by John Blaine
Scotty came out of the cabin headfirst, feet and arms trailing limply.
Rick got an arm around his pal’s chest and began to kick his way upward. He was almost out of breath, his head roaring. He let the breath out in tiny bubbles, legs and one arm flailing, face upturned to the surface. He could see light above, and then it got cloudy again. He knew there was a long way to go.
The pressure in his chest was unbearable. He let out air a little faster and increased his kicking. Scotty was a dead weight, dragging them down. Rick’s free arm drove downward in steady but weakening strokes, and there wasa redness in front of his eyes. He let out the last of the air from his lungs in an effort to decrease the pressure and blackness closed in. He kept struggling upward, fighting the terrible urge to breathe,feeling consciousness slip from him.
Something grabbed him, shot him violently to the surface. Fresh air flooded into his tortured lungs and he opened his mouth wide, gasping. He opened his eyes and light struck his eyeballs painfully. He was dimly conscious of pressure under his chin, forcing his head back. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
Weakness had him. He couldn’t move or even think.
He knew that he was moving, but he didn’t know how, nor did he think about it until sand grated under him. Then he remembered and yelled, “Scotty!”
“He’s all right,” Hobart Zircon’s deep voice said. “Easy, Rick. I’ve got you.” The big scientist picked him up bodily and carried him to the parched grass of Pirate’s Field. At the same instant, Hartson Brant strode from the water with Scotty slung over his shoulder.
“Rick’s all right,” Zircon said.
Hartson Brant snapped, “Scotty isn’t.” He put the boy face down on the grass, turned his head to one Page 39
side, felt in his mouth for obstructions,then pulled his tongue forward. Kneeling with one leg between Scotty’s thighs and the other outside, he began artificial respiration. A little water gushed from Scotty’s mouth and there was a gurgle as air rushed in on the release.
Rick lay unmoving, still gasping for air. He couldn’t see what was going on next to him.
For perhaps two minutes the scientist kept up his rhythmic motion,then he looked up at big Hobart Zircon. “He’s breathing.” Hartson Brant’s voice was quietly triumphant. He changed the rhythm to correspond with Scotty’s breathing and in a few moments the boy groaned.
The two men watched with anxious faces as Scotty’s breathing grew less spluttery and finally almost normal. Then they went over him for broken bones. Finding none, Hobart Zircon lifted him in a fireman’s carry and started with long strides for the big house.
Mrs. Brant had remained in the house long enough to call a doctor and to get Tony Briotti underway to the mainland in one of the speedboats. Dr. Shannon, who had started to the beach with the two scientists, was intercepted and sent back to the lab for the first-aid kit.
With everything prepared, Mrs. Brant ran to the beach just as Zircon lifted Scotty. She got to his side in time to see Scotty open his eyes. It was typical of the ex-Marine that his first almost inaudible, gasping words were “Mom, you’re upside down”
Mrs. Brant kissed him briefly, told Zircon to put him to bed, then hurried to Rick’s side.
Things were making a little more sense to Rick now. He tried to sit upright. “Where’s Scotty?”
“He’s all right, Son,” Hartson Brant replied. “Zircon is taking him to the house.”
Mrs. Brant’s face had gone white at the sight of Rick’s bloody leg, but she said calmly, “Lie down, Rick.
I want to take a look at you.” She motioned to Shannon who was running toward them with the first-aid kit, then pulled Rick’s torn trouser leg aside.
The wound was long and deep, but not serious, and it was already clotting.
“We won’t disturb it,” Mrs. Brant decided. “Howard, let me have the scissors.”
Dr. Shannon produced them from the kit. Rick’s mother cut the trouser leg away completely, then said to his father, “We must carry him. I think an army cot would do. Don’t you have one in the lab?”
“No need,” the scientist replied. “We’ll use the three-man lift and carry. You take his head, dear. I’ll be in the middle and Howard can take his legs.”
Under the scientist’s direction, they knelt in a row at Rick’s side, lifted him to their knees,then picked him up. He was rapidly coming back to full consciousness. “I can walk,” he protested.
