Among the River Pirates

by Hugh Lloyd

  CHAPTER XXIV ANOTHER RESCUE

  As the moments wore on, Skippy felt meaner than ever. He tried to forcehimself to accept Big Joe’s point of view, but it was difficult and morethan once he wished he had not encouraged his good friend in thisdubious enterprise.

  They chugged into the bay and out of the awakening river traffic. Dawnhad broken through and glimmerings of dancing light peeped over thehorizon. An hour more and they would be in sight of Watson’s Channel.

  “We’ll not be goin’ straight for the Channel, we’ll not,” called Big Joeas if anticipating Skippy’s fears. “We’ll be layin’ quite like belowhere a ways ’till the _Minnehaha_ gets in the Channel. ’Tis a funnyname, hey kid?”

  “Mm,” Skippy answered. “It’s a Indian name, Big Joe—I think it meanssumpin’ like Laughing—Laughing sumpin’.”

  Big Joe’s mirth knew no bounds.

  “Sure and just about now _Minnie_ ain’t laughin’, she ain’t,” he said.“’Tis us.”

  “Not me,” Skippy said gloomily. “I won’t laugh ... not till after.”

  An hour later they were chugging noisily toward Watson’s Channel. Thesun was glorious and the water glistened under its warm spring rays.Gulls frolicked about in the foaming spray and Skippy tried hard tobelieve there was nothing but peace in his busy mind.

  After a time they heard a distant sound, faint at first but growinglouder within a few minutes. Tully grinned at Skippy’s questioning faceand nodded as the piercing note of a siren cut the silent sunlit air.

  “Sure, and I wonder what that might be?” he said with mock-seriousness.“Sounds like distress I’d be sayin’, I would.”

  “Stop kiddin’, Big Joe,” Skippy pleaded. “You mean you think it’s_them_?”

  “Well now I wouldn’ be s’prised,” the big fellow answered. Thenseriously, he said: “We’ll be gettin’ there, kid! Don’t be lookin’ as ifthey was drownin’ or somethin’. Sure they could keep afloat for hours sothey could, and look at the tide besides.”

  Skippy glanced at the quietly rolling swell and felt somewhat reassured.But the voice of the siren jarred him and he was glad to see that BigJoe looked serious and determined. He hadn’t liked that note of railleryin his friend’s voice.

  But despite Skippy’s fears Tully answered the siren call with all thehaste of a good Samaritan. One might have supposed that he gloried inthe duties of heroic service. And when he reached the Channel and theysighted the distressed launch, he opened wide his throttle until the oldhull shook to the vibrations of the engine.

  Skippy clenched his slim, brown fingers and sat tense in his seat whilea spray rained into the boat. Big Joe coughed significantly and drovehis ramshackle craft straight for the disabled cruiser.

  “Now ain’t she the sweet lookin’ baby,” he observed as if he had neverseen the launch before.

  Skippy said nothing but grimly watched the three men who awaited theircoming. Crosley he recognized at once, but the man standing alongside ofhim was a stranger. The third occupant of the _Minnehaha_ was MartySkinner. Skippy remembered him from his father’s trial and from thenight Skinner had ordered him off the _Apollyon_ without a hearing.

  “You see him?” he asked Big Joe between clenched teeth.

  “’Tis all the better,” Big Joe seemed to say in his bland smile.

  He brought the kicker up alongside the _Minnehaha_ and laid a lifepreserver over the coaming of his boat to prevent its scratching thegleaming hull of the launch. Skippy scrambled to the rescue and held thekicker as the ill-assorted pair rocked and rubbed in the heavy swell.

  “Sure I don’t want to be scratchin’ her,” said Tully with a fineassumption of humble respect for the launch. “I was tellin’ the kidhere, she’s some baby, hey? What’s bein’ the matter; power give out didshe? ’Tis too bad, so ’tis.”

  Skippy kept his eyes on space, but he had the feeling that Big Joe andhe were being scrutinized with unfriendly stares.

  Crosley sniffed the air contemptuously before he spoke.

  “She’s pumping oil to beat the band,” he said. “We don’t seem to begetting any compression either. We can’t get a kick out of her. Beenflopping around for an hour.”

  “Sure maybe ye be needin’ new rings,” said Tully. “Guess ye been pushin’her too hard, hey?”

