," she said. "May I go in the boat?" I could not help feeling that there must be some urgent reason why a girl as independent as Nanette should plead.
"You see, Nanette," Kennedy put her off, "the trip will have to be planned in a hurry even if we can get a boat. Besides, we must have accommodations in case we have to bring some one back. I'm afraid it will be impossible. But trust me. I'll look out for your brother."
She searched his face, hoping he might still relent. Then she turned away silently. I watched her go, much troubled at the rebellious manner she exhibited. I did not understand the girl and felt that we had not seen the last of her.
IN our wanderings already about the quaint and picturesque
docks at Nassau, watching the activity there, we had made the
acquaintance of an old sea captain, Captain Ray. He had voyaged
all over the world and I felt he was good for many stories. So I
cultivated his friendship. He was short of stature, legs slightly
bowed, with twinkling blue eyes and thin, lined, bronzed face. It
was not long before we were hunting up Captain Ray.
"Captain, can you get me a boat, about a hundred feet, for a cruise?" asked Craig. "We must sail, right away, for the Cay d'Or."
"H'm!" Captain Ray set his lips. "No good will ever come of that treasure hunt!" he observed.
There seemed to be something almost superstitious about his manner. Plainly he did not want to embark in it. But continued urging from Kennedy won him.
"Well," he drawled, "I can get you a boat. She ain't classy. To tell you the truth she's one of these here rum-runners. Her owner's got cold feet, afraid to make another trip now with so many boats being seized."
Craig jumped at the chance. We found the owner, came to a bargain, on condition that Captain Ray take charge of the schooner, the Vagrant.
CAPTAIN RAY was right. You could not call the Vagrant
classy. She was broad of beam, in want of paint, with stained,
mildewed canvas, the kind of ship on which you would expect a
crew with dirks in their mouths, gaudy handkerchiefs bound around
their heads, and scarlet sashes around their waists. But she was
a boat.
Everybody was set busy and toward nightfall we were ready, pulling away from the wharf and its crowd of loafers and curious tourists, sure we were covering up a rum-running expedition.
There was very little breeze, just enough to fill the sails, and a noisy motor was helping out so that we would make time to the Key of Gold.
Craig and I leaned over the rail, watching the receding harbor and island. "Nanette hasn't troubled us again," I remarked.
"That girl is a puzzle, Walter. My sister tells me that Burleigh expects her to marry him—and here she is announcing that she is engaged to Harry Davison. No, I'm glad she hasn't troubled us."
Captain Ray was full of foreboding and gloom every time he came near us. He did not stop to joke and chat as he had usually done before, but was soon away, bustling about, making sure that every rope was taut.
I had not long to wonder at his activity. "Look, Walter," pointed Kennedy. "See those clouds hanging low on the horizon?"
I followed the direction of Craig's finger. There I could discern the huge sweep of leaden cloud. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring to watch. The lowering-sun seemed to hesitate to leave. Soon behind the dark clouds we could see a rim of molten light. Then it seemed to grow dark very quickly. I was now myself growing fearful. I could see that Craig was not exactly comfortable.
Captain Ray came up. "Didn't I tell you? Here is trouble coming—right away! Those clouds mean only one thing—a blow!"
Already the wind was churning the water, raising it into huge rollers. There was a foreboding chill in the air. The sea was as gray as the heavens.
Above the wind we could hear the commands of the captain and the shouts of the crew to one another. The sails had been reefed for some time. Everything was being made tight about the boat. Everywhere I saw worried faces, the silent feeling, "I told you so!" Through the rigging the wind now moaned mournfully. It took the tops of the waves and flung the spray in our faces. A mate found us some old yellow slickers. I was really alarmed as the schooner plunged her nose into lacy waves and covered us all with salt spray.
AIL concealment had left Captain Ray by this time. "She's going to get worse before she gets better!" he growled above the wind.
"You're going right into it," I shouted back.
Captain Ray smiled grimly, his face dripping. "The landlubber waits for the storm to come to him. A sailor goes to meet the storm. You two had better go below pretty soon, too. We'll catch it any mi mile, now. This is nothing!"
