“And ’tis all right, kid, so ’tis.” Tully smiled. “Now ye be forgettin’ it.”
Skippy tried to; certainly he had forgotten that he himself had wished Marty Skinner a like fate only that morning.
Tully’s game worked successfully for the next few weeks, for he had distributed his activities among various club houses dotting the shore. It had become an enterprise apparently without threat of untoward incident—so much so that Skippy, with his uncanny knack of presaging ill, came to feel that they must not go on with the distasteful business.
He had hated the treachery of it from the very beginning, partly because of his innate honesty and also because in fairness to himself, he knew he had no real grudge against his rich fellow men. And in his vague, ignorant way Skippy knew that Skinner and Crosley represented something which hate could never successfully combat.
He felt it particularly one early morning when Tully, swaggering out of the shanty of theMinnie M. Baxter, rubbed his large hands in gleeful anticipation of the next victim.
“’Tis up to the Riverview Yacht Club we’ll be goin’ this mornin’, kid,” he said confidently. “We’ve worked aroun’ to it agin. Me pal, the boat tender what tipped me off on Crosley’sMinnehaha, ain’t there no more, but the new guy was aisy pickin’. He fell for a little split, without battin’ an eye, so he did, and sent word down last night that a little fishin’ party headed for Snug Island would push off at dawn.”
“Snug Island, huh?” Skippy asked fearfully. “That means Watson’s Channel for us again?”
“Sure,” laughed Tully, “’tis a spot I like. Nobody goes through Watson’s Channel ’cept they’re headed for Snug Island. And nobody goes to Snug Island fishin’ but a coupla rich guys what own the whole place. It’s aisy pickin’ so ’tis.”
“For you it’s easy, Big Joe,” said Skippy, “but not for me. Sometimes I think I never had anythin’ so hard to do in my life as just gettin’ up nerve to go on these trips. Gee, I ain’t never had the heart to tell Pop about them—I lied, an’ said we was makin’ a pretty good livin’ towin’ an’ fishin’.”
Big Joe roared with laughter.
“Sure and we’re towin’ and fishin’,” he said with a malicious wink. “Ye didn’t tell Toby no lie. We fish the money out o’ ’em and thin tow thim back—that’s no story.”
“I wish you wouldn’t laugh about it, Big Joe,” Skippy said with a frown. “It makes it seem as if it was a joke—as if you liked it almost.”
“And you’d be likin’ it too, kid, if ye wanted to get back at these rich guys much as I do. But I won’t be laughin’ about it no more, if it makes ye feel that way. Sufferin’ swordfish but ye don’t have to be actin’ like we’re goin’ to a funeral.”
“I feel funny about goin’ to the Riverview Yacht Club this morning. Big Joe, would you stay away from there if I asked you to?”
“Any mornin’ but this one, Skippy me boy,” said Tully with all his old affection. “I can’t be side-steppin’ it on account o’ this new boat tender. He’s expectin’ a little handout so I can’t be disappointin’ him. But I’ll tell ye what, kid, if it’s makin’ ye feel so awful bad I’ll chuck this game ’fore ye can say any more. I’ll be thinkin’ up somethin’ else. Anythin’ but seem’ ye’ feelin’ sad, kid.”
They got into the kicker and chugged out of the inlet once more. Skippy’s eyes glistened happily and he told himself that he could forget the ominous whisperings inside of him for just this once. Indeed, he could forget everything distasteful in the past few weeks now that Tully had promised to give up the hated business.
“We ain’t heard from Crosley or Skinner since that mornin’ we towed ’em back, huh Big Joe?” he asked irrelevantly. “I wonder if they found out what was really wrong with the engine?”
“We’d o’ heard ’bout it soon enough if they did, so we would,” said Tully thoughtfully. “Anyways, I heard that Crosley sold theMinnehaharight that next day. He said he didn’t want no boat that almost put him down in Watson’s Channel. Ha, ha! Sure and I’m glad he did. He should be worryin’ with his money.”
Once more they pulled up beside the slip of the Riverview Yacht Club and once more Big Joe stole silently up the lawn in the gray morning shadows. Skippy waited patiently, albeit anxiously, and held the boat secure while his weary eyes blinked sleepily in the sultry air.
After a time, Big Joe came hurrying out of the shadows.
