by John Blaine
“Maybe the two men who came after us were acting without orders,” Scotty replied.
“Maybe the real brains of the gang aren’t even interested in us.”
“I hope that you’re right. See any coral heads?”
Although most coral growth was limited to the reef area, outcroppings of coral called
“heads” had grown up toward the surface in some places. There were none in the stretch of water before the beach house where Rick planned to land.
“The water’s clear. Pick your direction. There’s not enough wind to make any difference.”
“I’ll land parallel to the beach.”
Rick turned south down the center of the island.
When he had reached the right position he cut the throttle, and the nose of the Sky Wagon dropped. He banked tightly, reversing course, until the plane was headed north a hundred yards out from the beach. He let the plane feel its way toward the water, then felt the first bump as the pontoons touched. In a moment they were down, and Rick swung the plane to taxi in toward their new home.
Scotty was already stripping off his shoes and socks. As the pontoons touched bottom a few yards from shore, Scotty climbed out. Rick cut the gun while his pal pulled the plane up on the beach.
Rick got out and waited until Scotty slipped his shoes on again, then they walked to the cottage.
The door was unlocked. Few people came to Clipper Cay, and locks weren’t considered necessary. The boys pushed open the front door and walked in.
There was a large living room and three bedrooms, each with twin beds. In the rear of the cottage was a kitchen with kerosene stove and kerosene refrigerator. A fifty-gallon drum out back provided the fuel supply, which was piped in through copper tubing. Rick checked the fuel. The tank was full. He read the simple instructions tacked to the wall over the refrigerator,then lighted the burner. There were frozen foods and soft drinks as well as dairy products among their supplies, packed in dry ice in the Water Witch’s food locker; the refrigerator would be cold enough for the supplies by the time the boat arrived.
For bathing in fresh water there was an outdoor shower, a shower head rigged to a five-gallon drum and supported on a frame of two-by-four wooden members. A canvas curtain gave privacy. Other sanitary facilities were equally primitive but effective.
Scotty opened the door of a lean-to shed on the rear of the house. “We can stow our diving gear in here. There’s a bench, too.Looks as though the owner used the place for
cleaning fish and stowing his fishing equipment.”
They walked around to the front of the house where there was a small porch. A few wicker chairs were upended against the wall. The boys righted them and sat down.
“This is the life,” Rick observed. “Look at that view.”
They looked from the porch down to the sandy beach, past the pier and the Sky Wagon to water that was almost glassy calm. The water continued in a smooth stretch for about five hundred yards out to the reef. Light breakers foamed along the reef, and beyond, the water was a blue waste to the horizon. A quarter mile south, a break in the reef marked a passage where boats could enter.
Somewhere, out beyond the reef, was the wreck of the Maiden Hand. In his mind, Rick planned how they would go about finding it. The first step was to rig some kind of underwater towing boards. Then he and Scotty, equipped with their aqualungs, would be towed behind the Water Witch, scanning the bottom as they went.
He wasn’t worried about finding material for the towing boards. Any kind of planks would do, or they could even make a tow board out of a fallen log, although that would be harder to control.
“Come on,” he invited. “Let’s walk through the palms. We need a few planks, and we might as well get them now.”
By the time the scientists approached thepier, the boys had explored the central part of the island and had returned to the cottage lugging planks found in the ruin of a cottage apparently blown down by some long-past hurricane. They dropped the planks beside the house and hurried to catch the line that Zircon threw,then they warped the Water Witch in to the dock.
All hands turned to, and in a short time supplies were unloaded and stored, beds were made with linen and blankets loaned by Dr. Ernst, and the cottage began to take on an inhabited look.
While Tony Briotti began preparations for dinner, the boys carried their aqualung equipment to the shed at the rear of the cottage and began to check it over. Since their lives would depend on proper functioning of the equipment, they inspected the regulators carefully, checking the condition of the neoprene flaps. Once checked, the regulators were hung on nails on the shed walls, out of harm’s way.
