“For instance?”
Trapper Joe ignored Penny’s question. Becoming as one deaf, he propelled the skiff with powerful strokes.
Penny waited patiently, but the guide showed no inclination to say more about Black Island.
“Shall we make it tomorrow?” she inquired presently.
“Make what?” Joe’s wrinkled face was blank.
“Why, I mean, shall we visit Black Island!”
“I hate to disappoint ye, but we hain’t a-goin’.”
“You may be busy tomorrow. Later in the week perhaps?”
“Not tomorrer nor never. I hain’t takin’ the responsibility o’ bringin’ ye young’uns into the swamp agin.”
“But why?” wailed Penny. “I wish now I hadn’t told you about that old boar!”
“It hain’t the boar that’s got me worried.”
“Then you must be afraid of something on Black Island—something you learned today and are keeping to yourself!”
“Maybe that’s it,” returned Joe briefly. “Anyhow, we hain’t goin’. And it won’t do no good to try coaxin’ me with yer female wiles. My mind’s made up!”
Having delivered himself of this ultimatum, the guide plied his paddle steadily.
The set of his jaw warned Penny it would be useless to tease. With a discouraged sigh, she settled down into the bottom of the skiff to think.
CHAPTER 18
WANTED—A GUIDE
Since the eventful trip to the swamp, several days now had elapsed, and from Penny’s viewpoint, nothing of consequence had happened.
Each day the Riverview Star carried a story giving details of the police search for Danny Deevers, and on each succeeding morning the account became shorter, with less new information.
Twice, it was rumored police were closing in on the escaped convict, and twice the rumor proved false.
At the request of Salt Sommers and Jerry Livingston, posses made several searches of the outer swamp area. However, no trace of the missing man was found, and investigators quickly switched their activities elsewhere.
Spurred by the Star’s reward offer, clues, anonymous and otherwise, came to both the newspaper and police officials. All proved worthless.
“It begins to look as if Danny has pulled out of this territory,” Mr. Parker remarked to Penny late one afternoon as she sat in his office at the plant. “At least he’s made no further attempt to carry out his threat against Jerry.”
“Maybe he’s only lying low and waiting until the police search cools off a little.”
“Quite possible,” the publisher agreed, frowning as he fingered a paperweight. “In that case, Jerry is in real danger. I’ll never feel entirely easy in my mind until Deevers is behind bars again.”
“Speaking of me, Chief?” inquired a voice from the doorway.
Jerry stood there, a long streamer of pasted copy paper in his hand. He had written a story of a political squabble at city hall, and needed Mr. Parker’s approval before handing it over to the typesetters.
The publisher quickly read the article, pencilled an“okay” at the top, and returned it to the reporter.
“Good stuff, Jerry,” he approved. “By the way, any news of Danny Deevers?”
“Nothing new.”
“Jerry, I can’t help feeling he’s hiding either in the swamp or somewhere close by,” Penny interposed eagerly. “At least something queer is going on out there.”
“That’s what Salt thinks. We were out there last night.”
“In the swamp?” Penny asked, caught by surprise.
“Not in it, but near the Hawkins’ place.”
“What did you learn, Jerry?”
“Frankly, nothing. You remember that swamp road where you and Salt saw the truck?”
“Yes, of course.”
“We watched there for quite awhile around midnight.”
“Did you see the truck stop there again?”
“No, but we thought we saw a couple of men at the edge of the swamp—apparently waiting for someone. We tried to sneak up close, but I’m afraid we gave ourselves away. Anyway, they vanished back among the trees.”
“Did you notice or hear anything else unusual, Jerry?”
“Well, no. Not unless you’d call pounding on a dishpan out of the ordinary.”
“A dishpan!” Penny exclaimed. “Who did it?”
“We couldn’t tell. Salt and I heard the sound soon after we had passed the Hawkins’ place on our way toward the swamp.”
“What sort of sound was it?”
“Just a metallic tap-tap-tap. It may not have been on a dishpan.”
“Were the taps in code, Jerry?”
