CHAPTER VIII
A VOYAGE IN THE DARK
Still, it was some time after the return of Phil and Jerry from theirunsuccessful sortie into the enemy's country, before a practical planoccurred to the ten-brain-power plotters. But the scheme, once itsdetails had been worked out, struck them all as having a fair chancefor success. Briefly, it was this:
Two of the boys--Jerry and Phil were again chosen--were to go down theriver to the bridge and cross over and get the _Big Four_. They were tocome back up the river as quietly as possible, hugging the oppositeshore to a point about two hundred yards below the island, where theeast bank spurred off into a fairly high hill. Here one of the boys wasto leave the boat, as near nine o'clock as possible--it was nowseven--and climb the hill, where he was to signal across to DickGarrett, who would be watching directly opposite.
Then Jerry and Phil were to make all speed to Lost Island, landing atthe lower end. The Boy Scouts, and Dave and Frank, were to gather asconspicuously as possible--a flaring camp fire would show theirintentions--and pretend that _they_ were about to embark for the island.
That _ought_ to leave the lower end of the island unguarded for thesafe landing of Jerry and Phil. Once they were ashore, the dense bushesand the darkness ought to be sufficient cover for their search.
Little time had been lost, really, in making the plan, for the Scoutshad been bustling back and forth, building a camp fire and preparingsupper. Four of them had set up the tents, finishing the task begun byall of them when Jerry and Phil set out on their first trip to theisland.
It was not a very fancy meal the boys sat down to. The food was servedon paper lunch plates, so there would be no dish-washing. Each Scoutcarried knife, fork, spoon and tincup. There was no extra "silverware"save the cook's big utensils. So the three outsiders ate with fingersand pocketknives. A nice mess of perch had been caught in a near-bycreek, and Frank Willis, whose turn it was to act as chef, had brownedthem most artistically. There were some ash-baked potatoes, and afarmhouse close by had provided a generous supply of buttermilk.
The last of the meal was eaten by the light of the camp fire, for thesky had clouded over and night seemed to drop suddenly from above.Licking the last morsel of the delicious fish from his greasyfinger-ends, and wiping his greasier mouth on his sleeve, Jerry jumpedto his feet and announced:
"I'm ready, Phil, if you are."
"I've been ready for a quarter of an hour--just waiting for the skilletto be empty, because I knew you'd never stir so long as there was acrumb left. Where do you put it all?"
"I've got to stow away a lot to balance my brains. I notice you're alight eater," retorted Jerry, but Phil only chuckled.
"All right, you two--be on your merry way," put in Dick Garrett. "Thisis no picnic excursion you're starting off on. And don't forget youroars, unless you expect to row your boat with your wits."
The two made no reply; a half minute later there were only eight boysin camp.
Something like a quarter of a mile inland was the gravel road thatfollowed the windings of Plum Run, to cut across at the wagon bridge.Two stealthy figures hurried through the woods and across the fields,to emerge on the other side of a barbed wire fence and trudge off downthe dusty road.
"Some woodsman, you are!" snorted Phil in purposely exaggerateddisgust. "When you skulked through the brush the limbs could be heardpopping for a mile. How many times did you fall down?"
"Fall down? What you mean, fall down? Every time you stumbled over yourshadow I thought you were ducking for cover, so I simply crouched tokeep out of sight."
Phil snorted, and quickened his pace. Jerry put an extra few inches onhis own stride and easily kept up. They passed a farmhouse--at goodspeed, for a dog came out and after a few suspicious sniffs proceededto satisfy his appetite on Phil's leg. A loud ripping noise told thathe at least kept a souvenir of the visit.
The dog's excited barking kept them company to the next farmhouse,which they passed as silently as possible, not particularly desiring torepeat the experience.
"It was your whistling back there that scared up that dog--see if youcan whistle a patch onto my leggins," Phil suggested when they wereonce more surrounded by open fields.
Jerry did not answer, for just ahead of them the road forked and he wastrying to remember which turn it was one took to get to the bridge. Hehad never gone this way, but he had once heard a farmer givingdirections to a party of automobilists. However, Phil unhesitatinglytook the branch that cut in toward the river, so he said nothing forsome time.