The next step was to inspect the tanks. Rick had already looked them over, but for the
sake of safety the boys did it again. There were six of them, each of seventy-cubic-feet capacity. There was an advantage to this particular capacity at the depth where they expected to dive; a diver could work only fifteen minutes at 120 feet without requiring decompression, and seventy cubic feet of air would last just long enough. Double tanks would have meant the boys would be able to stay down nearly twice as long, but would also have meant the nuisance of waiting through the decompression period of about thirteen minutes ten feet below the surface on the ascent. For this reason, the boys planned to dive with single tanks, leaving the spares on the surface.
Of course, to get even fifteen minutes of diving at twenty fathoms the tanks had to be filled to capacity. When full, they were under enormous internal pressure of over two thousand pounds per square inch. The tanks had been filled at Spindrift, but the boys decided to check them again, in case there had been some leakage through the valves during shipment.
Scotty swung one tank upright and prepared to attach the pressure gauge. Rick, inspecting another tank for bumps that might have weakened the tank wall, saw him do it.
For a moment Rick continued his inspection, then what he had seen suddenly registered.
He yelled, “Scotty!The valve!”
In that instant, as Scotty attached the pressure gauge, the valve blew out!
The entire valve assembly and the pressure gauge, propelled by the tremendous pressure in the tank, blew straight upward, ripping clear of Scotty’s hand and taking a patch of skin along. The ascending assembly, traveling with bullet speed, clipped a lock of hair from his bent head.
Scotty yelled, “Run!”
The tank, its air free to escape, writhed and turned, then fell over on its side. It was like an inflated balloon, turned loose to fly around a room. Air jetted from it with terrific velocity, so that the tank was, for the period while its air lasted, a true rocket.
It struck the wall of the shed and went through it like paper, smashed into a stud and caromed slightly, so that its trajectory was altered enough to drive it directly at Rick. He fell flat and it went over, just grazing him, then flew into the palm grove. It hit a palm a slanting blow and turned upward, shooting high in the air, clipping off the top of another palm as it went.
As the boys watched, horrified, it climbed straight up. Then, its high pressure nearly
exhausted, it turned leisurely and plunged back into the grove, almost burying itself in the sandy soil.
The boys sat down and stared weakly at each other. For the first time, Rick noted that Scotty’s hand was bleeding. He said shakily, “Here, let me look at that.”
The scientists rushed out of the house and demanded to know what had happened. The tank had blown through its devastating course so fast that they had not even had time to get outdoors.
The valve assembly, traveling with bullet speed, barely missed Scotty’s head Zircon bandaged Scotty’s hand with supplies from the first-aid kit while the boys told them what had happened. Tony said, “Very careless, leaving a valve loose like that.”
Rick told him positively, “It wasn’t left unscrewed, Tony. We always use a wrench on those valves because high pressure is so dangerous. And it wasn’t like that yesterday. I che
cked the tanks when we stowed them on the boat.”
Scotty gestured toward the other tanks. “Better take a look.”
Rick did so, and gave a low whistle. The valves had all been loosened. They were in place only by a turn or two of the threads.
“They could have come out any time,” he said grimly. “Any rough handling could have knocked a valve out. And if it had happened on the boat, the tank would have gone right through the bottom or side. It was just luck Scotty and I weren’t killed.”
Zircon wordlessly found the valve wrench and got to work screwing the assemblies back in place. The others watched silently, until Scotty said, “Well, at least we’re out ofSt. Thomas . There won’t be any more sabotage!”
CHAPTER VII
The Derelict
Rick and Scotty were up at dawn the next morning. They didn’t bother with anythingso prosaic as breakfast. Instead, they collected masks, snorkels, and flippers for a preliminary dip. They didn’t use the lungs; those were to be saved for more important work than casual swimming.