“Simple as sayin’ meow, kid,” he said exultantly. “The boat tender tells me this guy’s goin’ alone to Snug Island this mornin’. He couldn’t be rememberin’ the guy’s name what owns her, but he says the boat ain’t a week old. She’s a peach—a trim, twenty-six footer, kid! And of all names she’s got! Sufferin’ swordfish!”
“What?”
“TheDavy Jones—so ’tis. Can ye be beatin’ that?”
“Big Joe!” Skippy said in a small, frightened voice. “That’s a name that scares me terrible.”
“Ye’re crazy, kid, ye’re crazy!Sure and what’s in a name. Just ’cause Davy Jones happens to mean....”
“Just the same I’m scared terrible,” Skippy maintained stoutly. “An’ there’s lots in names whether you believe it or not. Now take theMinnie M. Baxter—nothin’ bad could come of her in the end, I bet, and if it did I bet it would be for the best, because it was my mother’s name. Even if there’s been trouble about the barge from the beginnin’ there’s good come on it too. When Pop was taken away, then you came to be good to me so that shows there’s somethin’ good about the barge, don’t it? But Davy Jones only means one thing, Big Joe, an’ you can say, what’s in a name!”
What, indeed!
It was a murky dawn and no sun followed in its wake. The air was heavy and oppressive, and low rumblings of thunder echoed in from sea. Skippy shook his head worriedly as they chugged out of sight of the bay to let theDavy Jonespass by.
“I don’t feel right this morning, Big Joe,” the boy insisted. “Say what you like, but we shouldn’t wait—we oughta tail theDavy Jones, right away—this minute, before the storm comes on.”
“Now ye be worryin’ agin, hey?” Tully asked impatiently. “That storm’s out at sea and it won’t hit the Channel. Sure ’tis just a murky mornin’.”
“All right,” said Skippy, “but I know.”
Tully was beginning to be annoyed with Skippy’s gloomy predictions and he showed it. Yet somehow it gave him a little uneasiness and from time to time he glanced thoughtfully from the boy to the distant black horizon.
The storm clouds were coming nearer and thunder rolled ominously over their heads. Finally Tully turned over his motor and set her nose about. After she had warmed up, he opened wide the throttle and headed for the bay.
“I’ll be keepin’ her open and beat it for the Channel soon’s we get across,” he explained. “We’ll be gettin’ there sure ’fore the storm breaks bad.”
“I hope so,” said Skippy, “because it’s travelin’ in from sea, fast.”
“We’ll be goin’ round by The Rocks and save fifteen minutes or so,” Tully said hopefully searching the boy’s face. “’Tis high enough tide for to take a chance.”
The Rocks, that bane of all mariners who were unfamiliar with the lurking waters beyond the bay, could be safely passed in small boats at high tide. There were few, however, who took advantage of this concession of Nature to the small nautical man, nearly all mariners preferring the greater safety that was offered them by going the long way around Inland Beach.
A high wind was steadily rising as they chugged into the vicinity of The Rocks, and it prevented Skippy from hearing that call of distress for which he was so intently listening. Whether the wind was against them, he did not know, for the howling tempest and turbulent water drowned out all other sounds.
The storm broke after a few minutes and rain lashed at them from all sides. Tully said not a word, but stayed at his wheel silent and grave. And by his averted head, Skippy knew that he, too, was listening for that siren call from theDavy Jones.
Salt spray flung itself up over the bow and into Skippy’s face. He could have moved farther back to avoid it, but he seemed incapable of action then, and sat tense and white, listening, listening....
Tully did not miss it. The boy’s tragic expression so dismayed him that he felt for the first time in his life that he should have mended his ways while there was still time. All his sins seemed to have crowded into Skippy’s face to accuse him.
And still they heard no call of distress from theDavy Jones.
Tully, desperate, raced his engine until they whistled through the foaming spray. Then suddenly they felt the keel grind under them with such force that it took all their combined strength to steady the boat and keep her from turning over.
“What happened, do you s’pose?” Skippy asked with white face.
“Sufferin’ swordfish, kid!” Tully cried. “I think she’s stove in—The Rocks!Look!”
He pointed and Skippy looked, to see a jagged hole in the bottom of the kicker. Water came in through it rapidly and even as he stared at it, it trickled over his feet and up to his ankles.
“What’ll we do?” Skippy cried. “Gee, what’ll we do?”