“Couldn’t have been a very complicated one for the pounding only lasted a minute or two. It was irregular though.”
“Then I’m sure it was a code!” Penny cried. “Louise and I heard the same sound when we were with Trapper Joe in the boat!”
“Did the noise come from outside the swamp?”
“Inside, I’d say.”
“Then we may not have heard the same thing. The pounding noise Salt and I noticed, came from the direction of the Hawkins’ farm. It may have had no significance.”
Before Jerry could say more, Editor DeWitt called him to the copy desk. Mr. Parker turned again to his daughter.
“Penny, if I were you, I’d try to forget Danny Deevers,” he advised. “Whatever you do, don’t go into the swamp again unless you’re with Joe or another guide. Better still, don’t go at all.”
“Oh, Dad!”
“No good can come of it. Do I have your promise, Penny?”
“But I feel I should try to recover Louise’s dog!”
“We’ll buy her a new pet.”
“It won’t be Bones.”
“The chance that the dog ever will be found is slim,”Mr. Parker said. “In any case, he’s not worth the risk of trying to find him. Your promise, Penny?”
“That I won’t go in without a guide?” she asked, seizing upon the lesser of two evils. “All right, I promise.”
The next day it rained, keeping Penny closely confined at home. However, the following morning gave promise of being sunny and pleasant.
Arising early, she packed a lunch for herself, dressed in hiking clothes with heavy boots, and was ready to leave the house by the time Mrs. Weems came downstairs for breakfast.
“Up so early, Penny?” she inquired.
“Just going on a little trip. Don’t expect me back very early.”
The housekeeper regarded her severely. “Penny Parker, you’re not going to the swamp again!”
“Figured I might.”
“Does your father know you’re going?”
“We talked it over a day or so ago. He doesn’t mind so long as I go with Trapper Joe or another guide.”
“In that case I suppose I can’t object,” Mrs. Weems sighed. “Mind, you don’t set foot in the swamp without someone along!”
“I’ve already given my promise to Dad.”
“And do be careful,” the housekeeper added. “I’ll not feel easy until you’re back.”
Though neither she nor Penny knew it then, the girl’s absence from home was to be a long one, and both were to have many uncomfortable moments before her return.
Reaching the swamp sometime later, Penny parked the car and walked to Trapper Joe’s shack on the creek.
The old guide was sitting on the sagging porch, his feet propped on the railing. Catching sight of Penny he frowned slightly, but as she came up, greeted her in a friendly way.
“’Mawnin’,” he said briefly. “What’s on yer mind this time?”
“Can’t you guess?” Penny asked, sitting down on a step at his feet.
“If yer wantin’ me to take you into the swamp agin, yer only wastin’ yer words. I hain’t got the time.”
“I’ll pay you well.”
“It hain’t the money.”
“Then why do you refuse to take me in?”
�
��Tole ye, didn’t I? I got work to do.”
Penny knew that Joe was only making excuses, for obviously, one day was very like another in his care-free life.
“What work do you have this morning that can’t wait, Joe?”
“Well, fer one thing I gotta smoke out a swarm o’bees and git me a nice mess o’ honey fer winter. Want to go with me?”
“Into the swamp?”
“No, this tree hain’t in the swamp.”
“Then I don’t want to go. Joe, I think you’re stubborn! You know how much this trip means to me.”
“Reckon I do.”
“Then why not take me? Tell me your reason for refusing.”
Old Joe gazed steadily at Penny and for a moment seemed on the verge of making interesting revelations. But to her disappointment, he shook his head.
“Jest don’t wanter go, thet’s all.”
“You learned something the other day when we were in the swamp!” Penny accused. “You’re keeping it from me—probably to protect someone! Isn’t that it?”
“Hain’t saying.”
“You know Danny Deevers is hidden somewhere in the swamp! You’re helping to protect him!”
Old Joe’s feet came down from the railing with a thump. “Now that hain’t so!” he denied. “I got no time fer the likes o’ Danny Deevers. If I knowed where he is, I’d give him up to the law.”