I watched him in wonder. The wind was whistling through the rigging. I could see it was only Captain Ray that kept panic from the faces of the crew. We were down to bare sticks now, every sail furled.
"Shut off that engine!"
"Good heavens—what's that for?" I cried.
"You'll know in a minute. When we get to plunging, I he propeller out of water would race, put us in more danger than ever. Now, all hands below!"
One of the men was lashing himself to the wheel. Captain Ray was calmly doing the same as the twisters eame on.
"Down—quick, Walter!" muttered Craig to me. "Cover that hatch tight, too."
I went down all right. As I took the short, ladder like cabin steps, the storm broke in all its fury. The schooner pitched and I fell headlong the rest of I he way. Before I could get up I slid the full length of the cabin floor.
In the cabin, with the mate, we could hear the terrific thud of the bottom of the boat, feel it each time as she left the crest of one huge wave and hit the next. We talked a bit at first, but finally the intensity of the tropical storm made us silent. One doesn't feel talkative when one feels so near to his God.
Just then a terrific blast must have struck us, or the helmsman swung his wheel and recovered himself. It seemed as if we rolled and pitched all at once. I thought we had gone. We were over so far that I could not see how we could straighten up again. I forced myself to think only of that quiet, resourceful man lashed to the wheel, guiding the frail schooner.
Suddenly, above the wind, came a wild shriek!
We straightened out and everything seemed to straighten out with us. Were we merely waiting for the next onslaught of the infuriated wind devil?
"What was that?" I gasped.
Only the mate spoke up. "They say they call you just before you strike!" He crouched as if prepared to meet the worst.
Just then the captain opened the hatch, only a bit. A swirling gust of wind and rain and sea swept in like a deluge. He said not a word, only with one motion beckoned. He had heard it, too.
Clinging desperately, Kennedy mounted the ladder and I followed. Along the slippery deck we made our way, following Ray, clinging to shrouds, rigging, booms lashed down, cabin, rail, anything until we came to a forward hatch over the hold. One by one we dropped down and battened it.
It was dark and evil-smelling of bilge and old cargoes. On hands and knees, clinging to anything to keep from being flung headlong, we crawled.
"There's somebody here!" I heard Craig mutter. "A girl! She has fainted!"
I helped him as best I could. It was pitch dark. Together we laid our burden beneath a swinging ship light. Then I started with surprise. "Nanette Duval—a stowaway!" I cried.
"A Jonah!" growled Captain Ray.
As she lay tossed by the boat a moan came from her lips, just the word, "Bill!" Then it trailed off.
Craig glanced at me and muttered, "Bill Burleigh."
"'Sh!" I cautioned.
The lips were moving again. "Bill—is Erickson—all right?"
Craig's eyes widened. What did that mean?
Nanette had begun to come to. The storm, the loneliness, the terrible pitching and pounding, had been too much for her. Her overwrought nerves had rebelled. She had screamed and fainted. Now she made us out in the dim crazily swinging light. She seemed to grip herself.
"Please—please—I must get to him—Guy—before it is too late!"
She was now hysterical. We had to hold the fear-orazed girl as she fought blindly for a few minutes, Then the struggle seemed to rouse her. She sank baok, limply, with the realization. A moment later I saw her eyes opened wide, regarding us in silence, watchful silence.
It was only then that I realized, myself, that the storm had begun to abate.
THE hurricane had driven us far out of our course, and not
until late afternoon of the following day did we arrive at the
Key of Gold, a beautiful little green island rising above a
gleaming white beach, set in a sunny blue sea. It was romantic
in itself. And in its history, too, this was a land haunted by
memories of buccaneers—Blackbeard, Teach, a host of other
scurrilous old worthies.
It was a small island, scarcely over a couple of miles at its longest, and in a sort of harbor on the western side we at last sighted the Diving Belle. We anchored several hundred feet off.
Already Ken had appeared on deck and was waving to us. It wasn't long before the tender of the Vagrant was over the side. She was a sort of cumbersome, overgrown dory-like craft and bore a strange name on her, Huckster. There was still a high sea running from the storm of the night before, but Captain Ray undertook to run her with the little "kicker."