“We’ll be swimmin’ for it, kid,” Big Joe answered, his face ashen and drawn. “Inland Beach’s nearest—we’ll be swimmin’ it in a half hour, takin’ it aisy like.”
“Easy!In this water and wind?”
“Skippy, don’t be worryin’. Sure and I ain’t goin’ to see ye go down. I’ll be keepin’ ye up if it takes me life.”
Suddenly Skippy turned, pleading. Big Joe knew and his eyes dropped before the boy’s accusing gaze.
“And what can I be doin’ about theDavy Jonesnow, kid!” he protested “Igotye to be thinkin’ about now.... Sufferin’ swordfish!” He groaned.
“Then we gotta swim to Inland Beach as fast as we can, Big Joe,” Skippy said, master of himself once more. “We gotta get help right away for theDavy Jones!”
“Sure, sure,” the big fellow moaned, “anythin’, kid, only don’t be lookin’ at me so accusin’. Did I know it was goin’ to happen like this? Sufferin’ swordfish!”
“C’mon, Big Joe—c’mon!”
They had no sooner jumped clear of the boat than she sank out of sight. A terrific gale blew them along and Skippy kept close to Tully, buoyed up by the thought that he must keep going in order to get help for theDavy Jones.
And for once Tully was right in a prediction. It took them all of the half hour before they sighted the sandy wastes of Inland Beach.
The summer colonists sheltered from the storm in their inadequately built bungalows sighted the bobbing heads of the swimmers as they battled their way against the tide. Speedily the beach was covered with people and the life-guards, summarily dragged from their bunks in their beach shanty, jumped drowsy-eyed into the life-boat and went into action.
Ten minutes later, the two were rushed up to the guards’ shanty and hurriedly divested of their dripping garments.
“We gotta ...” Skippy began as soon as he had a chance to talk.
“We thought we heard a siren,” Big Joe interposed. “Sure, it sounded like distress—there ain’t a doubt.”
“We heard it plain!” Skippy exclaimed anxiously. “An’ it came from the Channel—didn’t it, Big Joe, huh?”
“Sure and he’s right. ’Tis about where I figgered she was comin’ from,” Tully added.
“An’ we better start right out again!” Skippy said eagerly. “With this high wind....”
“A guy hasn’t much chance in the Channel,” interposed one of the guards bluntly. “I can tell you that before we start. And if it wasn’t that you say you’re sure you heard it, we wouldn’t take a chance ourselves. Even a big tub like ours ain’t a match for the Channel in a storm and high wind.”
“But we’re sure we heard it! Ain’t we, Big Joe?”
“Sure we did that!” Tully said emphatically.
And so they started for the Channel.
The wind died down shortly after they had lost sight of Inland Beach. Presently the rain ceased and after a few moments’ struggle with storm clouds, the sun came smiling through.
Skippy smiled too, hopeful that it augured well for the object of their search. Tully relaxed and took a cigarette that one of the guards offered him. He talked little and kept his eyes ahead.
They reached the Channel in a half hour and for a full hour they searched it up and down. Skippy kept his eyes on the water; he dared not let the guards see the hopelessness written there should his glance chance to meet Tully’s.
“Sure wecouldn’tbe dreamin’ we heard a siren, now could we?” Tully pleaded when the guards announced their intention of returning to the beach.
“You guys didn’t seem to be so sure you heard any at all when we first got you out of the water,” one of the men reminded them.
“Sure and we were kind o’ all in from the breaks we got,” Tully explained. His voice sounded hollow and weary.
“Well, we don’t hear no siren now,” said the other guard, “and we’ve been up and down the Channel. If therewasany guy in distress, maybe he’s been swept out to sea. And we can’t go hunting that far for you fellers. We’ll send out word to the coast guard anyway when we get back just to be on the safe side. They’ll find the tub if it’s still afloat.”
“An’ if there was any siren signaling distress when that high wind first come up,” said the first guard, “she’s most likely screeching now for to get into Davy Jones’ locker. Who knows?”
Skippy and Big Joe would have given their lives at that moment to know.
They borrowed a kicker from one of the summer colonists and set out for home just before noon. Skippy was too overwhelmed to speak until long after they left the beach and Tully sat tragic and silent at the wheel.
“We might’s well look agin,” he murmured brokenly, as he headed the boat toward the Channel. “Just so’s to be makin’ sure.”
“Might’s well,” Skippy echoed. Then: “Gee, do you think maybe he was blowin’ the siren?”