  He glanced into the cockpit and with a fine show of rueful astonishment,beheld the disastrous results of his own handiwork. She was indeedpumping oil. The engine head was covered with it, and it was streamingdown the side over the carburetor. Three or four spark plugs had beentaken out and lay on a locker in little puddles of oozy muck.

  “If ’t was only one cylinder now, I’d be sayin’ ye had a busted ring, oreven a cracked piston,” Tully said blandly. “But shiverin’ swordfish ifit don’t look like the whole six o’ thim, don’t it? Ye can’t do nothin’here. Looks like ye was racin’ her a lot.” His detestable device hadworked so well that he seemed moved to offer gratuitous suggestions. “Iknowed a guy was stuck on the bar over by Inland Beach and he keptracin’ his motor, and somehow—I dunno just how—she sucked in a lot o’beach sand and it sanded down his cylinder wall good an’ plenty, so itdid.”

  Skinner’s lips were drawn in a thin line above his pointed chin.

  “Does that mean we’ll have to be towed back, Crosley?” he asked his hostpetulantly.

  “Afraid so, Marty,” answered Crosley. “I can’t imagine how a fine enginelike mine could break down so soon.”

  “Sure and if that ain’t just like some guys,” said Tully glibly.“They’re fine’s a fiddle one day and the next—they’re done for, ain’t itso?”

  Crosley nodded indifferently.

  “Could you tow us in?” he asked as if the question were distasteful. Hisaversion to the uncouth, but amiable river man was too obvious to escapeSkippy’s sensitive eyes.

  If Tully was aware of it too, he did not betray it. His face lookedgrave and thoughtful.

  “Trouble is I’m due at the Hook,” he said hesitantly. “Have an all day’sjob towin’ a barge. I’m late as ’tis. And if I ain’t there in twintyminutes I lose the job, so I do. ’Tis the first good payin’ job I’ve hadin a long....”

  Crosley waved his hand in entreaty.

  “We’ll see that you’re paid for the loss of your day’s job, man. Howmuch would you get for it, eh?”

  Tully moved his large head and shrugged his powerful shoulders.“Seventy-five bucks is what they’re goin’ to pay me,” he said modestly.

  Crosley gasped audibly.

  “That’s a lot of money, but....”

  “It’s a hold up!” snapped Skinner between his tightly drawn lips.

  “Sure and it’s what they’re payin’ me, boss,” said Big Joe with a lookof hurt pride. “I ain’t askin’ ye’ for a cent, I’m not considerin’ I maylose my customer for future jobs. ’Tis not only I’m losin’ thatseventy-five bucks, ’tis....”

  “All right,” Crosley sniffed angrily. “You’re taking advantage of us. Idon’t believe you can earn seventy-five dollars for a day’s work. Butyou have us at a disadvantage—the Lord knows who else we could get toour rescue in this unfrequented channel.”

  “So and that’s all the thanks I get,” said Tully. “Comin’ way out o’ meway....”

  “All right,” Skinner interposed. “Give it to him, Crosley. I know whothis fellow is. We’re at his mercy. But I’ll remember this, Tully—you’reoccupying the mud banks at Brown’s Basin. You and this boy, Dare, maywant some consideration when you people have to get out of the Basin.And I’ll remember who’s living on the _Minnie M. Baxter_!”

  “You oughta!” Skippy shouted angrily, rising to his feet. “Your cheatin’boss what’s dead put it there, that’s what, an’ my father’ll never seethe sun on the river again on account of it too! So try an’ take itaway.”

  Skinner’s cold dignity seemed unruffled. He averted his gaze whileCrosley counted out seventy-five dollars to
Big Joe Tully. Skippy stoodby, his heart full of hate, and at that moment he thought that he couldcheerfully see the _Minnehaha_ sink to the bottom of the Channel whileSkinner begged to be saved.

  While leisurely chugging back toward the Basin that afternoon he andTully talked it over seriously.

  “Well, and we got seventy-five bucks aisy money out o’ the tightwads,”Tully chuckled in conclusion.

  “Seventy-five bucks an’ the promise of trouble from Skinner, Big Joe,”Skippy reminded him with a note of apprehension in his voice.

  Tully’s face darkened.

  “I hate Skinner for sayin’ what he did, so I do,” he said ominously.“Sufferin’ swordfish if he do be makin’ ye scared and drivin’ ye outathe only home ye got—well, he better be lettin’ ye ’lone. _Me_, I don’tcare much where I live, but _you_ ... I’ll be fixin’ him if he....”

