The Flying Stingaree: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

  CHAPTER XIV

  Daybreak

  Rick tugged at Scotty's suit, then crawfished backward through the marshgrass until he was sure the night watchers could not see him. He stoodup, and Scotty joined him. Rick motioned toward their own boat.

  The boys made their way back through the swamp to the runabout in almosttotal silence, each busy with his own thoughts.

  Orvil Harris was crabbing as though nothing had happened, while thenight watchers stood in plain sight on the opposite shore. Orvil musthave seen the shots fired, Rick was certain. Even if he had been lookingthe other way, the first shot would have caught his attention.

  Or, Rick wondered, had Orvil tipped off the two guards that divers werebelow? If so, the game was up. Once Merlin and company knew the payloadhad fallen into the cove, they would be diving for it themselves, undercover of guns. Merlin undoubtedly knew that the launching the evening ofthe squall had gone wrong, but he couldn't know how, or where.

  But somehow, Rick didn't think Orvil had been a party to the shooting.Maybe it was stubbornness, refusing to think the crabber was involvedjust because they liked him. Or maybe it was because the crabber had noreason for helping Merlin and his gang; at least Harris had no reasonknown to Rick and Scotty.

  They reached the boat and conferred in whispers that were inaudible sixfeet away.

  "Could Orvil have put the finger on us?" Scotty questioned.

  Rick shrugged. "I don't want to think so, and I don't. But I have toadmit it's possible."

  "If he's in with them, they'll be diving for the 'what's-it' at firstlight."

  Rick glanced at the eastern sky. It was beginning to glow with the firsthint of daylight. "That's not long from now."

  "How are we going to recover it first?"

  Again Rick shrugged. "There's only one way. Go in and get it."

  "Under those guns?"

  "A diver on the bottom isn't in danger from the guns. I could find thething again without going into the shallows. That's what made us targetsbefore, because we took the easy way to locate the fish line by goinginto the shallows near where I tied the line."

  "Let's see your tank," Scotty whispered.

  Rick unsnapped his harness release and swung the tank around. Theirprobing fingers soon identified where the bullet had glanced off. Therewas a dent, coated with silvery metal.

  "Lead," Rick said. "Part of the slug."

  "Good thing it didn't rupture the tank."

  Rick shuddered. "If it had, I'd have been out of air suddenly andwould've had to come up. Listen, Scotty. My plan is a simple one. I'lltake your tank, since you have the most air, and swim right into thecove, find the 'what's-it' and swim out again. If it's too heavy to towfar, I can at least wrestle it part of the way, and then bury it in themud. Meanwhile, you get the boat out where it's clear and be ready topick me up."

  "They'll see your bubbles, but they can't do anything about it withrifles," Scotty pointed out. "One thing they can do, though, is jump inafter you. The cove isn't so deep that a pair of good swimmers couldn'ttackle you. The lung wouldn't improve your chances by much."

  "Too true," Rick observed. "But what else can we try?"

  Scotty thought it over. "Listen, we'll take the boat out right now.You'll have to do the diving, because you know about where the thing is,and I don't. When we get out, you go over the side. I'll run around tothe river, opposite where the guards are standing, and raise a littlefuss. That might draw their attention away from the cove."

  "Okay." It made sense to Rick. "They'll see both of us in the boat, butthey won't see me get out. Only you'd better plan our course. I have noaching desire to collect a rifle slug where it hurts."

  "They may not shoot if they see we're leaving," Scotty pointed out.

  "Uh-huh. And they might shoot, anyway."

  "They might. But we'll be moving fast, and I'll swing that boat fromside to side like a swivel-hipped fullback. Let's get going. We don'twant too much daylight."

  Scotty unsnapped his harness and Rick took his pal's tank and regulator.They put Rick's unit in the bottom of the runabout cockpit, along withScotty's fins and mask. Rick put on his own fins and made sure he wasready to hit the water at a moment's notice.