“That he must o’ done. He must o’ been blowin’ it like mad.”
They spent half the afternoon chugging up and down the Channel and passed several craft, government and otherwise, which had heard the warning that the Inland Beach guards had passed along. Finally they decided to return home and with bowed heads found their way out of the treacherous waters.
“Sure if the coast guards ain’t found him, we won’t—not if we be stayin’ there all night,” said Tully mournfully. “Kid, don’t ye be jumpin’ on me, now. If ye knew what I been through since ... since.... I been blowin’ a siren in distress five hun’erd times, so I have, and five hun’erd times, I been in thatDavy Jonescallin’ me lungs out for help an’ no help come! I’ve sunk with her too—oh shiverin’ swordfish ... kid, I ain’t nothin’ but a plain....”
“Don’t say it, Big Joe,” said Skippy, moved to the depths of his soul with pity. “Gee, don’t I know! You wouldn’t have done it a-purpose.”
“No. ’Tis right ye be there.” Tully looked beaten.
They chugged on up the river and seemed to pass everyone they knew. Inspector Jones and his men bobbed by in the trim harbor launch waving a cheery greeting to Skippy and eyeing Tully with obvious suspicion.
Skippy was grateful for the silent inlet and the warm throaty bark that Mugs gave as he scrambled aboard the barge. He looked at the dog, winced a little at his faithful canine eyes and took him up in his arms. He couldn’t do to Mugs what they had done to that unknown man on theDavy Jones.
He sprawled in a rickety arm chair on deck while the sun sank slowly in the west. The whole horizon was a blaze of scarlet, then gold, then purple and at last it faded into leaden colored clouds. Big Joe was calling him in to supper.
Skippy looked down in the crook of his arm at the sleeping dog. Supper? He didn’t want any—he never wanted to eat while that man on theDavy Joneslay in Watson’s Channel. He couldn’t do it to Mugs.
Tully got tired of waiting and came out on deck. After one glance at Skippy’s tragic face he got his hat, pulled it down over his head and left the barge while the boy watched him go with a constricted feeling in his throat. And though he wanted with all his heart to call Big Joe back, he knew that he could never again sit opposite him at the table with a dead man between them.
Dusk settled over the inlet and through the shadows came Mrs. Duffy. Her cheery smile was conspicuous by its absence just then and her cheeks looked tear-stained and haggard. Skippy forgot the dead man in theDavy Jones—he was all concern for this kindly neighbor who had helped nurse him back to health.
Hadn’t Skippy heard? Mrs. Duffy sobbed a little, then bravely smiled through her tears. She had to be strong and brave—other wives and mothers in the Basin were getting used to the experience of seeing their menfolk taken in by the long arm of the law. And now Mr. Duffy had been added to that number.
What had he done? No more than other river folk had done before him. But it was forbidden by the law and there you were. And the excuse that they had to live and eat carried no weight in the courts of the land. Neither did the courts care that a rich and unscrupulous Josiah Flint had lured these men into his vicious employ at starvation wages only to leave them unwanted and ostracized from honest employment upon his untimely death. And Mr. Josephus Duffy, obeying that primal law of the survival of the fittest, was to be jailed for five years because he stole when employment was denied him. Five years of punishment for bringing food home to his family!
Skippy’s young heart was bursting with sympathy. Wrapped up in his own and his father’s concerns he had been vaguely conscious of his neighbors, the Duffys of theDinky O. Cross. Squatters like himself, he had been aware that they came and went, but that was all. Now they became suddenly real and vivid to him—the Duffys, father and mother, and their two children, minus the father now.
“And wouldn’t Skinner give him nothin’ at the Central havin’ two kids like you got?” he asked sympathetically.
“Skinner’d push men in prison before he’d help ’em get a decent job,” the good woman said with a jerk of her head. “He said he’s goin’ to clean all us scum out of this Basin—ain’t you heard?”
Yes, Skippy had heard only too well. He leaned over and timidly touched the woman’s work-worn hands, pledging his slim, manly self as an aid and comfort to herself and her two unfortunate children. In gratitude, she hugged the boy to her breast and hurried back to theDinky O. Crossto put her young ones to bed.
Skippy cherished that embrace; it was the only maternal affection he had ever known. His eyes shone into the darkness with the joy of it and he hugged Mugs still closer in his arms and spent some time in reflecting on why he was so happy when he was so sad.
