Biff opened the door and went out.
“Where are you going?” his uncle called softly.
“Back in a minute.” Biff was back in less.
“Had to get this,” he said with a grin. He held up the alarm clock. “Heap big magic, Uncle Charlie.”
Biff left the door open. He and his uncle sat down on the cot.
“When Crunch comes back and sees the door open,” Biff laughed, “he’ll really think I can out-magic a voodoo medicine man.”
Biff and his uncle heard Crunch approaching.
“I want to see this,” Charlie said. He walked over to the window. Biff was right beside him. Crunch stood in the sand, staring at the open door. It took several moments for the Indian to get over his amazement. He put down the food he was carrying and moved about in a shuffle, trying to make up his mind what he should do next.
The giant turned suddenly and started off at a lope, intending to search the grounds for Biff and his uncle.
“We’re still here, Crunch,” Biff called out. “We haven’t escaped.”
Crunch stopped. He came back to the cellhouse slowly. Standing in the doorway, his jaw sagged open. Disbelief showed in his eyes.
“No go away? No escape?” He was completely bewildered.
“No, Crunch. I told you we wouldn’t.”
“How you get door open?”
Biff only smiled in reply, looking very wise and mysterious.
“Magic! You make more magic!”
When Biff still didn’t say anything, Crunch went back outside and got the food. When he came in, he placed the food on the table, then carefully locked the door. After he had done so, he looked at the key, and a foolish expression came over his face, as if he were asking himself, “Why do I lock the door?”
Crunch still wore a puzzled look on his face as he sat quietly and watched Biff and Uncle Charlie eat the meal he had prepared for them. It was a fish dish with a delicious but very hot sauce. The sauce burned the eaters’ mouths, making the cool, smooth avocado salad that went with it highly welcome.
“That was mighty good, Crunch,” Biff said.
“Sure was,” Uncle Charlie chimed in. He took a sip of lime drink and spoke to Biff. “We’d better turn in early. We’ll want to get an early start for Martinique. Going to take Crunch with us?”
“How about it, Crunch?” Biff asked. “Would you like to go to Martinique? You could see your brother. Maybe my uncle and I could help him.”
“Crunch have to stay here. Wait for boss Dietz.”
“Mr. Dietz is in Martinique, Crunch. He might need you over there,” Biff said.
It was going to take some time for Crunch to figure this one out. He was still afraid of Dietz.
“Think it over, Crunch, and tell us in the morning,” Biff said.
When dawn broke, and Uncle Charlie shook his sleep-drugged nephew into wakefulness, both knew that they had won Crunch completely over. He had already gone to the main house for food. And he had left the door wide open!
“Made up your mind yet, Crunch?” Biff asked the Carib Indian after they had finished breakfast. “You coming with us?”
Crunch was silent, still torn between his fear of Dietz and his admiration for Biff.
“We’re going now,” Biff told him.
Biff and his uncle went to the door. The Indian made no move to prevent their leaving.
“Good-by, Crunch,” Biff called.
Crunch stood in the doorway and watched them leave. At the arched gateway, Biff and his uncle climbed into the car. Charlie started it up. They were just beginning to roll when they heard a shout. Looking back, Biff saw Crunch coming on the run.
“Wait! Wait! Crunch come with you.”
A completely new life was opening up for Crunch. He had never been off the island of Curaçao. He had never been in an aircraft. For the first half of the flight to Martinique, he sat rigidly in his seat, hands grasping the seat arms as if he were holding the plane in the air.
“We’ll stop at Fort-de-France first, Biff,” Uncle Charlie said. “Got to pick up some diving equipment and other supplies. Then we’ll hop on over to La Trinité.”
Flying low over the waters of the Caribbean, as his uncle came in for a landing in the harbor, Biff spotted a large net bobbing in a sweeping arc between two native boats. The fishermen doffed their broad straw hats and waved at the plane. Directly over the seine, Biff could see thousands of fish leaping, swirling, their silver sides glittering in the sunlight.