Hartson Brant grinned at him. “I’d hate to see you try.”
Mrs. Brant said gently, “Be quiet, Rick. You can talk when we get you settled comfortably.”
The new families had gathered a few moments after the crash, but Hartson Brant waved them away.
Too many people could cause more confusion than aid, he knew. Now he called to them, “Both boys are Page 40
fine. Thanks for wanting to help.”
As they carried Rick upstairs, Barby hobbled out onto the landing. She was pale but composed until she saw Rick smile feebly at her,then she broke into tears.
“Just like a woman,” Rick teased huskily. He looked up at his mother.“Except you, Mom.”
There was pain in his leg now, and his head throbbed mightily. He was glad to feel the bed under him as they put him down, and glad to have his father remove his wet clothes. Mrs. Brant hurried off to get clean sheets and blankets.
Hartson Brant inspected him from crown to sole. “Bruises,” he announced. “You’ll be sore tomorrow.
One lump the size of a golf ball right above your nose, and one cut leg. Otherwise you’re all right.”
“How’s Scotty?” Rick asked. His voice had a tendency to gurgle when he talked.
Scotty answered for himself from his own room. “I’m okay.You all right?”
Rick shivered at the weakness in his friend’s voice. “All okay.” He said huskily, “Dad, if you hadn’t come . . .”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Hartson Brant said. “I hear a boat. It must be Tony returning with the doctor.”
Zircon’s voice boomed from the next room where he was undressing Scotty.“A fine thing! An island full of doctors and not a doctor of medicine among us! Hart-son, I’m going to study for a medical degree.”
In a short time the physician was inspecting the boys for hidden damage. “Nothing serious,” he stated.
“That cut on Rick’s leg will force him to be quieter than he likes for a few days, but that’s all. A plane crash, you say? I’d say you have two very lucky youngsters here, Hartson.”
Rick winced as the doctor swabbed his leg with antiseptic,then clamped the edges of the wound together. Sterile gauze was put in place and the leg was bandaged expertly. The doctor searched his bag and came up with a bottle of tablets. He measured out a half dozen and put them in an envelope. “Two each before they go to sleep,” he directed. “Just to ensure a good night’s rest. Rick, come in to see me day after tomorrow.”
“How long do I have to stay here?” Rick asked.
“No longer than you need to,” the doctor replied. “Why? Do you feel like going out for a hot game of football?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Rick said, grinning.
“I thought so. No, I suggest you stay in bed for the rest of the day. You can do as you like tomorrow, although I don’t think you’ll feel like doing much.”
The doctor snapped his bag shut. “This is like old times, Rick. Haven’t had to sew you up recently, have I? Rut a few years ago, before you got old and wise and started high school, I used to think that I should buy a sewing machine, just to keep you in repair. I do believe I’ve put enough stitches in you to make myself a suit.”
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“You did a good job,” Rick said, smiling. “I’ve hardly a scar that shows.”
“Well,” the doctor said, “it wasn’t for lack of trying. Hartson, I don’t think you’ll need me except to dress Rick’s leg in a couple of days, and he can come in for that. Will someone run me back to the mainland?”<
br />
“Briotti will,” Hartson Brant replied. “I’ll stay here and help Rick get into pajamas.”
The doctor hurried away, stopping long enough to look in on Barby.
Rick sat upright and slipped into a pajama coat, then swung his feet to the floor and got into his pajama trousers. He started to walk to his leather armchair and would have fallen except for Hartson Brant’s steadying hand. He hadn’t realized he was so weak.
Mrs. Brant changed the bed, which was wet with sea water,then she kissed Rick and hurried in to do the same for Scotty.
Scotty appeared in the connecting doorway, sup^ ported by Hobart Zircon.
For the first time, Rick noticed that both his father and Zircon were shoeless and dripping wet. Zircon sat Scotty on Rick’s bed, then said, “Hartson, let’s change these clothes. Then we can find out what happened. I’m bursting with curiosity.”
The boys looked at each other and grinned weakly as the scientists went away to change. They shook hands silently.