  Rick went to the stern of the runabout and felt down the motor leg tothe prop to make sure it had not picked up any grass that might slowthem down. It was clear. Scotty, meanwhile, untied the boat and slidinto the driver's seat. Rick reached over the transom and pumped up thegasoline tank to ensure plenty of pressure, then he waded to the side ofthe boat and got into the seat next to Scotty.

  "Pull us out to where the nose is almost projecting beyond the grass,"Scotty whispered.

  Rick did so, by grasping clumps of marsh grass and pulling the boatalong. As the bow cleared the grass, Scotty punched the starter button,threw the runabout into gear, and shoved the throttle all the wayforward.

  The runabout jumped forward, slamming Rick back against his tank. Theboat hit the shoal at the entrance and slowed for a long, breathtakingmoment, then the driving prop pushed it over into deeper water. Thestern went down and the bow lifted, and they were clear.

  Scotty swung the boat to the right, putting its stern to the cove. Ricktensed, expecting any moment to feel the impact of a rifle bullet,either in the boat or in his own body. There was no sound other than theracing motor, and he knew it would drown out the crack of a distantrifle.

  The distance from the cove entrance widened. "Get ready!" Scotty yelled."Lay flat and be ready to roll. I'll turn so the motor is moving awayfrom you. When I tap you, we'll be directly in line with the coveentrance."

  Rick moved out of the seat, keeping low, and lay on his side along thegunwale, facing Scotty. He put the mouthpiece in place and made sure hewas getting air, then pulled his mask down. He was ready. The impactwith the water would be hard, at this speed, but his tank would cushionthe shock. He tensed for the signal.

  Scotty swung the boat to the left, held it on course for a moment, thenbegan a shallow turn to the right. That way, the motor would be steeringitself away from Rick when he went over.

  The boat came abreast of the cove entrance and Scotty slapped Rick onthe shoulder. Instantly Rick rolled, one hand reaching for the back ofhis head, the other grabbing his mask. He hit the water on his back, hishand and the tank breaking the shock of the stunning impact. He threwhis legs upward, and his momentum took him under the water instantly.

  The racing motor receded, leaving him in silent darkness. He rolled overinto normal swimming position and consulted his wrist compass. The creekentrance ran on a course of 80 degrees. If Scotty had gauged thingscorrectly, that course would take him into the cove. If Scotty hadn't,Rick Brant would end up on the beach like a stranded whale.

  Rick considered. The boat was gone, and it was extremely unlikely anyonehad seen him leave it. The turn had caused the boat to tilt, lifting theside away from him. He was certain that the guards had not seen themaneuver. That being so, and taking into account his distance from thecreek entrance, he thought it would be safe to look and check hiscourse.

  He held the compass in front of his eyes, and rose to the surface. Hebroke through slowly and without a splash. One look was enough. Heshould have trusted Scotty. He was dead on course.

  Rick went to the bottom and began the long swim, counting his legstrokes. He and Scotty had practiced estimating underwater distance bythe number and timing of their leg strokes. It wasn't an exact method,of course, but it was practical.

  There were no underwater obstacles, and the depth was great enough. Rickremembered from the chart that the entrance into the creek varied fromeight to eleven feet, dropping inside the creek mouth to about seven. Nobullet could harm him if he stayed on the bottom. If the night watchersfired, the bullet would be slowed by the water.

  He heard the sound of a motor and recognized it as the runabout. Thesound faded again. Scotty was going through some kind of maneuvers.Then, in a short time, another motor made itself felt, more than heard.The slo
wer beat identified it as Orvil Harris's crab boat. He wasnearing the cove!

  Like all divers, Rick's ears were sensitive to pressure changes. Sensingwhen the depth lessened, he knew he had reached the cove itself. Now tofind the payload--if it was a payload. His groping hands began thesearch.