Walking through the teeming streets of the city was an experience in itself. Fort-de-France with its 66,000 residents is crowded between two rivers gallantly named Rivière Madame and Rivière Monsieur. To Biff, it seemed as if every resident of the town swarmed in the narrow street down which the three walked that morning.
“Look at that!” Biff said in amazement.
A small native woman walked briskly among the crowd. A sixty-pound basket of fruit and vegetables was balanced on her head.
“Biff, these people are small, but they’re powerful. And they have a magnificent sense of balance,” Uncle Charlie said.
In the basket which the woman wore like a headpiece were bright red tomatoes, a green pebble-skinned breadfruit, and some fat pineapples. Under one arm she carried a full stalk of bananas.
The capital of Martinique was a blaze of color, from the women’s costumes to the buildings and the flowers growing riotously in every garden and patio. Beautiful bougainvillea, brilliantly colored from rich, deep purple and red to pale lavender and violet, spilled over balconies like cascading waterfalls.
Uncle Charlie led Biff and Crunch to a small hardware store. There was hardly an inch of open space in the store. A heavy bathtub hung over the entrance. Garden hose, bicycles, pots, pans, fishing and skin-diving equipment crowded shelves and hung from rafters.
“How can anyone find anything in here?” Biff asked.
“A mystery to me, too, Biff,” Uncle Charlie laughed. “But the clerks can put their hands on any item you ask for in a second. They’re really out to serve you.”
Biff was given an example of this as his uncle made his purchases. In no time at all, Biff and Crunch were laden with marking buoys, two Scubas—self-contained, underwater-breathing apparatus—and Uncle Charlie brought up the rear with a gay red-and-white nylon tent.
“This is all we need here,” he said. “We’ll get the rest of the stuff we need—pots and pans and so on—in Trinité.”
Making their way back to the aircraft, Biff envied the natives their ability to carry tremendous loads with no apparent effort.
The hop across the island to La Trinité was a short one. The plane was secured to a mooring and gear unloaded.
“Well, Crunch, what are you going to do?” Uncle Charlie asked.
“Find my little brother first,” Crunch replied.
“And what about Dietz?” Biff asked.
“Maybe find him, too. Where Crunch find you?”
“We’re going to make our headquarters here just down the street. At the Sans Souci. We’ll show you,” Charlie Keene said, “and if you want to find us, or get in touch, ask there.”
“What about Derek?” Biff asked. “We’ve got to locate him.”
“Don’t worry, Biff. In a town this size everybody knows everything that’s going on. I’ll bet you right now the grapevine has spread word of our arrival. If Derek is around, he’ll be looking us up within an hour.”
Charles Keene was right. He and Biff checked into the Sans Souci. Crunch went off.
“A little more shopping, Biff, and we’re ready to take off as soon as Derek locates us, or vice versa,” Biff’s uncle said.
Derek caught up with Biff and Uncle Charlie in midafternoon. The Dutch boy was delighted to rejoin his friends.
“This is really fine!” he exclaimed. “So good, Biff, to be back with you and your uncle.”
“That goes double for me, Derek. Any news of your father?”
Derek’s face fell. “No. I’ve heard some rumors about him, but so far, I’ve learned nothing definite as to where he might be. The island grapevine of news seems to break down just as I think I have a real clue.”
“Too bad, Derek,” Charlie said. “But don’t give up hope. We’re all together now. Biff and I want to help you search for your father. It’s important to me to find him, too. After all, I’m working for him.”
“Are you working for me now, too?” Derek asked with a mischievous smile.
“Sure thing, Derek,” Uncle Charlie agreed. “When your father’s not here, you’re the boss.”
“We’ll work well together. How about it, Biff?”
Biff grinned. “Couldn’t find a better combination.”
“And I don’t think we have to worry too much about Dietz now,” Charles Keene added.
That’s where Uncle Charlie was wrong.
It was nearly five o’clock when Biff, Derek, and Charlie Keene reached the dock in the harbor of the Baie du Trésor. They rode a truck five miles out of La Trinité. The truck was piled high with gear necessary to their search.
