by Morgan Scott
CHAPTER XXI.
ESTABLISHING FRIENDLY RELATIONS.
Heedless of the blazing lightning, the crashing thunder and thedrenching downpour, Stone and Crane remained exposed upon the shore andbesieged by anxiety concerning what was taking place a short distanceaway upon the lake. Through the blinding rain swirl they finallyperceived a dark object approaching, and, running swiftly, they reachedthe beach just as the wind and waves hurled upon it the canoe containingSpringer and Piper.
“Where’s Grant?” cried Stone, aghast. “What made you desert him?”
“Yes, why didn’t yeou stick by, confaound ye?” snarled Crane, snatchingthe paddle as Phil staggered up beyond the reach of the water. “Yeou’vegot a lot of sand, ain’t ye?”
Sleuth floundered forth, gasping, and he grabbed Sile’s arm as thelatter seemed about to put off in the canoe in the face of that terrificgale.
“What are you going to do?” asked Piper.
“Leggo!” rasped the excited fellow. “I’m goin’ aout there after Rod.”
“No need of it,” was the assurance. “He’s all right.”
“Grant’s all right,” substantiated Springer. “He got Simpson to theboat, and they’re both hanging fuf-fast to it. Rod told us to get ashoreas quick as we could before the canoe swamped. We cuc-couldn’t hold theold thing against the wind, and she was taking in water.”
It was no easy matter, however, to satisfy Crane; but finally, by theirunited efforts, Phil and Sleuth succeeded in preventing him fromattempting to put out in the canoe, which was now more than half full ofwater.
“You couldn’t do it, anyhow,” declared Piper. “Look how the waves beatin here. You’d be swamped in half a minute.”
“What are we goin’ to do?” demanded Sile feverishly. “Be we goin’ tostand araound here and let them hang to that upsot bo’t?”
“The wind should drive them right in here,” said Stone. “There theyare—there they are now!”
Like the canoe, the drifting boat was first seen through the blanketingrain as a black splotch on the water. In a few moments, however, theycould discern the heads of the two lads who clung to it, and theirshouts were answered by a reassuring call from Grant.
When the boat had drifted nearer Rod came wading forth from the lake,assisting Simpson, who seemed rather weak and limp. Heedless oflightning or thunder, the waiting boys stood in that downpour of rainand cheered heartily. The canoe had been carried beyond the clutch ofthe waves, and the beach was left free for the reception of the driftingboat, which was also drawn up securely as soon as it floated withinreach.
Speechless, Simpson stumbled at Rodney’s heels as the Texan made for thetent, the front flaps of which, with commendable foresight, had beenclosed and buttoned by Stone and Crane. So well had the tent beenpitched and guyed that it had withstood the sweep of the windpractically unmoved, and, releasing the lower button of the flap, theboys crawled inside, one after another. With the exception of Simpson,who stretched himself out, exhausted, they sat around upon the ground, asorry-looking but triumphant bunch.
The wind howled around the tent and crashed together the limbs of thetrees; through the woods it roared, with a sound scarcely less awesomethan that of the almost incessant volleying of the thunder. Upon thecanvas shelter the rain beat in torrents, but the structure demonstratedits quality by shedding the downfall in a wonderfully effective manner.The good judgment of Rodney in locating the camp-site upon a spot wherethe water would flow away in all directions was made evident by the factthat no trickling rivulets seeped into the tent.
Until the thunder and lightning began perceptibly to abate the boyswasted few words in conversation. After a time, however, to thesatisfaction of all, it became evident that the storm was passing.
Simpson sat up and surveyed Rodney. “I guess,” he said slowly, “I’dsartain been drowned if you hadn’t give me a hand.”
“You don’t swim?”
“Nope; never learned how.”
“You should. Every fellow ought to know how to swim.”
“Guess that’s right, but I never had no chance.”
“Chance? What do you want? Here’s a whole lake of water to learn in.”
“But how’s a feller goin’ to learn if he ain’t got nobody to show him?”
“So that’s the trouble. Well, look here; if you want to learn and you’lltake the trouble to come around every day while we’re camping here, I’llagree to do my best to teach you.”
“That’s generous, considerin’ our fuss about you fellers fishin’ in thatbrook,” said Simpson. “You must be the right sort, arter all.”
“What the dud-dickens were you doing out there in that boat?” questionedSpringer. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
He was not the only one who felt curiosity concerning that point.
“Why,” answered Simpson, “I was comin’ back after deliverin’ somepertaters, onions and other truck to Mr. Granger. We keep him suppliedwith garden stuff. He’s good pay, and prompt.”
“Oh, I see,” nodded Rodney. “But you seemed to be making for this camp.”
“I was. I saw the storm comin’, and this was the nearest shelter; so,for all of our row, I thought I’d take a chance that you’d let me crawlunder kiver here. Kinder nervy, wasn’t it?” he concluded, with a grin.
“Oh, I think we’d let you in,” said Stone.
“But why didn’t you dud-douse your sail when you saw the wind coming?”asked Phil. “If you’d pulled it down and used your oars, you’d bub-beenall right.”