"Jiminy crickets! but I'm glad to see you, Uncle Craig! How's mother?" greeted Ken all in one excited sentence as we came up over the side of the Diving Belle. Ken was deeply tanned, fit, and full of pep, overjoyed to see us, as he helped to run the Huckster out on a boat boom to keep her away from the glistening white sides of the yacht.
"Colwell's diving and they're all out there with him," Ken hurried on. "I'm staying here with Barrett as a sort of guard."
Just then Bob Barrett stuck his head out of the door of the main saloon. To our surprise, we saw that he was swathed in bandages.
"Why, what's happened?" demanded Craig.
"Plenty," hastened Ken, drawing us to the door. "Let me begin at the beginning. You see, the first day we got here we located the wreck of the Arroyo and marked the spot with a buoy. You can see it, off the reef."
Ken waved his hand and we could make out now what looked like a huge raft anchored by four cables, in the distance.
"Well, then we were ready to dive, the day after that, Colwell made the first descent, although we'd all been studying the apparatus and knew it like a book by that time. Say, even the first day he began bringing up gold bars—oh, there must be a hundred thousand dollars' worth of them right here in this saloon. That's one reason why I'm here, to guard them, with Bob."
"But the bandages," insisted Craig, going back to the query that had started the conversation.
"Yes, I was coming to that, Uncle Craig. You know Bob studied engineering, marine stuff, and all that. He wanted to dive." Kennedy nodded and I knew enough of Bob Barrett to know that he was an active young chap who believed himself capable of anything. "Well, day before yesterday was the for Bob to try his luck in the armor."
Ken paused, went over, made sure that the door was shut, looked all around to see if we were alone, then went on. "The night before that, I was excited, wakeful. Uncle Craig, through my porthole, in the moonlight, I saw a boat hanging about the spot marked by the buoy. I got up quietly and went out on deck to make sure I wasn't dreaming. There was a boat there, all right....
"But, Uncle Craig, I saw something else. I heard a noise on the deck where we kept the deep-sea diving stuff. I saw Cap'n Erickson bending over the diving apparatus, in the moonlight. He saw me and was very gruff, ordered me back to bed. Of course it was discipline. I had to go.
"Then back in the stateroom, Guy was awake when I tumbled in.... Or was he awake all the time, just playing possum? I don't know. But Guy asked me what I'd been doing on deck. I wouldn't tell. I didn't have to. Then he got mad. There was almost a fight. You know that Guy is a peculiar kid. Sometimes he is just as nice a boy as you'd want to meet. Then at other times he'll do some dirty, underhand trick that a Scout would be ashamed of, sort of like Hank, you know."
Kennedy frowned, then smiled. I knew he was thinking of what a peculiar problem these two Duval children were. As he had said after we discovered Guy's sister, Nanette, as a stowaway, "Remember they've been left without any guidance. We've got to treat them with charity." He turned to question Barrett.
"Yes," nodded Bob, "the next day I went down. It was over twenty fathoms, but the new apparatus is good. Here's the strange thing, the thing that laid me up. I hadn't more than got down there when I was in a terrific fight with sharks. Suddenly the whole place seemed to have become simply alive with them. Colwell had instructed me how to fight 'em. There had been sharks before. But only one or two at a time. Now it seemed that there were scores, all at once. There wasn't anything to do but fight. Suppose some of them should foul or break the airline? Say, it was the battle of my life. The sea was red with shark blood. There were so many that even their dead bodies didn't satisfy the others. I signaled, started up, got up just in time, too, I felt. But, Mr. Kennedy," Barrett lowered his voice, "I was down there long enough to see one thing—the dead carcass of a horse!"
He drew back to watch Kennedy's surprise, and he was not disappointed. Before Craig could ask a question, Bob hurried on. "Now that hadn't been there long. It couldn't have been. There was flesh on it that the sharks were picking off as they Swooped at it. It certainly hadn't been there when the Arroyo sank. It was almost eaten, too. How did it get there? Why, it must have been weighted and dropped from that boat that Ken had seen hanging about the buoy. It was bait!