A thirty-foot cabin cruiser was waiting for them. Keene had chartered it as his first step after arriving in La Trinité. Slung on davits on the cruiser’s stern was a fourteen-foot dory with an outboard motor. This was the boat from which they would do the pearl diving.
With all gear stowed, Uncle Charlie started the cruiser’s engine and backed away. On the dock, natives waved, calling, “Bonne chance! Bonne chance!Good luck! Good luck!”
“Take the wheel, Biff,” his uncle ordered. “Head straight out while I confer with the owner.”
“The owner?” Biff and Derek glanced around the cruiser, then looked curiously at Uncle Charlie.
“That’s you, Derek.” Biff’s uncle grinned. “Since you’re the boss, you’re the owner. I’m the skipper, and Biff is the crew. And I’m sure you want a tightly run ship, so look sharp there, Brewster.”
“Aye, aye, skipper,” Biff said with a smile.
“Now, Derek, where do we head?” Uncle Charlie asked. “Did your father give you any idea where this pearl fishery is?”
“Only a vague one, Captain.” Derek had entered the spirit of the game. “I know that after leaving Treasure Bay Harbor, we head due south—”
“Bring her around, mate,” Keene called to Biff. “Set your compass reading for a southerly run.”
They had left the harbor, and Biff spun the wheel. The cruiser’s bow came around, and Biff held the boat on a due south course.
“He wrote me the spot was about five miles off the main coast of Martinique,” Derek said, “almost directly west of the town of Le François.”
“I know the town.” Keene nodded. “It’s a small fishing village. Ten miles down the coast. Put her at full speed, mate. We’ve got to make a landing before nightfall.”
“There’s a group of small islands off Le François,” Derek continued. “We’ve got to locate the right island. The fishery is a mile off one of them.”
Charlie Keene wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Whew! Not much to go on. There must be a dozen or more islands in that group. Some of them aren’t more than a few acres in area. We’ll make camp on one of the larger ones. Did your father give you any indication of water depth at the fishery?”
“About forty feet.”
“That will help. We won’t do any diving in water over, say, fifty feet. But, Derek, there’s lots and lots of water around here.”
And there was. The coast line and pitons of Martinique were plainly visible, a lush green of wild growth, with fern trees rising as high as maples. West were the endless waters of the Atlantic Ocean.
“We’ll need all the ‘bonne chance’ we can get,” Biff’s uncle commented.
It took about an hour to make the run from Treasure Bay to the islands off Le François. Biff was still at the wheel. His uncle took out a pair of binoculars and swept his gaze over the island group.
“Over there, Biff. That larger one, right between those two smaller ones. Cut your speed. We don’t know how these waters shoal. Derek, go forward. Watch for bottom.”
The cruiser approached the shore slowly.
“Plenty of water,” Derek sang out. Then, “Sand. I see sand bottom,” he called a little later.
“Ease her in, Biff. That small cove. See if you can take her in there. Give us some protection if achabascohits.”
The cruiser inched forward. The sound of the boat’s keel grating on the sand bottom came to their ears. Biff cut the engine. The cruiser ground to a stop five feet from shore.
“Perfect, Biff. We’ll get a little damp making the next five feet, but I kind of feel like a swim. How about it?” Uncle Charlie suggested.
Biff and Derek stripped off their shirts. Shoes and socks followed. The boys dived over the side. Charlie Keene was right behind them. All three frolicked in the warm waters of the Caribbean for a while.
“All out,” Uncle Charlie ordered presently. “We’ve got work to do. Night’s coming on.”
The cruiser was secured. The dory was lowered and pulled up on the beach. Biff’s uncle remained in the cruiser. Derek took a position waist deep in the water halfway between the boat’s bow and the shore. Charlie passed gear to Derek. Derek handed it on to Biff on shore. The unloading went smoothly and quickly.
Next came the tent. It was set up. Cots were unfolded. A small table and three captain’s chairs were put into place.
“Scoop out a wide, shallow hole and line it with shells.” That was Uncle Charlie’s next order. He kept the boys hopping.
“We’ll put our stove in the shell-lined hole.” Charlie ripped open a carton containing a small two-burner propane stove and set it up.
“String up the lanterns, Biff. It’ll be dark soon.”