“What happened?” Scotty asked. “I was knocked out. I cameto draped over Zircon’s shoulder like a bag of sand.”
“I got knocked around, too,” Rick answered. “I got loose and tried to get you out. I made it, but I couldn’t get you to the surface. If Zircon and Dad hadn’t been there, we’d both have had it.”
“I came close a couple of times while I was in the Marines,” Scotty said, “but nothing like this. I guess we’re both living on borrowed time now.”
Rick shuddered. “Both of us,” he agreed. “And I don’t want to have to do any more borrowing!”
CHAPTER IX
A Better Rattrap
“Rise and shine,” Scotty commanded.
Rick opened his eyes and looked up. He had been awake for some time, but just hadn’t felt like making the effort to get out of bed. “How do you feel?” he asked.
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Scotty shrugged. “To be frank, I’ve had better days.”
Rick sat up too fast and let out a grunt. His backbone had felt like the cracking of bamboo. “I see what you mean,” he said. More carefully, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, braced with his hands, and heaved himself to his feet. For a moment the room swayed, and he plopped back down on the bed again.
“I thought I was getting feeble in my old age,” Scotty joked. “Now I can see I’m not the only one. Try it again.”
Rick did so, and his knees clicked like pennies dropping on marble. Now that he was upright, he began to ache all over. “The doctor wasn’t kidding when he said I wouldn’t feel like a game of football,” he said wryly.
“You look like a game of football,” Scotty replied critically. He stared at Rick’s eyes. “Like the day after. You have the loveliest pair of black eyes I’ve seen in a long while.”
That accounted for his cloudy vision the day before, Rick thought. He must have had quite a knock on the forehead.
“A hot shower will take some of this stiffness away,” he said.
“Did mine,” Scotty agreed. “You shower and I’ll make a safari downstairs. Just to let Mom know we’re up in time for breakfast. But be careful of that cut leg.”
The hot shower helped. Rick felt almost human as he dressed and went downstairs. Scotty and Barby already were having breakfast.
“Three invalids,” Barby said. “Two bad legs and . . . what do you have, Scotty?”
“Gravel in the gizzard,” Scotty answered. “Every time I talk it feels as though I were talking through a bushel of sand. What causes that, Rick?”
“You swallowed a lot of water, and I guess you breathed in some,” Rick told him. “Don’t put any salt on your eggs. You’ve had enough to last for weeks.”
Scotty finished his bacon and eggs. “Come on. Get that breakfast down. I’m anxious to find out why we got into this particular mess. I want to know what happened to the Cub.”
So did Rick. He had been so glad to get out of the crash alive that he hadn’t thought much about the loss of his plane. Realizing that he would never fly his beloved Cub again made him choke up so, he was glad to hear a scratching at the door. It distracted the others, so they couldn’t see how he felt.
Scotty went to the door and let in a shaggy little dog. Barby snapped her fingers. “Come on, Diz . I’ve finished my breakfast, but you can have Rick’s.”
“Here I need all my strength and you give my breakfast to the pup,” Rick growled. But he wasn’t serious. He took the best piece of bacon from his plate and gave it to Dismal. The pup sat down, studied the bacon for a moment, then gave a wild leap and gulped it without even trying to chew.
“He’s starved,” Barby said sympathetically. “Aren’t you, Diz ?”
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Dismal, pleased with the attention, rolled over and played dead. It was his only trick and he never missed a chance to show off.
Mrs. Brant’s voice from the kitchen was suspicious. “Rick, are you feeding Dismal at the table again?”
“Just a little, Mom,” he answered. “He’s hungry.”
Mrs. Brant appeared in the doorway with a fresh platter of bacon and eggs. “He’s always hungry,” she said with complete truth. “I’ll feed him in a few minutes. Scotty, here are more eggs for you. I think you’d better have a heavy breakfast this morning. You’ll feel better.”
“I feel fine,” he assured her. “But I’ll eat, anyway.”
“Who’s always hungry?” Rick demanded. He grinned at his mother. “How do you like my new facial scenery, Mom?”