  “Don’t say it, Big Joe!” Skippy pleaded earnestly. “It scares me, ’causethat’s just what Pop said the night he went to see old Mr. Flint on the_Apollyon_! It’s sorta——”

  “And ’tis all right, kid, so ’tis.” Tully smiled. “Now ye be forgettin’it.”

  Skippy tried to; certainly he had forgotten that he himself had wishedMarty Skinner a like fate only that morning.

  CHAPTER XXV DAVY JONES

  Tully’s game worked successfully for the next few weeks, for he haddistributed his activities among various club houses dotting the shore.It had become an enterprise apparently without threat of untowardincident—so much so that Skippy, with his uncanny knack of presagingill, came to feel that they must not go on with the distastefulbusiness.

  He had hated the treachery of it from the very beginning, partly becauseof his innate honesty and also because in fairness to himself, he knewhe had no real grudge against his rich fellow men. And in his vague,ignorant way Skippy knew that Skinner and Crosley represented somethingwhich hate could never successfully combat.

  He felt it particularly one early morning when Tully, swaggering out ofthe shanty of the _Minnie M. Baxter_, rubbed his large hands in gleefulanticipation of the next victim.

  “’Tis up to the Riverview Yacht Club we’ll be goin’ this mornin’, kid,”he said confidently. “We’ve worked aroun’ to it agin. Me pal, the boattender what tipped me off on Crosley’s _Minnehaha_, ain’t there no more,but the new guy was aisy pickin’. He fell for a little split, withoutbattin’ an eye, so he did, and sent word down last night that a littlefishin’ party headed for Snug Island would push off at dawn.”

  “Snug Island, huh?” Skippy asked fearfully. “That means Watson’s Channelfor us again?”

  “Sure,” laughed Tully, “’tis a spot I like. Nobody goes through Watson’sChannel ’cept they’re headed for Snug Island. And nobody goes to SnugIsland fishin’ but a coupla rich guys what own the whole place. It’saisy pickin’ so ’tis.”

  “For you it’s easy, Big Joe,” said Skippy, “but not for me. Sometimes Ithink I never had anythin’ so hard to do in my life as just gettin’ upnerve to go on these trips. Gee, I ain’t never had the heart to tell Popabout them—I lied, an’ said we was makin’ a pretty good livin’ towin’an’ fishin’.”

  Big Joe roared with laughter.

  “Sure and we’re towin’ and fishin’,” he said with a malicious wink. “Yedidn’t tell Toby no lie. We fish the money out o’ ’em and thin tow thimback—that’s no story.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t laugh about it, Big Joe,” Skippy said with a frown.“It makes it seem as if it was a joke—as if you liked it almost.”

  “And you’d be likin’ it too, kid, if ye wanted to get back at these richguys much as I do. But I won’t be laughin’ about it no more, if it makesye feel that way. Sufferin’ swordfish but ye don’t have to be actin’like we’re goin’ to a funeral.”

  “I feel funny about goin’ to the Riverview Yacht Club this morning. BigJoe, would you stay away from there if I asked you to?”

  “Any mornin’ but this one, Skippy me boy,” said Tully with all his oldaffection. “I can’t be side-steppin’ it on account o’ this new boattender. He’s expectin’ a little handout so I can’t be disappointin’ him.But I’ll tell ye what, kid, if it’s makin’ ye feel so awful bad I’llchuck this game ’fore ye can say any more. I’ll be thinkin’ up somethin’else. Anythin’ but seem’ ye’ feelin’ sad, kid.”

  They got into the kicker and chugged out of the inlet once more.Skippy’s eyes glistened happily and he told himself that he could forgetthe ominous whisperings inside of him for just this once. Indeed, hecould forget everything distasteful in the past few weeks now that Tullyhad promised to give up the hated business.

  “We ain’t heard from Crosley or Skinner since that mornin’ we towed ’emback, huh Big Joe?” he asked irrelevantly. “I wonder if they found outwhat was really wrong with the engine?”

  “We’d o’ heard ’bout it soon enough if they did, so we would,” saidTully thoughtfully. “Anyways, I heard that Crosley sold the _Minnehaha_right that next day. He said he didn’t want no boat that almost put himdown in Watson’s Channel. Ha, ha! Sure and I’m glad he did. He should beworryin’ with his money.”