The job of setting up camp was completed just as the swift-falling night blanketed the tiny island with darkness.
“Everything look shipshape to you, skipper?” Biff asked his uncle.
Charlie Keene looked around.
“Can’t log anything against either of you so far. Good job. Now let’s eat.”
Biff and Derek peeled some potatoes; Uncle Charlie took a small axe and broke open a canned ham, disdaining to use the key attached to the can.
“Ham and fried potatoes. How does that sound?” Uncle Charlie asked.
“I could eat anything,” Biff replied.
“Might as well open up a can of stewed tomatoes, too.”
The food, although roughly prepared, seemed delicious to all three. Uncle Charlie was a good cook. The potatoes were crisp and brown. The tomatoes, well, they were just stewed tomatoes. The Danish ham had a delicate flavor unlike any Biff had eaten before.
“It’s rather like the hams we have in Holland,” Derek said.
“Only two problems in connection with running this camp,” Uncle Charlie commented. “Air and water.”
“Air? I’ve never breathed such pure air,” Biff said.
“And how much more water do you want than the Caribbean Sea?” Derek chimed in.
“Ever tried drinking it?” Biff’s uncle chuckled. “Don’t. Fresh water, my lad, is what we need. And there are no springs or wells on these islands.”
“Well, we couldn’t find any fresher air,” Biff said. “You’ve got to admit that, Uncle Charlie.”
“Sure, Biff, sure. But what we want is compressed air. For the Scubas. Those air tanks only carry enough for an hour’s diving. I have one extra tank. We have enough compressed air for about two hours’ diving daily. I mean two hours for each of you. I don’t think there’s any compressed air in Le François. I know there is in Trinité.”
“Well, that’s not too far,” Biff said. “We’ll have to go in to Trinité every day. Air and water.”
“And fresh food, Biff,” Uncle Charlie added.
Derek had been silent during this discussion. Now he spoke:
“Mr. Keene, I have a plan I want to suggest.”
“Fire away, Derek.”
“Since we have to go in to Trinité every day, I think we ought to do our diving in the morning.”
“Okay by me, Derek. Go on.”
“Then, around noon, we could go into Trinité. You and Biff could see about supplies. I’d like to spend my afternoons searching for my father. I’m more anxious to find him than to locate the pearl fishery.”
“We all are, Derek. And I think your plan’s a good one. We could even spend the night at the Sans Souci if we got any leads that would take more than one afternoon to follow.”
“That’s what I thought. Martinique’s not too big an island, but there are many wild, unsettled places on it. I have a feeling that if my father is still alive, he’s up in the hills somewhere.”
“Now, Derek, there’s no reason to believe your father’s not alive,” Biff said softly.
Derek didn’t answer at once. When he did, his voice trembled slightly.
“There’s one thing I learned that I didn’t tell you.” He paused. “There was a storm, achabasco, about the time my father disappeared. I learned that, three days after thechabasco, parts of his boat were washed ashore south of here. Near Le Vauclin.”
Neither Biff nor his uncle replied. They knew what Derek’s fear was. His father might have lost his life in the storm.
“No one knows, though,” Derek went on hopefully, “or seems to remember, whether thechabascostruck before or after my father was last seen in Trinité.”
“You mean when he mailed us our letters?” Uncle Charlie asked.
“Yes,” was Derek’s one-word reply.
“We can check that, Derek. The postmark will show the date. And the day of thechabascowill have been recorded somewhere in Trinité.”
“I never thought of that,” Derek said. He sounded much more cheerful. Charles Keene had restored his hope.
“Big day ahead of us, boys,” Biff’s uncle said now. “I’d say it was about time to hit the sack. You with me?”
Biff and Derek were. It seemed impossible to Biff that only that morning, he had been in Curaçao. It also seemed to Biff that he had just heard his uncle say, “Hit the sack,” when his uncle’s voice came to him again. This time it was, “Hit the deck!”
Morning had come. In an hour, Biff would be at the bottom of the ocean, searching for pearls.
“Before we go out, we’re going to have a dry run with the Scubas,” Biff’s uncle announced.