Josiah Flint and Marty Skinner rose up before his eyes. He was beginning to realize what sorrow they had brought to the river people—his people! A fellow feels things like that when he’s going on thirteen.
Thirteen! Skippy looked up into the starlit sky and blinked. Mugs’ even breathing was like the whisper of the breeze blowing about his head. And he went to sleep planning how he could save the menfolk of the Basin from future prison life. He would see that the boys went to school as he himself had wanted to do so badly and he would see that they got decent, honest wages so that they could live as other people did in houses with pretty gardens....
Tully found him still asleep when he came back at midnight.
“Skip—Skippy, kid!” Tully called, shaking the boy to arouse him.
Skippy sat up, startled. Mugs barked blatantly.
“What’s up, huh? You look as if something’d happened—what’s the matter?”
Tully motioned him into the shanty where he lighted the lamp and sat down.
“Can ye stand hearin’ somethin’ without faintin’?” he asked mirthlessly.
“I guess so,” the boy answered shaking his straight hair from off his forehead. “But I hope it ain’t anything worse!”
“Better and worse, sorta,” Big Joe laughed ruefully. “But first so’s to be aisin’ ye, kid—theDavy Jonesturned back, so she did, when she reached the bay this mornin’. From what the boat tender told me, sure must o’ put a little extra dose o’ the powder in the breather and she started kickin’ up a rumpus a little sooner than ordinary, she did. So the owner, bein’ a foxy guy, turned back when he heard that and saw the storm clouds comin’ in from over the sea.”
“So theDavy Jonesain’t in her locker then, huh? Gee, am I glad!”
“Sure, and she got back to the club, and the owner had somebody come right away to be seein’ what was wrong.”
“Did they find out?”
“That they did, kid. He’s got the police on the case, and I think they’ll be workin’ on me. But they ain’t got no evidence so they ain’t, and besides, I took all me powder and threw it in the inlet tonight, so I did.”
Skippy sat down at the table, his head in his hands.
“Gee, I was afraid something awful would come of it.”
“Now don’t ye be worryin’ too soon, kid. They’ll have to be goin’ some to get me.... You can bet on that.”
“Gee, Big Joe, you don’t savvy. It’s the idea of gettin’ the coppers suspectin’ me and sayin’ they expected sumpin’ like that from Toby Dare’s kid. That’s what I couldn’t bear Pop to hear after he’s planned better things for me. Gee, I couldn’t stand it!” Then: “Who owns theDavy Jones, Big Joe, huh?” he demanded.
“Now that’s a funny thing,” Tully said. “TheDavy Jonesis Crosley’s. He bought her a week ago after he sold theMinnehaha. I s’pose that’s why he played foxy whin the ingine wint wrong with the new one? If that big sap boat tender had only tole me who owned her I’d niver....”
“Gee whiz, Big Joe, now I can see why Pop said these crooked rackets don’t pay in the end. It’s account of thatif. It’s always if this or that didn’t happen everythin’ would be all right. But it never is. Oh, gee, I’m not hoppin’ on you—maybe I’d been just like you if it wasn’t that I’m sick and disgusted with crooked rackets already. Maybe it’s because my mother came from a farm and so I’m not all river, huh? Anyway, I know I don’t want any more of this business. I’m gonna be straight I am. I learned a lesson today on thatDavy Jonesbusiness an’ I mean it.”
“Me, too!” said Big Joe with all his old time swagger. “I was tellin’ meself comin’ back here that if I think up an aisy racket where the coppers don’t get wise, I’ll be savin’ up a few grand an’ thin open up one o’ thim hot dog stands in the country. Sure and the river won’t see me at all, at all after that.”
Skippy laughed outright—for, boy that he was, he could see that Tully would be Tully as long as the river flowed down to the sea.
Next day, life in the Basin flowed once more in familiar channels. Tully trod the decks watching for the unwelcome police and puffing furiously on his cigarettes. Skippy sprawled in the rickety easy chair, playing with the dog and calling out to Mrs. Duffy some words of cheer when the occasion required. And when sunset came and the law had not put in its appearance they had supper noisily together.
Tully stretched out in his bunk after the meal had been cleared away. He looked at peace with the world. Skippy, watching him out of the corner of his eye, wondered what new racket he was planning now. And he didn’t rest until he had asked the big fellow point blank.