For this first swim, each boy selected a spear gun. Scotty chose the same light spring gun he had used to save them from the shadow, while Rick took his favorite gun, a four-strand rubber-powered weapon that packed a terrific wallop. They belted on their knives and blew up their plastic floats. These were essential for resting, if necessary, and for bringing home their catch, if any. Once a fish was speared, it was important to get it out of the water as soon as possible, since blood would bring sharks or barracuda if any were in the neighborhood.
“Come on,” Rick said impatiently. “Let’s go.”
“I’m coming.” Scotty finished coiling up the light line he used to tether the float to his belt, and they stepped into the water. The temperature was just right. They ducked under,then put on their equipment. Scotty pulled a rubber glove over his injured hand.
Pushing their floats ahead of them, faces down in the water, they started for the reef.
Rick watched the bottom carefully. It was clear sand, with no sign of life other than an occasional conch or other shellfish. This was to be expected, since marine life tended to collect around reefs, rocks, pilings, wrecks, and similar things. As they approached the reef, coral heads and outcroppings began to appear. And with them, fish.
Rick hooted for Scotty’s attention, then lifted his head and let his mouthpiece fall free.
“Let’s go outside!” he called as Scotty looked up. The other boy nodded agreement.
Both were anxious to examine the reef.
The surf was light. They crossed over the reef by towing their floats and timing their movements through the breakers. Once beyond the point where the waves broke, the water was fairly calm, with only light surges from the passing waves.
Rick looked down and saw the reef drop away under him. It shelved off perhaps twenty feet down,then beyond the shelf it fell away into the depths. He looked into the blueness with a stirring of excitement. To find the Maiden Hand, they would have to swim into that mysterious blue realm.
Scotty hooted. Rick looked, and followed the direction of his pointing arm. There, browsing around the shelfbelow, was a handsome red snapper, perhaps fifteen inches long. They had stopped inMiami and Rick had noticed that red-snapper prices were about the same as those for steak. There was no doubt that the fish was very good eating.
He gestured to Scotty to go after it,then floated motionless, watching.
Scotty put the loader over the tip of his spear and pushed down, cocking the gun. Then, without a splash, he slid under the water. Rick watched as his fins propelled him slowly
toward the snapper. Scotty was moving slowly, because this was the prime rule in underwater hunting. As he swam, he extended the spear gun, aiming over the short barrel. The snapper stopped browsing and his dorsal fin suddenlyerected, a sign of alarm. But he didn’t move because he was not yet sure the big invader was an enemy.
Before he could make up his mind, Scotty fired.
The spear took the fish right behind the gills. He gave a quick spurt that brought the line humming from its spool. Scotty followed quickly, caught the shaft,then sped upward to where Rick waited.
“Good shot,” Rick complimented him as Scotty caught his float. Together, they took the fish off the shaft and examined him with some pride. Their first catch off Clipper Cay was a good one. The snapper was pink and firm-fleshed. He would make good eating.
Rick put his face down in the water again while Scotty secured the catch to his float. As he did so he saw a target and hooted for attention. Scotty joined him and they looked down to where a barracuda hovered motionless.
The ‘cudawas perhaps two and a half feet long, not big as such predators went, but big enough. Scotty motioned to Rick to get him. Obviously the fish had been attracted by the blood or the struggles of the snapper. Rick hoped that his big brothers wouldn’t join him. This one was plenty big enough. While Scotty held both floats, Rick charged his gun, pulling back the strong rubbers a pair at a time. Then he checked his safety line, filled his lungs, and went under.
The barracuda hovered, waiting. Rick knew that his apparent disinterest could change to lightning flight. Few fish were so fast. He followed Scotty’s example, moving slowly toward the quarry. He was a dozen feet down now, and in the lessened light the barracuda loomed large, a slim arrow of a fish, poised for flight.
The spear gun was extended, the spear point nearing firing range. Rick planned to shoot from about six feet. He doubted that he could get closer. Flippers propelling him gently, he closed. Now he could see the pointed jaws that contained razor-edged teeth. The fish was watching him, but without apparent fear.
