HEADING FOR DEEP WATERS
HEADING FOR DEEP WATERS
HEADING FOR DEEP WATERS
On the far side of the cabin wall something—a frying pan, perhaps—began to bang rhythmically as it swung back and forth. The barge was responding sluggishly to the river swells, its tremendous weight of stone lending it a stability that resisted the rise and fall of the water.
Ken’s panic gave him strength. He heaved desperately upward, trying to achieve a sitting position. His head struck the low ceiling with a resounding crack. He fell back, half stunned.
Labored dots and dashes, in the form of grunts, came quickly up from below him. “Y-O-U O-K?”
Ken managed to answer. “O-K.”
Finally he forced himself to try again. He had been almost upright once. If he didn’t heave quite so far—
He was sitting up finally and hunching himself forward until his head was even with a window set in the wall midway along the bunk. The gap between the curtains was wide enough to let him peer out.
There were lights in the distance. But close to the barge everything was in darkness. He could see nothing.
The cabin door began to open and Ken let himself fall back on the bunk.
Cal came in, lighted the kerosene lamp, and then came over to the bunks.
With a single jerk he ripped the adhesive from Ken’s mouth, and then bent to do the same for Sandy.
“That’s so you can say your prayers,” he told them with a laugh. “Yell ’em out loud if you want to. Nobody’s going to hear you now.” He seemed enormously amused at the idea.
Ken worked his jaws a moment. He felt as if Cal had ripped off several layers of skin along with the tape.
Cal was pouring himself a cup of coffee from his apparently bottomless pot.
“Where are we going?” Ken asked evenly.
“Where areyougoing?” Cal threw back his head to laugh again. “Well, now, there’s lots of answers to that question.” He took a long swallow of coffee. “Sailors sometimes call it Davy Jones’s locker. Other folks have different names for it. But whatever you call it, it’s mighty wet and a long way down.”
Then, still laughing, he finished the coffee and went back outside, slamming the door heavily behind himself.
“He’s lying,” Sandy said quickly, from the lower bunk.
“Sure,” Ken agreed. “Remember when Dad was talking about counterfeiters that day at the office? He said they usually printed a lot of bills at one time, before they distributed any of it. Then, when they had all theywere going to make, they distributed it all over the country at one clip—and by that time their printing equipment and everything else was dismantled and scattered. So even if the bills were identified, there was nothing that would tie the counterfeiters up to them.”
“Sure. I remember,” Sandy said.
“So all they’re probably going to do with us is get us safely out of the way some place, until they’re finished with their production and ready to clear out.”
“That’s right.”
But Ken himself hadn’t been convinced by what he said. And he knew that Sandy didn’t believe it either.
Cal had been telling the truth. They both knew that.
The wind sighed gustily along the cabin walls, but otherwise the little room was silent for a long moment.
“Where do you suppose these barges go?” Ken asked finally.
“Who knows?” Sandy, too, managed to conceal the panic in his voice. “Up the East River to Long Island Sound—across the bay to Staten Island—”
Ken’s heart jumped. Maybe Cal was lying after all. “Not out to sea?” he asked. To drown them in the open sea might be comparatively safe. But if the barges stayed as close inshore as Sandy had suggested, drowning would be too risky. A body would wash ashore. Investigation would follow immediately.
“Theycango out to sea,” Sandy admitted slowly. “They go down the coast to Baltimore sometimes—and up to Boston too, I guess.”
“Oh,” Ken said.
With an effort he forced his brain to work. “You’ve sailed out of New York Harbor,” he said. “How long would it take us to be towed out to deep water—in case we are leaving the harbor and heading for the ocean.”
“Depends on which way the tide’s running,” Sandy said, “and what kind of a tug they’ve got on the job. From what we saw on the pier earlier, I’d say all three of the barges are being towed at once—anyway, they all had the same cargo. That’s quite a load. Ought to take four or five hours, I’d guess.”
“What are our chances of signaling one of the other barges from here?” Ken asked.
“Small,” Sandy answered briefly. “It would have been possible shortly after we left the pier,” he went on, “but the towlines are lengthened pretty quickly, especially in dirty weather. We may already be a couple of hundred feet from the barge, and falling behind fast. And there’s nothing back of us,” he reminded Ken. “This was the last barge tied up at the pier—counting from the seaward end of the line.”