“Me racket for a while, kid,” Tully said amiably, “is to be keepin’ ye from gettin’ gloomy and sad. Whin I’m sure that Crosley ain’t set the coppers on me trail thin I’ll be turnin’ around—see? Right now I’m stickin’ close to theMinnie M. Baxter, so I be.”
“And you could do worse, Big Joe, believe me. I’m gonna stick close too until I know what’s what. But we’ll talk about that then.”
An insistent knock sounded on the door. Tully blanched and looked about for some means of escape. But Skippy, braving himself to the task, swung open the door to get it over with.
A man stood outside, bowing graciously and smiling. He stepped inside at Skippy’s invitation.
“Beasell’s the name, boys,” he said. “Yuh heard how Marty Skinner’s runnin’ the works for Buck Flint?”
“Sure we been hearin’ it too much, I’ll be tellin’ ye,” Big Joe snapped as he came ponderously out of his bunk and stood on the floor.
“It’s all jake then, big boy, you an’ me won’t waste no time,” Beasell said unruffled.
“You’ve come to tell us....” Skippy began fearfully.
“Marty says all yuh squatters in this Basin’ll have tuh scram by sundown tomorrow, get me? He’s had all the rough stuff he’s goin’ for and that goes double for the warehouse guys. So it’s scram in twenty-four hours, see? If yuh can’t take these lousy scows out we’ll blow ’em up, get me? Just a nice little Fourth uh July party, see?” He chuckled as if at a great joke.
“You can’t blow up theMinnie M. Baxter!” Skippy cried. “Even a guy like Skinner can’t take her from me ’cause, ’cause....”
“Lissen, punk, and you too, big boy, it’s scram by sundown tomorrow,” Beasell snarled. “Yuh better get me. I ain’t kiddin’ believe yuh me!” He scowled as he left to spread the bad news to theDinky O. Cross.
“Sufferin’ swordfish! Sure that Skinner’s a lousy rat,” Big Joe growled. “I should o’ been pastin’ that slimy Beasell but it wouldn’t done no good. He’s only carryin’ out orders.”
“Not only me’n you’s gotta go, Big Joe,” said Skippy plaintively, “but Mrs. Duffy an’ her kids an’ everybody here in the Basin. How’re they all gonna pack up an’ clear out by tomorrow night, huh? Gee, that ain’t fair. There ain’t one of us got a home to go to—gee whiz, these barges, why—they’re home!”
Tully’s face looked distorted as he walked to and fro across the shanty floor. Finally he turned.
“Sure Skinner don’t know what it means to be sendin’ that Beasell guy down here to be tellin’ us we must be out by tomorrow night, bad cess to him.”
“What d’ye mean, Big Joe?”
“Sure, folks here ain’t like other folks, like ye’ve noticed. They been free for years and they ain’t goin’ to be kicked out without doin’ some kickin’ first thimselves. Law? Sure, they don’t know what it’s all about so what do they care, I’ll be askin’ ye.”
Big Joe Tully had summed it all up in one sentence. They didn’t know about the law, so what did they care about it?
It wasn’t many hours before Skippy learned how little they did care.
Skippy waited until Tully was fast asleep that night, then he crept stealthily out of the shanty with the dog skipping and sniffing at his heels. He was careful to close the door softly behind him; he wanted to be alone.
It was a different Skippy that trod those decks, a new and older Skippy, who looked about the lumbering old barge through his father’s eyes. It did not seem possible to him that Skinner could so ruthlessly order him away from the only home he had. Yet he realized that not many hours hence he would not even havethathome.
He went forward and, getting to his knees, leaned far over and stared down at the trickling waters of the muddy inlet lapping against the hull. The dog, thinking him to be playing, jumped about with a soft whine to draw his master’s attention.
Skippy tumbled him about for a while, then climbed down with him into the borrowed kicker that was anchored alongside the barge.
“We’re gonna take one last cruise out and back in the inlet again—see, Mugs? I’ve just gotta see how theMinnie M. Baxter’sgonna look when I think of her afterwards. I don’t want to forget it’s where I lived with two of the best pals I’ll ever have, outside of Pop. Gee, Mugs, maybe it’s silly to feel so over a barge,” he confided to the attentive puppy, “but I gotta feel that it’s sumpin’ I must think a lot of. Every time I’ve visited Pop, he’s asked me how was theMinnie M. Baxter. Just like as if she was a human being, he asked about her! So I love her on accounta my Pop. He’s proud of her because she was so hard to get and because he decided to quit Ol’ Flint and be honest so’s I’d have a better chance.”