"Then I managed to get to the radio and get off that message to mother and you to come, Uncle Craig. 'Sh!"
It was the diving party outside returning in the launch, Davison, Whiting, Erickson, Colwell, Burleigh, and young Guy.
Kennedy met them at the gangway and expressed an interest in the diving apparatus, and Colwell took upon himself the task of explaining to us the stories of deep-sea treasure-hunting up to date.
"You see," he remarked, pointing out to us what looked like a strangely developed suit of armor, "we have a wonderful deep-sea diving outfit which will enable us to go down even fifty fathoms, three hundred feel,—I believe even farther if we had to do it to establish a record. It won't be necessary in this case, though. The Arroyo lies in about twenty-two fathoms." And he launched into a technical description of the suit and explained to Craig, who understood it better than he, that dangerous divers' disease, the "bends."
AT last we were ready to start back to the Vagrant with
Ken and Davison in the Huckster—but not before we
saw the suspicion of one another that existed on the yacht. We
climbed down with Captain Ray, who spun the motor and started
off.
We had not gone more than halfway between the Diving Belle and our own schooner when an exclamation from Captain Ray called our attention. "She's sinking, men!"
I looked. Sure enough the Huckster was settling in the water. Kennedy sprang up, clutching the gunwale of the boat. It was the strangest sensation I have ever felt. There was not a drop of water in the bottom of the boat—yet we were sinking!
"This is impossible!" I exclaimed. "Not impossible," muttered Kennedy. "For it's so!"
Faster and faster we settled down in the seas. It made me think of old stories of magic, of legends of boats pulled down by genii, spirits. Waves were now breaking over the boat in spite of the fact that the sea was slowly calming. Now the water did come into the dory, over the sides. The engine stopped as the water got into the carburetor. And the weight of the engine and our own weight carried us down, slowly, stern first. We clung to the bow.
"Look!"
Davison was pointing now with genuine alarm as a shark's fin was visible, following the boat. Since the bait had been dropped the waters seemed literally infested with sharks. Frantically we signaled back to the Diving Belle. No one seemed to heed, or, if they did, they were slow in starting. If they didn't start soon it would be too late.
"What is it? What made it do that?" asked Ken.
Still waving his arms and between shouts to the Vagrant, Captain Ray answered: "The Huckster has a double bottom. It's one boat inside the other. They used to use it on the Vagrant in the rum-running. Between the two boats is a big space in which they hid the contraband stuff. You know, 'huckstering' means peddling the poisonous stuff between the boat outside the three-mile limit and the shore. Some one on the Diving Belle must have tampered with the outside shell of the boat while it was swinging from that boat boom and we were all in the cabin. Some one on that boat"—he glanced at Craig—"must fear you, Mr. Kennedy, or"—he glanced at Davison and Ken—"they want to get rid of you!"
I don't think I ever saw a more welcome sight than when the mate put over in another small boat from the Vagrant and started pulling toward us as fast as he could.
Would he be in time? The sharks, with terrible rows of wicked teeth, now all but swam over and up on the sinking boat. If one more vicious than the rest dove down and came up under us he would have us all in the ocean, an easy prey.
Now they saw us on the Diving Belle, too. I could make out Erickson and Burleigh starting. But they seemed incredibly slow.
It was the mate of the Vagrant who got to us first—and we were safe.
When Burleigh and Erickson came up, Kennedy coolly impressed them into our service to tow the submerged Huckster.
As we came up to the Vagrant we could see Nanette leaning anxiously over the railing. We let Ken climb up the ladder first.
"This is good, a good deal better than two rows of shark teeth," he grinned.
"Nanette!" Harry Davison had come aboard.
Nanette turned and smiled. "Harry!" she exclaimed in a tone as if she had had no idea he was within a thousand miles.
"What's the matter, Nanette?" he asked.
She lowered her eyes and I saw that the girl was nervous, that her indifference was only camouflage. "Oh, Harry, when I saw the danger you were in and thought something was going to happen to you—I—I realized how thoughtless—and wicked—I am—sometimes!"