Mrs. Brant smiled. “I’m glad I looked in on you before you woke up. Having two eyes like that appear without warning at breakfast would be rather a shock. Are you sure you feel well enough to be up?”
“I’m fine. Honestly, Mom. And we’re both anxious to find out what happened to the plane.”
Mrs. Brant paled a little. “I am, too, Rick. You know I’ve never worried about your flying.Very much, anyway. I knew you were careful. I won’t start worrying now, either, but I would like to know that what happened yesterday won’t happen again.”
Rick smiled grimly. “It won’t, if I have anything to say about it.”
Hartson Brant arrived in time to hear the last exchange. “I took a walk down to the beach, Rick. The Cub has shifted out to sea a little, but the tide is out and I can see the tail clearly. I think we’d better get Huggins to bring the tractor over. We can put a rope around the tail and haul the plane out of the water fairly easily.”
“I hope there’s enough left to tell us what happened,” Scotty said.
“The plane’s all there but the wings,” Rick assured him. “Did you see the wings, Dad?”
“No. Are you sure the wings aren’t still on?”
Rick remembered definitely that one wing was missing. The strut had been loose and the wing itself was gone. He wasn’t sure about the other. But he had the impression that both wings were gone. It made him heartsick to think about it.
“I just remembered, Rick, that Jerry Webster called last night after you were asleep,” his father said. “I didn’t give him any details, except to say the controls had locked. Just said you had crashed off Pirate’s Field. He’ll want more details for the Morning Record, though. Will you call him?”
“Soon as we find out what happened,” Rick agreed. “I want to give him a definite reason for the crash.
Nouse letting the folks in Whiteside think I’m a bum flier.”
“They won’t think that,” Mrs. Brant said firmly. “We’ve had a dozen calls since last night, and they all Page 44
want to know what happened to the plane. Not one thinks it was your fault.”
Scotty finished his second helping and carried his plate to the kitchen. When he returned he asked, “Will your leg stand up to a walk, Rick?”
“I think so,” Rick said. “It feels stiff, but I can use it.” He had taken his shower in the most awkward manner possible, holding his bandaged leg outside the shower curtain with a towel wrapped around his knee to keep water
from running down. He had succeeded in keeping the bandage pretty dry, but the bathroom generally had suffered. Water had dripped from the protecting towel to the floor. He remembered that he had forgotten to tell his mother that the floor was wet. He told her now, apologizing for the mess.
“Mrs. Brant sighed. “It’s all right, Rick. But haven’t you ever heard of a sponge bath?”
“I forgot,” he admitted. “All I could think of was getting under some hot water. I didn’t even think about the leg until I had the water fixed just right and got out of my pajamas.”
Barby shook her head. “That’s the trouble with men,” she complained. “They don’t know how to be graceful patients. Come on. I’m going to the beach with you. We can limp together, Rick.”
Hartson Brant got Huggins, the island farmer, on the phone. He issued instructions and then joined the boys. “I’ll get Hobart Zircon, too. Hellbe able to help.”
“Who’s going to put a rope around it, Dad?” Rick asked. “I can’t go in the water, and I don’t think Scotty should, either.”
“You’re right,” the scientist agreed. “I must be getting absent-minded. You three go ahead and I’ll get into bathing trunks.”
They stopped at the laboratory and picked up Zircon. Shannon and Briotti stopped their work, too, and joined in the walk to the beach. As the group reached Pirate’s Field, Huggins was just driving the tractor out of the woods. It was a light tractor, built especially for small farms.
Rick could see the Cub clearly through the green water. The tail was just below the surface. It would be an easy matter to slip a noose around it. The change of tides during the night had moved the plane about fifty yards in the direction of the open sea.
The others talked about the smashup, but Rick said nothing. He just didn’t feel like talking. Sight of the wreck had brought back vividly the few seconds after the crash. Rick had thought minutes had passed, but his father assured him that he probably had been under water for less than two minutes in all. The second time he had gone down, after surfacing to breathe, he had been under for about fifty seconds.
Certainly it was less than a minute. Shock and panic had speeded up time. Normally, he could hold his breath under water for more than a minute.