He started the kicker after this long confidence and steered it with one hand, putting his free arm about the dog. And as if cherishing the whispered confidences and affection, the animal cuddled close and remained perfectly still while the boat crept out to the mouth of the river.
As they turned back, a full moon broke through some dark clouds and shone brilliantly down upon the Basin. Skippy looked at the mellow, silver light gleaming over the grouped barges and he gazed in wonder at the fairyland that the moon made of the sordid colony. The dust at once became a shimmering film of silver and the washlines strung from shanty to forward deck contained fluttering bits of laundry that stirred flippantly in the soft night breeze.
Skippy’s heartstrings tightened at the sight of it—he loved it all. His honest nature cried out against the injustice of turning all these people out of their homes. For that is just what it amounted to—no more and no less. Skinner knew that there wasn’t a man in the Basin who could afford to have his barge lifted out of the mud. They would have to face it, he realized—they were people condemned!
He steered the boat farther on until he caught sight of the moonlight gleaming across his own shanty. Its shimmering rays picked out in bold relief the now dulled letters,Minnie M. Baxter, and he thought of a late afternoon when he and his father had looked on those same letters so new and shining, shining in the last brilliant rays of a dying sun.
He turned away from these reflections with heavy heart only to have his attention drawn to a boat, floating about the bow of the kicker. As he leaned forward to see it better, the dog growled ominously.
Skippy drew back instantly, gasping with horror. He sat stark still for a moment, as cold as ice and unable to take his eyes away from the battered face and body of a man he had seen in robust health but a few hours before.
That man was Beasell, Marty Skinner’s lieutenant, and he appeared lifeless.
Skippy was so frightened that he did nothing for a moment but sit and stare. Then suddenly he realized the terrible thing before his eyes, and he pulled the boat up alongside of the barge, trembling from head to foot.
The dog leaped out of his arms the moment he got on deck and refused to run with him to the shanty. But Skippy had neither the time nor the nerves to think of anything but the battered Beasell in the boat floating beside the barge.
He flung open the door of the shanty and rushed to Tully’s bunk. The big fellow jumped up startled, and sat motionless while Skippy whispered of his discovery.
“Won’t it go bad for everybody here?” he asked with agonized suspense. “Won’t it, Big Joe?”
“Sure ’twill be just too bad, so ’twill,” Tully said getting up and dressing. “Somewan did it what’s gone cuckoo for thinkin’ they’ll be turned out o’ their home tomorrow night. And crazy like, they beat up that Beasell thinkin’ they’d be gettin’ even with Marty Skinner—see? Sure I know me Brown’s Basin, kid.”
Skippy shivered with the horror of it. If Brown’s Basin was like that, he wouldn’t be sorry to leave it after all. Neither could he love people who used such ghastly means for their revenge against Skinner. He wanted to get away from it then, that minute.
“We gotta tell the police, Big Joe, huh?” he murmured.
Big Joe nodded as if he were dazed.
“Us river people ain’t goin’ to have no peace whilst Skinner’s alive, kid!” he said in hard, even tones. “Whoever slugged that Beasell guy—well,me, I’d be goin’ for Skinner, so I would. So he’s goin’ to take theMinnie M. Baxterfrom ye, is he? Well, we’ll be seein’ about that.”
“Forget me for now, Big Joe. What worries me is, what’re we gonna do with Beasell? Maybe he’s dead.”
“Now ye be goin’ down and stay till I come, kid,” said the big fellow, drawing on his shoes.
Skippy started for the kicker. He went forward but that was as far as he got for he became suddenly aware of a low, ominous rumbling noise that seemed to come from shore and run through the barge colony. Before he had a chance to determine what it was he felt himself lifted off his feet bodily and like a feather he was thrown into the muddy waters of the Basin.
There was a terrific detonation throughout Brown’s Basin as Skippy came to the surface. Fire leaped from one barge to the other in the twinkling of an eye and the screams of men, women and children filled the turbid air.
Smoke poured skyward in great columns and in the light of the moon, Skippy saw the ponderous form of Big Joe Tully standing on the deck of theMinnie M. Baxtershouting and waving his hands. Suddenly he leaped into the kicker and the boy called out but he seemed not to hear in the din about them.
