CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A NARROW ESCAPE
“You got time to cross yonder an’ hide in de marsh,” Uncle Mose toldKitty and Brad when they heard the sound of the approaching motorboat.
“Let’s get going,” said Kitty, picking up her oar. “You’d better hideyour tobacco and new pipe, Uncle Mose.”
“Yas’m, sho will.” The old man’s sunken eyes turned toward the inlet.“You kin hear de motorboat a long time ’fore she come in sight.”
“I’m glad you told us what you did, Uncle Mose,” said Kitty. “Don’t youworry. Mr. Beeson will never buy this island.”
“T’ank de Lawd! You tell young Massa I keep de trus’ an’ look atter deplace like he ask me to.”
Brad was impatient to be off, and Kitty bent her back to the oar as hepulled away from the little harbor. Glancing at Uncle Mose before theyturned a point in the shore, she saw him waving his battered felt hatat them and pointing straight across the marsh.
Instead of turning north by the way they had come they headed for thetide-filled creeks that cut the marshy wastelands into jig-sawpatterns. They could have used the motor for greater speed, but Kittyknew the noise would carry for quite a distance across the emptywastes. Not until they had gone almost a mile up one of the windingcreeks did they pause behind the shelter of some tall marsh grass.
“Hope we don’t get stuck in here,” said Brad. “Tide’s so low.”
“But it’s already turned. That’s a help.” She rubbed her tired handstogether a moment and said, “Uncle Mose gave us an earful, didn’t he?”
“I’ll say!”
“Looks as though that’s the final piece to complete the puzzle.”
“Maybe and maybe not, Kit. We’ve got to catch ’em with the goods beforewe can really bring conviction.”
“Sure is risky for that poor old negro. Beeson doesn’t look like thekind of man who would hesitate to put the old man out of the way if heinterferes with his plans.”
“You’re right.”
“Maybe we should have brought him away with us just now.”
“Oh no, that would never do. Beeson would be sure you wereresponsible—after what happened at the troop train the other day.”
“I guess you’re right. That would make him cut off his traffic with theGermans till suspicion dies down.”
“Kit, it’s come to the point where we no longer have a right to keepall this to ourselves.”
“You mean the FBI should know?”
“Certainly. It’s not mere surmise now. What Uncle Mose told us bearsout accurately the theories we’ve been forming.”
“You’re right, Brad.” Even though they had prided themselves on theirdiscoveries so far, Kitty had to admit that the affair was now toodangerous for them to handle. She could never forgive herself if,through their bungling, Uncle Mose lost his life.
“But we’ve got to get out of here first,” said Brad. “It’s beginning tolook as though we’re in for a real blow, Kit.”
“A real sou’easter.”
Suddenly Brad half rose and peered above the strip of marsh grassbehind which they were hiding. “Listen, Kit, sounds like Beeson’s boatis coming right in here.”
“Good heavens! What’ll we do?”
She crawled over to the stern locker and hunted for the field glasses.As she adjusted them she stood in the boat and scanned the westernhorizon. Finally she concentrated her gaze on a section of the inletnear the pine bluff.
“No. He isn’t in the marshes. Even with the wind taking the sound fromus, the bluff must be a sort of sounding board to throw it back.”
“We’ll have to be careful—wind’s blowing from us to him,” cautionedBrad.
She let Brad have the glasses and he watched while Beeson towed thebarge to the dock. “Uncle Mose is already there to carry the foodscraps up to the hogs,” he explained as he watched.
“Can you see anything that looks like supplies for the Germans?” sheasked.
“Not at this distance.”
He handed her the glasses and she watched until Beeson went stomping upto the house in his knee boots.
Great masses of purple clouds boiled in the western sky, while the tallmarsh grass lay almost level under the rushing wind.
“We’d better beat it for home!” exclaimed Kitty. “Looks to me as ifthis is turning to a hurricane.” On the Gulf coast she had often seenstorms come up like this in a very short time.
“There was a hurricane reported south of here—guess we’re getting anedge of the gale,” said Brad.
They debated whether to return to the inlet with which they werefamiliar, but decided the safest course would be to follow the marshycreek, even thought it might take them longer to get home. Brad stillhad the little map which he had sketched in his billfold. They studiedthat, trying to figure out the most direct route back to PalmettoIsland.
“This creek swings round mighty close to Mangrove Island,” Kitty saiddubiously.
“That’s better than going too close to Terrapin Island.”
Acting upon their decision they picked up their oars again. They werenow moving against the force of the rising tide and found progressslow. They made several elbow turns and eventually found themselvesclose enough to Mangrove Island to make a landing, if they had sodesired.