Burleigh and Captain Erickson had come aboard by this time. Burleigh glared at Nanette and Harry. But the girl only flashed a glance at him. "Why didn't you come sooner, Bill?" she asked.
"I couldn't. We didn't see it until your boat had started."
The whole situation was strained and the conversation lagged and finally stopped as Harry, Burleigh, and Erickson went over the side.
IT was almost the middle of the night that there came a fight
tap at our cabin door. There was Nanette, wide awake, sleepless.
Kennedy smiled at her kindly and I began to see what had been his
reason for treating Nanette as if we had no suspicion of her
loyalty. This was the first result of kindness and
helpfulness.
Nanette looked fearfully around in the darkness. Then she whispered nervously in Craig's ear, "There's a curse on that treasure!"
"A curse? What do you mean, Nanette?" Kennedy patted her shoulder encouragingly. "Tell me; I know I can trust you."
"I don't know what happened when the Arroyo went down; no one knows," she went on in a lowered tone. "It was in the night and there was a fire. It spread fast, from the cargo to the engine room. There was an explosion. Before they knew it, the ship was sinking fast!" She paused and shuddered. "Passengers say they saw my father, Captain Duval—pale—like a ghost. Some said there was blood streaming from his head as if from a wound. That was the last ever seen of him!"
"How did the fire on the Arroyo start?"
"No one knows." She shook her head slowly. "I think it must have been smoldering in the hold for hours before it was discovered. Then the pumps didn't work properly. And the fire had gained too great headway for them, anyhow.... I've heard many people talk of it, how strange it was, and about the treasure. You wouldn't get me to touch a penny of it now. Maybe you'll call it superstition, but...." She stopped. "Then," she began again, "when I saw the Huckster sinking, almost the first thing after we got here... and Harry in it, it frightened me. I don't know anything, Mr. Kennedy. I can't accuse anybody. But—Mr. Kennedy, I love Harry, and—and I'm afraid!"
"Thank you for coming through, Nanette," exclaimed Craig, taking her hand. "Don't say a word to anybody. Just trust me—and be on the level!"
I was restless the remainder of the night, but Craig had evidently thought it all out before morning. At daylight he took Captain Ray, Ken, and myself and we started over early to the Diving Belle.
Kennedy had something important on his mind. He was insisting upon going down in the diving apparatus himself. He urged it so strongly that they had to allow him.
THUS it was that over on the raft, later in the morning, with
me to stand guard with Davison on the surface, Craig donned the
suit, had the leads placed on his feet, and finally was fitted
with the weird metal headgear.
To me the moments that Craig was down seemed interminable. When there came a hasty signal on the indicator from below, although I knew that he had not been down long, I felt it was ages. Could it be a signal of trouble? What of the sharks?
Had someone tampered with the apparatus? Would they never bring him up?
Seldom have I felt more relief than I did at seeing his weird headgear appear at the surface. The danger from the bends might not be entirely past yet, but at least Craig himself was safe.
As he came over the side of the raft, fastened by its four cables, I tried to greet him. You can't shake hands with a hook. It was like trying to greet a giant in that outlandish dripping suit which was so clumsy out of the water. His back was turned toward the others as he peered at me through the big goggle plate-glass eyes. When I realized the reason I gasped.
He had brought up a skull and was handing the gruesome thing to me with a ponderous gesture of secrecy!
Meanwhile, he hastened to get out of the cumbersome suit and, to my delight, showed no evidence of any bad effects.
The others seemed to think he should have brought up more of the gold bars. But Craig seemed well pleased. In fact, he lost no time in getting back to the Vagrant with the skull which I had concealed for him. It was a weird burden and I was not loath to resign it to him. We left them preparing to dive for more gold bars. Not one of them knew what it was Craig had brought up.
In the cabin of the Vagrant, Kennedy set to work immediately after lunch. He had brought with him on I he schooner the packing case which he often referred to as his "traveling laboratory." From it he look a small kit of tools and some materials that looked almost like those for an actor's make-up. Me wanted to be alone and uninterrupted and I withdrew.