At that moment, theMinnie M. Baxterburst into flames. Big Joe Tully shouted deafeningly and Skippy, swimming hard to reach him, saw a strange, almost maniacal expression on his large face.
“’Tis Marty Skinner what’s done this!” he was shouting to no one in particular. “’Tis him what’s blowed this place up and took the kid away from me. ’Tis him! Skippy’s dead—I’m sure he’s dead! I can’t find him!” he was almost whimpering.
“I’m here!” Skippy called frantically. “Big Joe....”
But Tully was even then steering the kicker out of the inlet. He had the throttle wide open and Skippy had no more than a glimpse of the racing craft before she slipped beyond his sight.
Logs, huge chunks of driftwood and every known article of household furniture, both broken and whole, floated in Skippy’s path, blocking his progress. Suddenly he saw a little boat bearing down upon him, floating through the inlet unoccupied.
He reached out, grabbed the bow and climbed in, breathless and exhausted. Other kickers were shoving off filled with crying women and shouting men. Skippy looked about over the water, but saw nothing but a procession of slowly moving debris.
He turned over the motor and she responded with a fearful jerk. He was moving, in any event, moving away from the fearful heat that the burning barges threw out over the water. The moon’s shimmering light now looked sickly and pale in contrast to the fearful red glare that spread over the entire sky.
The screaming sirens of motor boats soon became part of the pandemonium and Skippy heard commanding shouts for the boats to clear out of the inlet immediately. In the wake of this he heard a heart-rending shriek from the midst of the barge inferno which made him feel sick and weak.
“Mrs. Duffy an’ her two kids ain’t nowheres,” a man’s voice shouted above the roar. “I’ll bet Skinner had that dynamite planted.” And as Skippy attempted to turn the kicker about he was peremptorily ordered from the approaching police launch to keep on his way out to the river.
He didn’t look back again. TheMinnie M. Baxterwas a seething mass behind him—there was nothing left. Big Joe was nowhere about—Skippy suddenly remembered the big fellow’s shouts about Skinner. It gave him an idea and he nosed the boat down the river.
Out of this confusion of mind, he thought of the dog. He remembered then that he hadn’t seen the puppy since he had let him down on the deck after seeing the battered Beasell.
And what had become of him? Was he dead or alive? Skippy wiped a grimy hand across his forehead. He was utterly weary and exhausted by the ordeal. He could not think of an answer to anything. His world had toppled over since the discovery of Beasell and the explosion. And now Mugs was gone too—his skipping, faithful-eyed pal! Was there nothing left for him at all?
He put his hands over the wheel and gripped it bitterly, but soon he relaxed and with a soft sob he covered his face. And nobody knew but the river.
Skippy got the most out of his commandeered kicker. He opened it wide and raced her down the river and the closer he got to the bay the more apprehensive did he feel about Big Joe’s flight. He tried not to attach any special significance to his good friend’s shouts, but he could not help remembering Tully’s earlier veiled threats about Skinner.
His fears grew as he chugged out into the bay and something urged him on still faster. Then he spied the glistening hull of the beautifulApollyon, her anchor lights gleaming like stars against the night and a single light amidships.
Funny, the boy thought, how much it seemed like that night when he and his father had come for the showdown with the older Flint. Now there was to be no showdown, but he must warn Skinner against Big Joe’s sudden maniacal fury. Queer that he should go to such trouble for a man who had given them no quarter in anything. But he was not thinking of doing Skinner a good turn beyond that it might prevent Big Joe from killing the Flint agent and being sent to jail.
He approached the yacht with his old feeling of awe. The deck was almost dark as he scrambled aboard but up forward he saw the rotund form of the second mate asleep and snoring in a luxurious swing. The boy could not help remember a very solemn resolve that night long ago, when the mate had sworn to be more faithful to his duties during his night watches.
With silent tread, he hurried along the deck and stopped before the lighted cabin amidships. Once, twice, he knocked softly, and waited.
“Come in!” Marty Skinner’s cold voice commanded.
Skippy stepped in, his heart bounding. He was thinking of the last time he had been in this room and closed the door, determined he would not be driven out again until he had had his say.
“Well?” Skinner snapped but this time he did not order Skippy out.
“You seen Big Joe Tully?” Skippy asked bravely. “He been here yet?”
“What d’ye mean—yet? I have no business with Tully and I haven’t any with you that I know of.”