Biff, Derek, and Uncle Charlie were on the beach where the cruiser was anchored.
“Don’t know how much skin diving you’ve done, Derek—you said some—but Biff can tell you that all diving equipment must be carefully and thoroughly checked out before you go down.”
Derek paid sharp attention.
“Don your Scubas,” Charlie ordered.
The boys quickly slipped on face masks, helmets, water lungs, snorkels. Charlie helped them strap their compressed-air tanks on their backs.
Next the boys put on their weight belts. Into a rubber scabbard on each belt went a wickedly sharp knife. There were sharks in these waters. A depth gauge and watch were strapped on each boy’s left wrist.
Charlie inspected each item of diving equipment carefully. He tugged at straps, examined each piece of gear separately.
“Jettison belts!” he called out suddenly.
With a flip of his hand, Biff hit the catch on his weight belt. It dropped to the sand. Derek was a few seconds longer.
“Seconds can count, Derek, if you get into trouble. Try it again.”
Derek slipped his weight belt back on. Charlie shouted the order. Derek hit the catch, and his belt dropped.
“That’s better, Derek. Remember, that belt is what holds you down. If you have to come up fast, you’ve got to get rid of that belt fast.”
“But don’t try to come up too fast, Derek,” Biff said. “Especially if you’re down deep.”
“Biff’s right. A good rule to follow is not to rise to the surface any faster than the escaping air bubbles. Your body has to adjust to the variations in water pressure. All right, let’s go out and try it in the water now.”
They climbed in the dory. Uncle Charlie started the outboard, and they moved offshore about fifty feet.
“Sound for depth, Biff.”
Biff dropped a sounding line overboard. He pulled it up, examined the leads marking off every three feet.
“Thirty feet, Uncle Charlie.”
“Okay. Now you know how to clear your masks.”
Both boys nodded their heads.
“I want to hear you tell me.”
Biff began promptly: “If water seeps into your mask, clouding the glass and obscuring your vision, you roll over on your back—”
“Take it from there, Derek,” Charlie cut in.
“Then—then you blow air out through your nose. The air pressure building up in the mask will force the water out around the edges of the mask.”
“Good. You both know the most important safety feature of skin diving. Okay, over you go.”
The boys slipped their swim fins, or flippers, on their feet and lowered themselves overboard. They sank slowly to the bottom.
At this point, the bottom was smooth, clean white sand. Biff and Derek moved around, using their legs and feet only for propulsion. Biff came up to Derek, circled his thumb and forefinger together, indicating that everything was going smoothly. Derek replied with the “V for Victory” sign. Then they rose to the surface.
When they broke water, Charlie Keene was waiting with another order.
“Down again, and as soon as you touch bottom, jettison your belts.”
Down they went again. Charles Keene was taking no chances on the boys’ safety and ability to skin dive.
Up popped the boys, their wet heads appearing above the water first and looking like strange creatures from the deep. Biff flipped back his face mask.
“Good work, Biff. But you’ve got to go back down and retrieve the weight belts. Here’s a spare. You’d find it tough to get down thirty feet without it.”
Derek climbed aboard the dory while Biff submerged to pick up the belts. He had to make two trips. The weight of three belts would have held him down.
“We might as well start our search off this island first. Good as any.”
At this point, the bottom was smooth, clean white sand
At this point, the bottom was smooth, clean white sand
The dory sped out to a point Uncle Charlie estimated to be about a mile away. The anchor was tossed overboard. The sounding line showed the water depth at just over forty-five feet.
“I want you to take this spear along with you, Biff.” Uncle Charlie handed his nephew a wicked, lethal-looking weapon. Its tip was needle sharp.
“I doubt you’ll run into any bad fish here. But you might. And don’t,do notuse it except in case of extreme danger. If you spear an attacking fish—shark, barracuda or octopus—remember any blood will attract other sharks, and then you’ll be in real trouble.”
Biff took the spear and examined it.