"Ever been over this road before?" he ventured to ask when the roadsuddenly became so rough that they stumbled at every step.
"No--never been up this way. We always fish on the other side of thePlum."
"How do you know then that this is the right road?"
"It turned in toward the river, didn't it? And the other road angledoff toward Tarryville."
"But the bridge road is graveled all the way, and if this isn't blueclay I'll eat my hat. It might just be a private road to some farm, andthe other road might have swung around after a bit. This muck-holedoesn't look good to me."
"All the same, through those trees yonder I can see water. It's the oldPlum all right. Shake a leg."
"I think we'll gain time by shaking two legs--back to the fork. That'sthe Plum, all right enough, but you'll walk through marsh all the wayto the bridge if you try to follow the bank. I remember now: this isthe old wood road. It hasn't been used since they cut timber on theJameson tract."
Jerry did not wait to finish his argument but had already gone back agood fifty feet of the way to the other road, when he noticed that Philwas not following him.
"What's the matter, Phil?"
"Don't you think we've wasted enough time, without losing some more bygoing back?"
"We'll lose more by going ahead. And we're losing now by standing stillchewing the rag about it. Come on."
"I'm going ahead. You followed my lead this far; I guess it won't hurtyou to follow it a little farther. I'm Patrol Leader, you know."
Jerry sensed a little resentment in Phil's tone, and remembered thatonce or twice he had spoken to the Scout leader just as he did to hischums--and his chums always looked to him for commands.
"I'm not trying to boss you, Phil, don't think that. But I _know_ thatthe other way is the best way, and I've _got_ to follow it. So you goahead, and I'll wait for you at this end of the bridge."
Without further word he strode off on the back road. It was so darkthat he might have done so safely, but he did not look back.Nevertheless, a pleased grin spread over his face, for he was soonaware that Phil was tagging along not many paces behind. That hadalways been the way. Jerry was a born leader; the other boys followedhim willingly because they never found any cause to lose confidence inhis judgment.
"Phil, you're a genuine sport," was all he said as the other boy fellinto step beside him as once more they reached the gravel roadway andturned into the right-hand branch.
Sooner than they expected they saw the gaunt skeleton of the upperbridgework against the dark sky. Jerry did not permit himself an "Itold you so," but he said instead:
"We'll be in a pretty pickle if we get on the other side and find ourboat gone."
Phil made no answer and in silence they walked across thehollow-echoing bridge. A series of giant stone steps led down to theriver bank, and as soon as they reached bottom they saw that theirfears were groundless, for there lay the _Big Four_ as Jerry and Davehad left her eighteen hours before. Deep footprints in the mud bank,dimly visible in the dusk, told that someone had stopped to look theboat over. Perhaps had the oars been handy, the boat might not haveremained so safely.
The boys were glad to relieve their shoulders of the pair they hadtaken turns in carrying, and without pausing to rest, they stepped intothe boat, Phil finding some difficulty in making the Scout boat's oarsfit the _Big Four's_ oarlocks. But at last they were off and Jerry bentto his task. The _Big Four_ had been built for speed, and
the craft wastrimmed just right for getting the most with the least effort. Thecurrent was fairly swift here, but Jerry hugged the east bank and tookadvantage of every eddy. It was not long before Lost Island swung intosight.
"Let me spell you off," suggested Phil, but Jerry shook his head.
"After we land at the hill you can take her the rest of the way. Ithink I'll pull in at that little cove just ahead. It makes a littlelonger walk, but it's well out of sight of the island. Who'll climb thehill!"
"Leave that to me. I kind of want to try out a little signaling stuntthat Dick and I have been figuring on. Here's a good sandy stretch;let's beach her here."
The boat grated on the pebbly shore; Phil sprang lightly out, and Jerrywas left alone. He could hear Phil scrunching over the rocks andthrough the brush; then all was still. Jerry strained his eyes to seeif he could make out the figure of Dick, who must be almost directlyopposite, but only the dense black of the wood met his gaze. He waitedpatiently for the gleam of the flashlight, but minute after minuteslipped by, and no signal appeared.