  The first foreign object he touched was a cord. It was the wrongthickness for his own line, and he felt along it until he came to asoft, round mass, and knew he was touching one of Orvil's crab baits. Hegrinned in spite of the mouthpiece. Wouldn't Orvil be surprised if adiver came up hanging to his bait!

  He let the crab line drop and continued his search. Once, Orvil passedwithin a few feet of him, and Rick wondered if the crabber had noticedthe air bubbles from his regulator.

  Rising ground told Rick he had reached the end of the cove. He turnedleft and held his course for about twenty feet, then turned left again,heading back toward the cove entrance. His hands never stopped moving,probing the mud for a trace of fish line. He crossed another of Orvil'scrab lines, and kept going until pressure change told him he was back inthe deeper water at the creek entrance. He turned right again. A checkof his compass told him he was on course.

  His groping hands trailed over a thin line. He grabbed it, and stoppedhis flutter kick. Then, moving with care, he turned and followed theline. His pulse was faster now, and he rigidly controlled his breathing.Fast breathing wouldn't do, and he would have to be careful not to letout a sigh that would cause bubbles to gush upward in one big rush.

  A hand found the end of the line and the smooth cylinder to which it wasattached. Orvil passed very close, and Rick looked upward. He could seethe white circle of water around the single propeller.

  Now to find out what he had. His hands stroked it from one end to theother. One end was rounded. The other was a circle with an odd-shapedhole running into it. Rick poked his finger in, but couldn't feel theend of the depression. The only protuberance on the thing was a bandnear the rounded end. The band felt like metal, and had two ringsprojecting from it. The rest of the cylinder didn't feel like metal. Thetexture was that of a smooth plastic.

  Rick lifted the object gingerly. It was hard to estimate weight underwater, but he thought ten pounds would be about right. The total lengthwas less than three feet. It would be easy to carry.

  This time he needed a reciprocal compass course. It would be 260 degreesgoing out. He oriented himself properly, picked up the cylinder, andbegan the long swim back. He wondered if Merlin's guards were watchinghis bubbles. He had seen no sign of bullets, but he hadn't been lookingfor them. With Orvil's motor so near, it was likely he would not haveheard the slap of a bullet on the water.

  Pressure told him he was out of the cove. He breathed a little easier.Now to count leg strokes again. He looked up, and saw that the surfaceof the water was shining with light, the first rays of true daylight.Scotty would have no trouble finding him.

  Because of the daylight, he continued on for a distance beyond whereScotty had dropped him. No use giving the guards too good a shot.Finally, exhausted, he surfaced. He lifted his mask and surveyed thescene.

  Orvil Harris was still crabbing. Rick could see the boat, but the anglewas wrong for him to see the crabber at work. He turned slowly in thewater, and saw Scotty. The runabout was floating, motor off, about amile away. He lifted an arm. The glint of first sunrise turned thelenses of Scotty's binoculars into a crimson eye, and Scotty waved back.In a few seconds Rick heard the motor start and saw the boat racingtoward him. He kept his mouthpiece in place, and floated, waiting.

  _Now to find out what he had_]

  Scotty came alongside and reached down. Rick handed him the cylinder.Scotty put it on the seat without even looking at it. He gave Rick ahand and pulled him over the side. He asked anxiously, "Are you allright?"

  "Done in," Rick said wearily. "But otherwise okay."

  "Let's get out of here." Scotty put the runabout in gear and headed backtoward Martins Creek.

  Rick sat down and picked up the cylinder. There was a gob of mud stillon it. He wiped it off with his hand and examined the thing. Thematerial was fiber glass set in resin, and it was designed so therounded nose could be removed. He didn't remove it, however. Instead helooked at the other end, down into the hole with the puzzling shape. Itwas like a cutout Star of David in shape, the hole gradually narrowinguntil its apex was almost at the other end.

  The light dawned. Rick's lips formed the word. "Grain."

  Scotty was watching. "What?"

  "Grain," Rick said again. "This thing is a small solid-propellantrocket!"