“Each of you take one of these wire baskets. They’re to load the oysters in—if you find any. I’m the puller-up. I’ve a line on each basket. Now get these signals. I want both of you to give me one sharp tug every ten minutes. That will tell me you’re okay. Give two sharp tugs when your basket is filled. I’ll pull the basket up, unload it, and lower it again. Now, in case of emergency, a series of sharp tugs will alert me, and I’ll be right down. Got it? Okay. Over you go.”
The bottom was different this time. Instead of clean, white sand, the bottom was covered with a layer of mud mixed with sand. Biff felt around carefully. Both boys were wearing thick rubber gloves to protect their hands against the sharp, jagged oyster shells.
As Biff was feeling around in the mud, Derek swam over to him. He held a large oyster in front of Biff’s mask. Then he plopped it in his basket.
Biff’s hand touched a large shell. He dug it out and discarded it. It was a clam. He ran into a nest of oysters. He quickly filled his basket and gave the signal to haul up. Minutes later, the basket came down, swaying in the water at the bottom of the line.
The boys worked slowly, carefully, feeling their way. Every so often, a large fish would swim up to them, coming right to the face masks as if to ask, “What areyoudoing down here?”
Biff kept a sharp check on his watch. He knew his air tank had sufficient air to remain submerged for one hour. It also had a five-minute emergency supply in addition. Biff had no intention of waiting until he had to use the extra air. After being down fifty-five minutes, he signaled Derek. With his forefinger, he pointed upward. Derek got the idea. The boys began their slow ascent.
Rising, looking up toward the surface, they could see the dory outlined above, a fat, cigar-shaped blob.
Breaking water as they surfaced, each boy grabbed the dory’s gunwale. They were both tired. Neither had realized how the water pressure at forty-five feet had sapped their strength. They had been down nearly an hour.
“You don’t know what a tough job diving is until you’ve been down for a good spell,” Charlie said. He leaned over the side and helped the boys into the boat.
They took off their diving equipment.
“Had enough for today, boys?” Biff’s uncle inquired.
“Oh, no. We’ll go down again. After we rest,” Biff replied. “All right with you, Derek?”
Derek nodded his head.
“Actually, I don’t see much point in going back down,” Uncle Charlie said. “We’ve got ten baskets of oysters. We might as well shuck them and see if we find any pearls. If we don’t, then we’ll say good-by to this spot and try another tomorrow.”
“Now I like that idea,” Biff said and stretched out on the narrow seat that ran around the side of the dory.
His uncle upped anchor, and they headed back to their island camp.
They didn’t go into Trinité that day, since they still had the reserve tank of compressed air and enough food for supper. The afternoon was spent at the tedious job of opening oysters. It was slow going. None of the three had the skill of a professional oyster opener.
The job was totally unrewarding.
“Not one pearl.” Biff sighed.
“Not even a single tiny one,” Derek said sadly.
“Now, don’t be downhearted, boys,” Uncle Charlie said, trying to cheer them up. “Can’t expect to hit it the first day.”
“At any rate, we’ve got enough oysters to make a stew. If we had some milk,” Biff said.
“Afraid not, Biff.”
“Yeah. Where are we going to get milk? A seacow, maybe? Wish we’d kept some of them. We could have had an oyster roast.”
“Wrong again, Biff,” Charlie said. “Pearl oysters aren’t edible. These would make you so sick, you wouldn’t be any good for ten days.”
“What a waste!” Biff said, and stretched out on the sand. Every muscle, every bone in his body ached.
All three went to bed that night right after supper.
Biff, having slept heavily, awoke just as dawn broke. He thought he had been awakened by the sound of a boat’s motor. He listened intently. No sound. Biff turned over on his narrow cot, determined to get back to sleep. He was just drifting off when he heard a sound outside the tent, just beyond where his cot touched the inside of the tent wall.
He waited tensely. The sound was only a faint rustle. He saw the side of the tent stretch as if something was crawling underneath it. Biff raised himself on one elbow, ready to sound the alarm.
As he watched, in the faint dawn light, a thick, snake-shaped object slithered up between his cot and the tent’s side.