“I’ve wanted to explore it ever since you boys told me about seeing theboat in the mangroves on the other side,” Kitty said.
“No time to explore now,” Brad stated rather shortly. “If I ever getyou out of this saboteurs’ nest I’ll never bring you into the marshesagain—till the war’s over.”
Kitty laughed. “I’m not afraid, Brad. What’s there to be afraid of now?”
Even as she spoke there came a pinging sound, piercing and sharp abovethe howl of the wind. Almost simultaneously Brad groaned and slappedhis hand to his shoulder as he toppled backward into the bottom of theboat. The oar slipped from his limp fingers and bobbed off on the tide.
“Lie down, Kit! Lie down!” he ordered even as he fell.
“Brad, are you hurt?” she wailed.
With his right hand he seized her arm and pulled her to the bottom ofthe boat beside him. The hand was wet with blood from the wound in hisshoulder.
“He got me all right. But keep low! Don’t lift your head above thegunwale.”
Two more shots came whistling across the boat.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” stated Brad desperately.
Even if they had two oars to use Kitty knew it would be suicide to situp to row.
“I’ll start the motor,” she said.
On her stomach she wiggled toward the motor. At such a disadvantage shewondered if she could get the engine going. But she must! There was noother way for them to get away from that shower of lead.
“But you can’t see to steer,” said Brad. “We’ll go headlong into themarsh.”
“We’ve got to take a chance. I have a general idea of the channelbeyond here—passed this way the other day when Billy and I came here.”
To Kitty’s infinite relief the starter responded to her touch. Thesound of that motor was only an invitation to more shots. This timethey were aimed low, evidently with the hope of puncturing the boat’sside and hitting them as they crouched below the gunwale. But the leadspattered harmlessly into the water.
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_“Brad, Are You Hurt?” Kitty Wailed_]
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By holding the lower curve of the wheel, and watching the tree-linedshore, Kitty could steer, and give the motor as much speed as shedared. When they had gone several yards, and just after a fresh spatterof lead struck their stern, she took a chance on lifting her eyes highenough for a look ahead.
Three more shots trailed them, but fell short of the mark, and a fewminutes later they felt that they must be out of ra
nge. By the smudgeof smoke at their right Kitty knew they were now passing the dump pile,with open, safer water ahead. Not until then did she dare give the boatany real speed.
She glanced down and saw Brad’s face drawn and white at her feet. Bloodhad run from his coat to the bottom of the boat. Kitty rose from hercrouching position and saw a sheltering arm of marshland ahead. Whenshe rounded this so the boat was hidden from Mangrove Island she cutoff her motor and bent over Brad. When she unbuttoned his coat shefound his shirt saturated with blood.
“A little lower and it would have gone through your heart,” she saidanxiously. “Wait, I’ll try to stop that blood.”
She was thankful her father always kept the launch prepared foremergencies. They never went out without field glasses, flashlights, alantern, a jug of water, tins of food and a first-aid kit.
Her deft fingers cut away the bloody clothes. She cleaned the wound asbest she could, then bound it tightly to check the blood.
“You seem to know how to do it,” he said gratefully.
“I took two first-aid courses at school, but haven’t had much chance topractice.”
“Hope you don’t have another chance like this any time soon,” he saidruefully.
With the blood checked Brad struggled to a sitting position, his leftarm lying limp in his lap.
“You knew somebody was watching us before the shot came,” said Kittywith conviction, recalling his sudden anxiety to have her safely home.
He nodded. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to frighten you. Ithought it might be somebody quite harmless.”
“Far from it!”
“Kit, I thought I saw the blue of a sailor’s uniform.”
“Oh, then it wasn’t Germans, hiding there till Beeson came back?”
“I may have been mistaken about the clothes, but anybody from theisland could have seen us watching Beeson go ashore at his dock.”
“That’s so,” Kitty admitted. “No doubt they have field glasses, too.”
“It wasn’t likely to be anybody from the U-boats. They’d take too muchrisk coming ashore any time but at night.”
“A sailor’s uniform,” she repeated. “Could it have been Punaro?”
“It’s possible. Of course Cary wears blue, too.”
“But I thought you said Punaro always brought the stuff out here in theearly morning?”
“You forget this is Saturday afternoon. He’s off, too,” Brad remindedher.
She realized then how ghastly white he had grown. His lips had a bluishlook, and he was trembling slightly in the chill wind. She was afraidof shock from the loss of blood, and hurried back to her motor. Shemust take him to the hospital as speedily as possible.
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