The barracuda head was squarely in his sights. Rick squeezed the trigger.
For a moment he thought he had missed, then the safety line ran out and the jerk almost pulled the gun from his hands. He was running out of breath, too. Quickly he planed for the surface, feeling the fury on the end of his line. He broke water, gulped air,then dove again. He pulled in the line until he saw the fish struggling. He had nearly missed. The harpoon had taken the barracuda near the tail, fortunately hitting the spine. Rick pulled
him in, hand over hand,then gripped his spear by the extreme end. He had no desire to close with those slashing, dangerous jaws. Holding fast to the spear he shot to the surface again. Scotty was waiting, knife in hand. As Rick extended the spear toward him the keen knife flashed across the ‘cuda’sspine just behind the gills. Rick tossed his gun onto the float,then together they heaved the fish up beside it.
“Spindrift was never like this,” Scotty said, grinning.
Rick gulped air and grinned back.
A hail from the shore reached them. They turned and saw Tony Briotti. He was waving a frying pan in a signal for breakfast. Suddenly Rick realized that he was famished.
“Let’s go,” he said. “We’ll trade these for bacon and eggs.”
It was nearlynoon before they got into the water again. The first part of the morning was spent in fashioning sea sleds from the planks the boys had gathered. This was simple enough, but it took a little time. First the planks were cut to proper length,then two of them were nailed together. A bridle was arranged so that they could betowed, and spare weight belts and weights were used to counteract theirbouyancy . They were very much like the aquaplanes commonly towed behind motorboats, but much cruder, and designed to go under rather than remain on the surface.
Two long ropes were arranged so that a sled could be towed on either side of the Water Witch. Once this was done, the boys rechecked their equipment, attached the regulators to the tanks, and carried them to the beach.
Zircon would pilot the boat, following the 120-foot mark on the chart. Tony would act as tender at the stern, while Rick and Scotty would ride the sleds. The first leg would take them through the reef channel, then south to the tip of the island, reverse course and north again, staying at the twenty-fathom mark. Zircon was sure that he would be able to follow the prescribed c
ourse by judging his distance from the reef.
When all was in readiness, they loaded their gear aboard the Water Witch, including the spare tanks. Only the runaway tank was missing, and Rick had determined that its wild flight had not weakened it. The valve and pressure gauge had been recovered after a considerable search, and the tank could be refilled with the others.
Zircon took the Water Witch through the reef, and the boys donned their equipment while Tony swung the ladder outboard. Rick checked his own straps, and then those of Scotty, while Scotty returned the favor. Then each checked the flow of air through his mouthpiece, and made sure the reserve rod was in the “up” position. This done, they
entered the water. Tony tossed the boards over and made sure the lines were secured.
Rick and Scotty paddled the boards to the extreme length of the lines, then separated as much as the lines allowed. They were about thirty feet apart and a hundred feet behind the boat.
They waved their readiness to Tony, who relayed the go-ahead to Zircon. The boat started slowly.
Rick moved forward on his board, and the weighted board tilted down. It acted as a hydrofoil, its forward motion pulling it deeper into the water. Rick waited until he was only ten feet from the bottom,then shifted his weight back again. Obediently the board tilted upward and raced for the surface. Rick moved forward again just in time to keep from breaking through the surface. By adjusting his weight, he could keep the board level, or go up or down. It wasn’t easy and he had to fight the board level almost constantly.
Bubbles rose from the regulator between his shoulder blades as he breathed
rhythmically. The lung performed effortlessly, giving him as much air as he needed. He felt the pressure on his ears as he steered the board toward bottom, and there was an instant of pain before his ears adjusted.
The bottom was sandy. To his right he saw the wall of the reef, and once a startledsnook shot out of his way. To his left he could see Scotty. Before he knew it the boat had throttled down, a signal that they were at the southern end of the reef. He tilted upward and surfaced.