“Well, someone is hiding there! I heard Ezekiel Hawkins talking on Lookout Point, didn’t I? We found the dead campfire. Your gun was stolen, and later a mysterious person rescued me when I was treed by the boar.”
“Could have been one o’ the Hawkins.”
“You don’t honestly believe that, Joe.”
“No, reckon I don’t,” the guide sighed. “You sure kin shoot questions at a feller faster’n these new Army rockets I hear tell about. I’d like to tell ye what ye want to know, but there’s things best not talked about. Knowin’ too much kin be dangerous.”
Penny scarcely could hide her annoyance, for several times now the guide had made similar hints.
“I don’t trust the Hawkins’ family at all,” she announced. “If they’re not involved with Danny Deevers, they’re up to something here in the swamp. Otherwise, why would they be so mean?”
“The Hawkins’ family always has been mean an’ornery.”
“Another thing—” Penny started to mention how she and Salt had seen large containers of some unknown product being removed from the swamp, but broke off as she decided to keep the information to herself.
“Yeah?” inquired the guide.
“Nothing,” replied Penny. “If you won’t take me into the swamp, is there anyone else who will?”
“Couldn’t say fer sure,” Joe replied, “but I reckon I’m the only guide herebouts fer maybe fifty miles.”
“Won’t you reconsider?”
“You put up a powe’ful strong argument, young’un, but I gotta say no fer yer own good.”
“You’ve certainly ruined all my plans,” Penny said crossly. “Well, since you won’t help me, I’ll say goodbye.”
Back in the car once more, she could not bring herself to return home so early in the morning. Debating a moment, she drove to the homestead of the Widow Jones.
Dressed in a bright calico dress, the woman sat under a shade tree skillfully cutting up the meat of a turtle and dropping it into a pan of cold water.
As Penny walked across the weed-choked yard, she looked up in a startled way, but smiled as she recognized the girl.
“I’m fixin’ to have me a nice soup,” she explained. “Ye cook the turtle with diced carrots, potatoes, okra, and tomatoes and serve it piping hot. Ever et any?”
“No, I never have,” Penny replied, watching the preparations with interest. “It sounds good.”
“Ye kin stay and have dinner with me,” the woman invited. “I’ll fix some flour biscuits and we’ll have a right nice meal.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to get back home,” Penny said regretfully. “My trip here today was a failure.”
Because the Widow Jones gave her an inquiring look of sympathy, she explained that Trapper Joe had refused to take her into the swamp. She went on to tell why the trip meant so much to her, and of her belief that a clever investigator who knew the area might find clues which would lead to the capture of Danny Deevers.
“So Joe wouldn’t take ye?” the Widow Jones inquired softly. “Why?”
“He says it’s dangerous.”
“And since when has Joe got so a-feared of his shadow?”
“It did sound like an excuse to me. I think he knows what is going on in the swamp, and wants no part of it.”
“Ye say it means a lot to ye to make the trip?”
“Oh, yes, I’d do it in a minute, if I could find anyone who knows the channels. But Joe says he’s the only guide for fifty miles around.”
Mrs. Jones slapped the last piece of turtle meat into the water with a splash. She arose, gathering her long skirts about her.
“Joe’s maybe fergettin’ that as a gal, my paw taught me every crook and turn of the swamp. Hain’t been in there fer quite a spell now, but I got a hankerin’ to go agin.”
Penny stared at her incredulously.
“You mean you’ll take me?” she demanded. “Today? Now?”
“I’ve got a quilt I should be piecin’ on this afternoon, but hit can wait. If you hain’t afeared to place yerself in my hands, I’ll take you.”
“I’ll jump at the chance! But do you have a boat?”
“We’ll make Joe lend us his!” the widow said grimly. “And if he tries squirmin’, well, I know how to handle him!”
CHAPTER 19
PENNY’S PLAN
Making elaborate preparations for the trip into the swamp, Mrs. Jones packed a lunch, and donned a huge straw hat and stout boots.