So he was somewhat surprised when after perhaps fifteen minutes heheard a footstep on the beach and he realized that Phil was returning.
"Our scheme worked fine," announced the Scout leader. "Bet you nevereven saw Dick's signal."
"No, I didn't," confessed Jerry.
"Good reason why. You see, I figured out that if you shoot a flashstraight out in front of you very long everybody can see it. A quickflash--well, anyone who saw it might think it was just lightning or theinterurban. So I just snapped about a dozen straight up into the air,until I got a return flash from Dick. Then I used this." He pulled outa little pocket mirror. "I pointed my light straight at the ground, andgave him a dot and dash message by holding the mirror in the light.Some scheme, eh?"
Jerry merely grunted, but way down in his heart a deep respect wasforming for these Boy Scouts and their resourcefulness.
"Just flash a few signals to those oars," he advised, taking his placein the stern. "And be careful with that left oar--she squeaks if youpull her too hard."
But Phil soon showed that he needed no advice about handling a boat.Without a sound--without a ripple, almost--they moved away from shoreand cut out into the current.
"Safe to get out into line with the island, I guess. If they'rewatching, it's the shore they'll be most suspicious of."
"They? We've only seen one out there."
"Maybe. But I'm betting on a pair of them at least. It's about time forthe boys to--listen to those Indians, would you? I'm afraid they'reoverdoing it a bit."
From the far shore, out of sight behind Lost Island, rose a hubbub ofcries that sounded as if the island were about to be attacked by a warparty of Sioux. A Boy Scout yell sounded out, the voices of Dave andFrank heard above the rest.
"Guess your two must have deserted your banner and joined the Eagles,"teased Phil.
The island lay dead ahead of them, dark and still. Both boys had ashivery feeling of being watched, but no sign was apparent as theyfloated in behind the point of the island and noiselessly beached theboat.
"We'd best stay close together," suggested Jerry in a whisper.
"And by all means don't whisper--talk in an undertone. A whispercarries twice as far," countered Phil. Jerry marked down one more tothe score of the Boy Scouts.
But there was little need for talk. The brush was heavy, broken bythickets of plum trees and an occasional sapling of hickory; the groundwas boggy in spots, and once Jerry sank almost to his knees in oozymud. A screech owl hooted in a tree close by, and cold shivers ran upand down their backbones. Unbroken by path or opening, the islandwilderness lay before them.
They walked hours it seemed, trying their best not to advertise theircoming in breaking limbs and rustling leaves, for the night wasuncannily still. It was a great relief, therefore, when the underbrushsuddenly gave way to a few low trees and after that open ground. Jerrywas for plunging right ahead, relying on the darkness, but Phil caughthis arm.
"Circle it," he commanded, and Jerry, little used to obeying orders ashe was, at once saw the wisdom of the idea and agreed. They were nearlyhalfway around the open plot when they struck a path, evidently leadingto the river. But the other end must go somewhere, and they strainedtheir eyes into the darkness.
"A house, I do believe," mumbled Phil.
"Shall we risk going closer?"
"Got to. Not a sound now. Let's take off our shoes."
In their stocking feet they stealthily drew nearer the dark blotagainst the background. When they were within twenty feet they saw itwas not a cabin, but one end of a long, narrow, shed-like structure,perhaps twenty feet wide and running far back into the darkness. Theyapproached it cautiously and began feeling carefully along the higherside for some sort of door or opening. They had gone a good thirtyfeet, their nerves tingling with the hope of next-instant discovery,when Phil broke the silence with a low-toned sentence.
"There's a house or cabin of some kind less than twenty feet away."
Jerry did not look. His groping fingers had found something that feltlike a door-edge. His hand closed over a knob.
"Here's the door!" he exclaimed eagerly, and then felt his heart almoststop beating. The knob had been turned in his hand! But before he couldsay a word, a sudden "Sh!" sounded from his companion.
"Did you hear it?" gasped Phil.
"What?" asked Jerry, his voice trembling in spite of him.
But Phil did not answer--there was no need. From the cabin came a soundthat set every nerve on edge. It was a groan--the groan of someone ingreat agony.