Biff moved quickly, noiselessly out of his cot. In the increasing daylight, he could see that the strange object slithering over his bed was a huge arm. He went over to his uncle, shook him gently, and when Charlie Keene roused, Biff cautioned silence, pressing a finger to his lips. Biff pointed to his cot.
Charlie Keene saw the arm and was up in a flash. From under his pillow he took a gun. This action startled Biff even more than the mysterious arm. He had no idea that his uncle thought they were in such danger that there was reason for keeping a gun close at hand.
“Stay here,” Uncle Charlie whispered. “I’ll slip outside.”
Biff kept his eyes on the arm. He saw the arm slide over the cot, saw the hand feel it. The hand withdrew quickly, the arm slipped back outside the tent.
“Hold it!” Biff heard his uncle command. This stern order was followed by an amazed “Why, what the—what are you doing here! Biff! Come running!”
Biff leaped out of the tent. In the morning light, he saw his uncle holding a gun on the giant Carib Indian, Crunch.
“Crunch!” Biff’s astonishment turned to delight at seeing his simple, friendly enemy again. “What in the world? Why did you sneak up on us like this!” he exclaimed.
Crunch stepped over to Biff.
“Not know who might be in tent. Want to find my friend, you. Have story of big trouble for you and your friends.”
“What is it, Crunch? Tell me.”
“It is boss Dietz. See Crunch in Trinité. Make Crunch come back and work for him. Last night, Dietz and Specks make camp on next island.” Crunch pointed in the direction of an island about half a mile away.
“They leave Crunch to guard camp. But Crunch hear them talk. Tonight, when you all asleep, they come to this island. They going to break up your boats. Crunch wait until they far away, then come over here to give warning. Dietz bad man, very—”
Crunch left his sentence hanging in air. He stared in disbelief at the front of the tent.
He was looking at Derek. His eyes swung from Derek to Biff, then back to Derek and back again from one boy to the other.
“Is more magic!” Crunch howled, terror in his voice. He turned to run.
“Wait, Crunch. Stop.” Biff ran over to the Indian and took him by the arm. “It’s no more magic. There are really two of us. Me—I’m Biff. That’s my name. He’s my friend Derek. Come here, Derek.”
Derek joined them.
“Touch him, Crunch.”
Crunch’s hand went out carefully. He touched Derek, then drew his hand back quickly.
“You see, Crunch, he’s not a ghost, not a spirit. He’s a real person. Just like I am. The only thing, we look very much alike.”
Crunch could only shake his head. If his faith in Biff had not been so great, he would have turned and fled.
“All right, Crunch. You believe me? You know you’re not just seeing things?”
Crunch nodded his head slowly.
“Okay, Crunch. We want to thank you for giving us this warning.”
“No want you to get hurt. Now Crunch go before boss comes back.”
Biff and Derek walked to the edge of the water with Crunch.
“I’ll fix some chow,” Uncle Charlie called.
The boys watched Crunch climb into a small dory and row off. He was facing them as he pulled away, and he was still staring from one boy to the other.
“What do we do now?” Biff asked when he and Derek rejoined Charlie Keene.
“We carry on as if we knew nothing. We’ll explore another place this morning. We’ll go to Trinité this afternoon and replenish our air and food supplies. Tonight, we’ll be ready to give Dietz an unexpected reception.”
The pearl diving that morning was no more productive than it had been the previous day. Noon found the three in the cabin cruiser, heading for Trinité. In town, Derek left Biff and his uncle. He was off on his quest for his father.
The three met again at the prearranged hour of six o’clock and embarked for the return trip to their island camp.
Tension mounted as the evening hours on the island dragged slowly by. At 11P.M.Charlie Keene arose from his cot. He had ordered Biff and Derek to try and rest.
“Let’s go.”
The boys followed Uncle Charlie down to the cabin cruiser and the dory.
“You both know what you’re to do?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Keene,” Derek replied.
“All set, Uncle Charlie,” Biff said.
“Crunch may or may not be with them. I imagine he will be. But I’m sure we don’t have to worry about him now. Okay, Derek, into the cruiser. Biff, you and I will hide behind the dory. Derek, you know when to start and what to do.”
“I do.”
“All right. Take your positions.”