“Didn’t have any oars, nothing but a paddle, and I was using that tosteer with. This is the first time I ever tried a sail. You see, it waspretty hard work paddlin’ that punt across the lake and back, so Idecided to rig up a sail to help along. I thought I’d make shore beforethe wind hit me hard enough to do any damage. Bad judgment, I own up.”
“It was,” agreed the Texan. “How often do you carry garden stuff acrossto Granger?”
“Oh, two or three times a week.”
“What do you know about him?” questioned Piper, his interest seemingsuddenly sharpened. “He was over here to call on us yesterday. What’s hedoing around here?”
“Rusticating for his health, and writing.”
“Writing?”
“Yep.”
“What’s he writing?”
“Stories. Don’t you know about it? He’s one of them fellers that writestories for the papers and magazines. Funny sort of business to get paidfor, ain’t it? But he says he gets paid, and he always has plenty ofmoney.”
“Ah!” breathed Sleuth. “The mystery of Mr. Granger is solved. Now Iunderstand why it is that he possesses such a vivid imagination and isso remarkably clever in spinning yarns and filling in the little detailsand touches. A writer of fiction, eh? Ha, ha, Mr. Granger; you’re foundout.”
“But,” reminded Springer, suddenly recalling their experience uponSpirit Island, which had temporarily been forgotten because of theexciting adventure that had followed, “it doesn’t seem to me that therewas much fiction abub-bout some of the stuff he tut-told us. Say, Simp,do people around here say that Spirit Island is haunted?”
“Oh, they tell such things,” answered the farmer’s son; “but I guessit’s all bosh. Granger has talked to me about it some. He seems to havean idee in his noddle that there’s really ghosts on that island. One dayI saw some of the stuff he’d writ about it. Say, you know he don’t dohis writin’ with a pen; no, sir, he has one of them new-fangledthingamajigs that prints the words jest as fast as he can pound ’em offwith his fingers. Did you fellers ever know that folks got paid formakin’ up lies and writin’ ’em off for the papers? Don’t seem right,when other people have to work to get their money.” There was somethinglike resentment in his manner.
“Every man to his trade,” laughed Grant. “The old shower is practicallyover, fellows. I hope the sun comes out good and warm, so we can dry ourclothes co
mfortably.”
The thunder was still grumbling in the east, like the muttering of afractious giant gradually falling asleep, and a few raindrops mingledwith the dripping from the trees that continued to patter upon the tent.Beyond the mountains the sky was brightening, and soon a ray of sunshineburst through the dispersing clouds.
In a few minutes, the rain having ceased entirely, the boys opened thefront of the tent and came forth to find the world looking bright andbeautiful after its invigorating bath. Once more the lake was smiling inthe sunlight, and the woods seemed to have taken on a fresher green,while the air, that had been heavy and humid before the storm, was clearand light and warm, without being depressing.
Their wet, clinging clothing was uncomfortable, but, fortunately, all ofthe campers had brought extra underclothes, and it would not be sodifficult upon this sunny afternoon to dry their outer garments.
Simpson’s boat lay unharmed upon the sandy beach, and the paddle wasfound not far away, where it had been tossed by the waves. They helpedhim unstep the mast, for the sail would be of little use to him inmaking his way along that shore; and, besides, as he somewhat sheepishlyconfessed, he was practically cured of a desire to seek furtherexperience in the art of sailing such a craft.
“I’ve got enough,” he admitted. “This kind of a rig ain’t no goodagainst the wind, and it’s rather dangerous sailing her with the wind,when there is any wind to speak of.”
“Look here,” proposed Crane, “why can’t yeou bring us garden truck, sameas you do Granger? We’ve made arrangements for that Dutchman,Duckelstein, to send us milk, butter and aigs, but there ain’t no needto give him a monopoly of all aour business. Besides, I’ve got a scoreto settle with his fat-headed boy, and mebbe after that’s over we won’teven get the stuff we’ve contracted for.” As he spoke he involuntarilytouched his eye, which was still swollen, although the bandage had beenremoved.
“Cal’late I can fetch ye anything you want,” answered Simpson promptly.“And, considerin’ what you’ve done for me, I’ll furnish truck at arock-bottom figger; won’t charge ye a cent more for the stuff than wecan get by haulin’ it into town.”
“That sure is generous,” laughed Grant, though the farmer’s son couldnot comprehend why he seemed amused. “We brought only a few vegetables,and they are already practically used up. We need potatoes, onions andbeans.”
“We’ve got some rippin’ good green peas,” said Simpson. “I guess some ofthem wouldn’t go bad.”
“Bring us a mess.”
“And beans—don’t yeou forget the beans,” cautioned Crane. “By hokey! I’mhungry for good baked beans.”
“We haven’t a pot to bake them in,” reminded Stone.
But Simpson immediately assured them that he felt certain he couldsupply them with a beanpot, which they might return when they werethrough with it.
“Leave it to me,” he said; “I’ll fetch what you want, and mebbe I’ll beable to get round with the stuff tonight. So long.”
After pushing out from the shore he paused and turned, apparently struckby a thought.
“Say,” he grinned, “jest you fellers go ahead and fish the brook overyonder all you blame please. I don’t cal’late nobody will bother ye nomore.”
“Much obliged,” laughed Grant.