WHEN I rejoined Craig at the close of the afternoon, I saw
that he had been at work on a most grotesque labor. As he placed
the finishing touches on his work, he talked.
"This might almost be called a new art, Walter. Lately science has perfected the difficult process of reconstructing the faces of human beings of whom only the skull or perhaps even only a few bones, are obtainable.
"To the unskilled observer a fleshless skull presents little human likeness and certainly conveys no notion of the exact appearance in life of the person to whom it belonged. But by an ingenious system of building up muscles and skin upon the bones of the skull this appearance can be reproduced with scientific accuracy.
"Its essential principle consists in ascertaining from the examination of many bodies the normal thickness of flesh that overlies a certain bone in a certain type of face. From these calculations scientists by an elaborate process build up a face on the skull.
"These measurements have been obtained with a very fine needle graduated to hundredths of an inch. Knowing them, one builds up a great number of tiny plaster pyramids varying in height according to the measurements obtained by these researches. They are built up all over the skull, representing the thickness of the muscles. The next step is to connect by a layer of clay-the surface of which is flush with the tips of these little pyramids. Then wax and grease paint and a little hair complete it. You see, it is really scientific restoration of the face. I must finish this."
IT was not until late that night that Craig finished. We were
on deck, getting a breath of air and looking off toward where the
Diving Belle lay. It was dark. There was no moon. But the
stars were gleaming brilliantly in the tropical sky.
"I wonder what's back of all these suspicious events," I remarked. "I'm afraid if we don't act...."
"Steady, Walter," interrupted Craig. "Don't go off half-cocked. Any moment something...."
"Look!" I seized Craig's arm.
Up into the sky, leaving a fiery trail, shot a rocket. It burst, revealing a light on a little parachute.
"A star shell!"
In the reflection of the light we peered at the Diving Belle, whence it came. I thought I could make out Guy on the deck. But on the other side I made out certainly now a smaller boat and some men. Across the water now came a shot—and a no I her—and shouts.
"That means only one thing!" cried Craig. "Get Captain Ray and all of the crew we can pile into the Huckster. Hurry!"
Kennedy himself had disappeared into our cabin and a moment later emerged with a package in a square box. We piled into the tender, armed with guns and knives, almost anything.
"You'd better stay on the schooner, Nanette," urged Kennedy.
Nanette, white, refused to move from the Huckster. "I can shoot! Somehow I feel that somebody got my father over that treasure. I'm not going to let anybody get my brother—and Harry!"
There was no time for a struggle. Craig let her stay. Nor could we put back when, just as we cast off. Ken leaped into the boat.
THE Huckster could travel. It had been meant to elude
the law. Now it helped the law with equal willingness. It was
only a few minutes when we were coming up on the other side of
the Diving Belle. There was so much noise and shouting
that I don't think, in the lively mêlée and darkness, now
that the star shell had died down, they saw us.
As we climbed over the side, our arrival was a complete surprise.
Fighting over the entrance amidships were Davison, Barrett, Whiting and Colwell. Erickson and Burleigh were struggling with a couple of men before the saloon. It was a pretty evenly matched hand-to-hand.
Nanette screamed as she saw Harry totter back from, a terrific blow on the head. All the wildness in her nature seemed uppermost. She did not dare fire, for fear of hitting some of our friends. She did better. She leaped on the saloon roof, ran a few feet, then with the butt of her pistol, jumped, bringing it down on the head of the ruffian who had struck Harry. He crumpled. She turned to lift up Davison, half conscious.
Plainly we outnumbered them. They were desperate, though, and ready for any surprise. It was not many seconds when with a shout they jumped to their own boat and swung off. Exchanging broadsides of pistol fire, the two boats drifted apart as we crouched behind shelter of any kind in the gun battle with the pirates.
Erickson tried to lift Harry from Nanette's arms. "Get away, I tell you," she screamed. "He's mine, I tell you, mine!" She turned to Craig. "Let me wash that wound and bind his head up!"
"All right." Kennedy was striding over to a coil of rope on the deck. There had been a call from Ken. There was Guy. "What's wrong, Guy?" asked Craig, picking him up.