Derek waded out and climbed aboard the cruiser. Biff and his uncle dug into the sand on the beach side of the dory.
Their wait began. It seemed endless. Biff kept glancing at the illuminated dial of his watch. Twelve o’clock. Twelve-thirty.
“Think maybe they found out that Crunch warned us?” Biff asked in a low voice.
“I don’t think so, Biff. How would they?”
Just after one o’clock, Biff and his uncle came alert. From a distance over the water, they heard the sound of a boat engine. It grew louder as the boat drew nearer. Then the sound stopped suddenly.
Biff was puzzled.
“Engine trouble, or have they given up the idea?” he whispered.
“Wait,” his uncle whispered back.
After a few minutes, a new sound came to their ears: the sound of oars rasping against oarlocks, the soft splash of oar blades dipping in and out of the water.
Biff knew now why the engine had been cut—so Dietz could approach without awakening his prey.
The sound of a boat grating gently on sand was heard next. Dietz and Company had made their landing. Biff and his uncle could hear two men conversing in low voices. The voices came nearer. The enemy was standing directly across from where Biff and his uncle lay hidden behind the dory.
“Walk up toward the tent, Crunch.” It was Dietz’s voice. “Keep them from coming down here if they wake up. Okay, Specks, start drilling.”
That was the plot! Drill holes in the dory. Make it unfloatable. What devilment had they planned for the cruiser? These thoughts flashed through Biff’s mind.
Just as Specks lifted one leg over the gunwale, Charlie Keene, still hidden, let go with his automatic. Eight shots in rapid succession shattered the night silence.
From the cabin cruiser came blast after blast from the boat’s foghorn.Hurrammppp!...Hurrammppp!...Hurrammppp!
Specks leaped out of the dory.
“They’re laying for us,” Dietz shouted. “Run for the boat!”
Uncle Charlie had slipped in another cartridge clip, and this time his eight rapid-fire shots were aimed just over the heads of the fleeing Dietz and Specks. Derek kept working the foghorn. The noise tore at the night.
Dietz slipped and fell into the water as he jumped for his boat. Specks was frantically shoving it off the beach. Dietz scrambled in. Bullets from the automatic’s third clip were stinging the water around Dietz’s boat like angry wasps.
The frightened pair finally got their engine started, backed off at full throttle, swung around and headed out to sea.
The foghorn continued its angry growling.
“Okay, Derek,” Uncle Charlie called. “Lay off. They’re long gone.”
Derek joined Biff and his uncle, and they watched the light of the fast-disappearing boat. Then, the tension relieved, the three sank down on the sand and howled with laughter.
When Biff was finally able to control his laughing spell, he got up with a start.
“Crunch!” he exclaimed. “What happened to him? I didn’t see him get in the boat.”
“He’s probably halfway across the Atlantic by now,” Charlie answered. “Swimming his lungs out to get away from the evil spirits.”
A search of the small island was started. Crunch was found on the far side, cowering behind a small sand dune.
Once the giant Indian had been calmed down—and Biff had to work hard on him to convince him the evil spirits had fled—Crunch fell to his knees and with outstretched arms, said to Biff:
“Please. Crunch stay with you now, work for you? Do anything you say. Crunch afraid to go back to boss Dietz.”
“Good for you, Crunch. Glad to have you join us.”
The four walked back to the tent.
“I don’t know where you’re going to sleep, Crunch,” Biff said doubtfully.
“Crunch not sleep—stand guard outside tent,” the Indian replied.
Biff turned to his uncle. “What’s Dietz trying to accomplish now?” he asked.
“Harassment, Biff. Stalling. Working out a plan. First of all, he wants to be around when we locate the exact spot of the pearl fishery. Then—well—”
“Then what, Mr. Keene?” Derek asked.
“Nothing to worry about, Derek.”
“You’re holding something back, Mr. Keene. I want to know the truth. I want to know what I’m in for.”
Charlie Keene spoke in a quiet voice. But his words were chilling.
“As far as he knows, your father is gone, Derek—if Dietz can get rid ofyou, then the claim becomes open again.”