  Once more they pulled up beside the slip of the Riverview Yacht Club andonce more Big Joe stole silently up the lawn in the gray morningshadows. Skippy waited patiently, albeit anxiously, and held the boatsecure while his weary eyes blinked sleepily in the sultry air.

  After a time, Big Joe came hurrying out of the shadows.

  “Simple as sayin’ meow, kid,” he said exultantly. “The boat tender tellsme this guy’s goin’ alone to Snug Island this mornin’. He couldn’t berememberin’ the guy’s name what owns her, but he says the boat ain’t aweek old. She’s a peach—a trim, twenty-six footer, kid! And of all namesshe’s got! Sufferin’ swordfish!”

  “What?”

  “The _Davy Jones_—so ’tis. Can ye be beatin’ that?”

  “_Big Joe!_” Skippy said in a small, frightened voice. “That’s a namethat scares me terrible.”

  “_Ye’re crazy, kid, ye’re crazy!_ Sure and what’s in a name. Just ’causeDavy Jones happens to mean....”

  “Just the same I’m scared terrible,” Skippy maintained stoutly. “An’there’s lots in names whether you believe it or not. Now take the_Minnie M. Baxter_—nothin’ bad could come of her in the end, I bet, andif it did I bet it would be for the best, because it was my mother’sname. Even if there’s been trouble about the barge from the beginnin’there’s good come on it too. When Pop was taken away, then you came tobe good to me so that shows there’s somethin’ good about the barge,don’t it? But Davy Jones only means one thing, Big Joe, an’ you can say,what’s in a name!”

  What, indeed!

  CHAPTER XXVI THE ROCKS

  It was a murky dawn and no sun followed in its wake. The air was heavyand oppressive, and low rumblings of thunder echoed in from sea. Skippyshook his head worriedly as they chugged out of sight of the bay to letthe _Davy Jones_ pass by.

  “I don’t feel right this morning, Big Joe,” the boy insisted. “Say whatyou like, but we shouldn’t wait—we oughta tail the _Davy Jones_, rightaway—_this minute_, before the storm comes on.”

  “Now ye be worryin’ agin, hey?” Tully asked impatiently. “That storm’sout at sea and it won’t hit the Channel. Sure ’tis just a murkymornin’.”

  “All right,” said Skippy, “but I know.”

  Tully was beginning to be annoyed with Skippy’s gloomy predictions andhe showed it. Yet somehow it gave him a little uneasiness and from timeto time he glanced thoughtfully from the boy to the distant blackhorizon.

  The storm clouds were coming nearer and thunder rolled ominously overtheir heads. Finally Tully turned over his motor and set her nose about.After she had warmed up, he opened wide the throttle and headed for thebay.

  “I’ll be keepin’ her open and beat it for the Channel soon’s
we getacross,” he explained. “We’ll be gettin’ there sure ’fore the stormbreaks bad.”

  “I hope so,” said Skippy, “because it’s travelin’ in from sea, fast.”

  “We’ll be goin’ round by The Rocks and save fifteen minutes or so,”Tully said hopefully searching the boy’s face. “’Tis high enough tidefor to take a chance.”

  The Rocks, that bane of all mariners who were unfamiliar with thelurking waters beyond the bay, could be safely passed in small boats athigh tide. There were few, however, who took advantage of thisconcession of Nature to the small nautical man, nearly all marinerspreferring the greater safety that was offered them by going the longway around Inland Beach.

  A high wind was steadily rising as they chugged into the vicinity of TheRocks, and it prevented Skippy from hearing that call of distress forwhich he was so intently listening. Whether the wind was against them,he did not know, for the howling tempest and turbulent water drowned outall other sounds.

  The storm broke after a few minutes and rain lashed at them from allsides. Tully said not a word, but stayed at his wheel silent and grave.And by his averted head, Skippy knew that he, too, was listening forthat siren call from the _Davy Jones_.

  Salt spray flung itself up over the bow and into Skippy’s face. He couldhave moved farther back to avoid it, but he seemed incapable of actionthen, and sat tense and white, listening, listening....

  Tully did not miss it. The boy’s tragic expression so dismayed him thathe felt for the first time in his life that he should have mended hisways while there was still time. All his sins seemed to have crowdedinto Skippy’s face to accuse him.