"Some one hit me when I sent that signal up," he moaned. "I was afraid they'd kill me. But I had to let Ken and you know." Dazed, Guy was just recovering from the blow. "Tell Nanette," he murmured, "I tried to be good and brave—like Ken."
"You'll be all right—better in a moment," encouraged Craig. "You did your duty. In fact, you probably saved the yacht. Look after him, Walter." Kennedy turned into the saloon now with the package he had stuck in our boat when we started. He hanged the door.
"You're square, Ken," faltered Guy, taking Ken's hand. "That's why I did it—for you—and your friends—and what Nanette told me about 'em!"
As I supported Guy on his feet I saw that Captain Ray had the fellow that Nanette had knocked out, bringing him to.
Quickly I tried to piece it together, this attempt to carry off the half million or so in the gold bars I ha I had so far been recovered, our hurried rescue, I he fight, and the flight of the "pirates." There must, have been one of two purposes—either to get I he gold or to remove the three college chums from the treasure hunt. But who was back of these pirates? Had this been the same boat that Ken had seen over by the buoy the other night?
Craig stood in the door of the saloon of the Diving Belle. He waved his arm for us to approach. As we came forward I saw that he had closed the door so that there was only a slit of light.
"The Arroyo!" exclaimed Craig, talking rapidly, "was set afire and sunk—not by accident—but for a purpose! It was a devilish crime!"
He moved aside from the door as he flung it open.
On the table in the center of the saloon we could see under the light a weird sight—a head with blood apparently streaming from a ghastly wound.
I heard a deep, guttural cry beside me.
"It's his ghost—Captain Duval! God save me! It's his ghost come to haunt you—and claim the treasure!"
I drew back, myself aghast at the gruesome realism of Kennedy's work.
"Say!" It was Captain Ray's voice outside on the deck back of us as he was working over the unconscious pirate that Nanette had put out. "This fellow's coming to, talking in his sleep. Those men were working for some traitor right on this boat!"
Craig was now peering into Erickson's eyes. Erickson did not lower his, except once when the terrible fascination of that thing on the table drew his gaze irresistibly.
"That—that face!" he cried. "The blood!" He paused, seemed to feel something compelling in Kennedy's glance, then went on slowly, "I—I always suspected it! Now I know!"
"Know what?"
"Know why he went down with his ship. Captain Duval was—murdered!"
"Murdered? By whom?"
"The man who set fire to the ship, of course—sunk it—to get the treasure—and the captain's daughter!"
Erickson had now swung around full face on Burleigh.
"And now you're trying to get young Davison and the rest out of the way so that you can have all the treasure! I see it now. You did it once. You'd do iz again. I was afraid some one was tampering with that diving apparatus, too. I was right—and they did tamper with your boat! Colwell—you and I would have been next!"
Leaning now on Nanette, Harry Davison had joined us. Little Guy, by this time nerved again by the excitement, broke from me to Kennedy. Pointing to Erickson, he cried, "Yes, sir—Cap'n Erickson was my father's friend!"
Nanette stood aghast, realizing that Burleigh had actually been using her as a spy on shore as he had red Guy as a spy on the Diving Belle.
Erickson laid his hand on Guy's shoulder as if Mm old captain would steer him straight.
"Shred by shred I am getting the story, Burleigh," exclaimed Craig as he drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. "You're as fine a gentleman as ever scuttled a ship or cut a throat!"
He took a couple of steps toward Burleigh with the irons.
Erickson, old Duval's friend, enraged as the thought of the murder and the attempt to corrupt Nanette and Guy, had whipped out his six-shooter. I had my hand on his arm before he could pull the trigger.
Like the flash of a motion picture Burleigh turned and vaulted the rail into the ocean.
"Quiok!" cried Captain Ray as he dashed for the old Huster. "One of you boys turn on that searchlight!"
There came a wild scream from the blackness of the sea, a swish of foamy water, as if of a momentary fight—then silence.
Harry Davison swung the searchlight. Along its beam could be seen the ominous fin of a shark....
Captain Ray was shaking his head as he had ever since we started. "That's what you get for trying to bust into Davy Jones's locker!" he muttered.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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