However, she did not change the long, flowing skirt, which flopped about her ankles as she and Penny walked through the meadow to Trapper Joe’s dock.
From the porch, the old guide saw the pair and watched them warily.
“We’re takin’ yer boat, Joe,” the widow called to him from the creek’s edge. “We’re makin’ a little trip into the swamp.”
Joe pulled himself from the chair and came quickly to the dock.
“Hold on now!” he protested. “Two wimmin can’t go alone into the swamp! Leastwise, not beyond Lookout Point.”
“Says who?” retorted the widow, already untying the boat.
“That young ’un’s talked you into goin’ to Black Island! Ye can’t do it. You’ll git lost in one o’ the false channels. The hyacinths are bad this year.”
The widow hesitated, then tossed her head as she dropped the package of lunch into the skiff.
“Ye forgit I was swamp raised! Git me the paddles and a pole, Joe. Don’t stand there gawkin’.”
“No wimmin ever went as far as Black Island. It hain’t safe!”
“My Paw took me there when I was a little girl. I hain’t forgittin’ the way.”
“Ye’r stubborn as a mule!” Joe accused, glaring at her. “If you’re dead set on goin’, I see I’ll have to give in and go with ye. But it’s agin my best judgment.”
“No one asked ye to go with us, Joe,” the widow said tartly. “We aim to make this trip by ourselves. Jest git the paddles and pole.”
Joe threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat and started slowly for the shack. “Wimmin!” he muttered. “There jest hain’t no sense in ’em!”
He took his time inside the shack, but finally returned with the requested paddles and pole.
“There ye are!” he snapped. “But I’m warnin’ ye, if ye git into trouble or lost, don’t expect me to come after ye.”
“Now I’ll take the kicker motor,” the widow ordered, paying no heed to his words.
“Not my motor!” Joe exclaimed defiantly. “I paid sixty dollars fer it secondhand and I hain’t lettin’ no female ruin it.”
“Ye c
an’t expect me to blister my hands rowin’ all day,” the widow replied. “We aim to make a quick trip.”
“Ye can’t use the motor in all them hyacinths!”
“Maybe not, but it’ll take us through the open spots a heap faster. The motor, Joe.”
Grumbling loudly, the guide went to the house once more. He came back with the motor which he attached and started for the widow.
“Thank ye kindly, Joe,” she grinned at him as the boat pulled away from the dock. “I’ll make ye one of my apple pies when I git back.”
“If ye get back,” the guide corrected morosely.
Propelled by the motor, the skiff sped steadily through the channel and came presently to the Hawkins’farm. The popping of the engine, which could be heard some distance, drew Mrs. Hawkins to the dock.
She signaled the boat as it drew near.
“Howdy,” the Widow Jones greeted her politely though with no warmth. She throttled down the engine and drifted in toward shore.
“Goin’ in fer a little fishin’, I take it,” Mrs. Hawkins observed by way of inquiry. “But where’s yer fishin’poles?”
“Left ’em ter home,” the widow replied.
“Then you hain’t fishin’.”
“’Pears like yer right smart at usein’ yer eyes,” the widow agreed dryly.
A slight frown which did not escape Penny, puckered the farm woman’s forehead. She seemed on the verge of speaking, then appeared to change her mind. As the boat drifted on, she watched stolidly.
“Never did like that woman,” Mrs. Jones commented when the skiff had rounded a bend. “She’s got sharp eyes, and she don’t approve ’cause we’re goin’ inter the swamp together.”
“Why should she care?” Penny asked.
“I wonder myself.”
“I’ve noticed that she always seems to be watching the entrance channel into the swamp,” Penny said thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is the one who taps out those signals!”
“Signals? What do you mean, young’un?”
Penny told of the strange pounding noises she had heard during her previous trip through the swamp.
“I could almost wager Mrs. Hawkins will wait until we’re a safe distance away, and then signal!” the girl went on. “Don’t I wish I could catch her though!”
“Maybe ye kin. We could shut off the motor and drift back and watch.”
The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels Page 183