“I know.” Suddenly Ken heaved himself up again to a sitting position. All his aches and his weariness were temporarily forgotten in the desperate need for action. “So in that case,” he said, “we’d better see if we can’t get out of this cabin while there’s still a chance of yelling for help. If the next barge is only two hundred yards away—”
But Sandy had interrupted him. “Just how had you figured on doing that?” he demanded.
“I hadn’t—yet,” Ken admitted. “But together we ought to be able to think of something. We’ve got two brains between us—and I doubt if Cal has more than half a one himself.”
“My brain’s not working tonight,” Sandy mumbled.
Ken heard the dead note of despair in his voice. “Look,” he said hastily, “how much of the time will we be alone in here? What are Cal’s duties on this tub?”
Sandy’s answer was reluctant, as if he really were incapable of thought—or believed it to be entirely futile. “They don’t amount to much,” he said finally. “He makes sure the lines are secure. Makes sure the running lights are in working order. Checks the bilges and starts the pump if the water in the hold gets too deep. Generally I guess he just sits in here by the fire.”
At that moment, as if to prove Sandy’s words, Cal came in again. He looked over at them briefly, his thick lip curved in its usual sneer. Then he shook the stove into life, refilled his enamel mug with coffee once more, and settled down in the comfortable chair he had occupied earlier that evening. Deliberately he opened up his newspaper.
Ken clenched his teeth. They couldn’t even discuss the possibilities of escape with Cal sitting there on guard.
In a sudden frenzy he strained at the bonds around his wrists. But even if his hands hadn’t been already numb, he knew instantly he couldn’t break the cord if he struggled over it for a year. The rope around his crossed ankles was equally strong and equally secure.
He could feel the bunk under him jerk as Sandy shifted his weight, and knew that Sandy too had been making the same useless attempt.
The coal in the stove crackled softly. Outside, the spray beat against the walls. Time dragged by endlessly.
Suddenly Ken’s body jarred against the wall of the bunk. He came to, blinking, and realized that despite the tautness of his nerves he had been exhausted enough to sleep. As he twisted himself away from the wall his eyes fell on a clock he hadn’t noticed before, high on the opposite wall. It said five o’clock.
Ken instantly was wide awake. Five o’clock! Then they had been underway for a long time.
He felt the motion of the barge beneath him. It was no longer a steady forward drive. It was an up-and-down heave. And spray was now lashing frequently against door and windows.
Ken knew the barge had left the shelter of the shore. It was nearing the open sea.
His eyes flew to Cal. The man was still seated at the table. He had finished his newspaper and was reading a magazine, his lips forming the words as his eyes followed the lines.
“Sandy,” Ken said softly. “You awake?”
Cal’s eyes flicked toward the bunks and then away.
“I’m awake.” Sandy’s voice was dull. He sounded beaten. He, too, realized their predicament—and he, too, was helpless to fight it.
Suddenly Ken was swept by an anger that overcame his fear and despair. He lunged toward the edge of the bunk.
“I didn’t want to give away too much back there in the shop last night,” he said loudly, hurling his voice against Cal’s bent head, “but I wasn’t kidding when I said the police know about what’s going on there.”
He hoped the lying words would be truth within a matter of hours—that soon, following the trail of torn bills, the police would be on the hunt for the counterfeiters. It seemed impossible that they could locate the barge in time to do the boys any good. But, Ken thought, if he could disturb Cal’s sneering calm—even for a moment—it would be worth it.
“They’ve probably got Grace and Barrack right now,” he went on. “And if you think those two are going to take the rap when they can pin it all on you—”
“Shut up!” Cal said, without looking up. “You’re wasting your time. And you’re talking through your hat.”
“You think the police don’t know about the forced entry into my father’s apartment?” Ken went on.
It was a shot in the dark, but surprisingly it paid off.
“That wasn’t me,” Cal growled, “and nobody can prove it was!” He glared at Ken.
The small triumph was like a jolt of adrenalin pouring through Ken’s veins.
“They know about the illegal entry into the Allen house in Brentwood, too,” he said tauntingly, testing his luck a little farther.
“That wasn’t me either! They—”
Ken couldn’t hear the rest of it. His ears were suddenly filled with a thudding roar.
It wasn’t spray that had hit the wall of the cabin that time. It was solid water—tons and heavy tons of it.
Cal staggered to his feet, grabbed a suit of oilskins and a pair of rubber boots out of a cupboard, flung them on, and dashed out of the cabin.
“Good,” Sandy said. “He’s going to be busy for a while. Now we can get busy ourselves. I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?” Ken wished he could see Sandy’s face.
But before Sandy could answer, Cal came into the room again. A sheet of spray came with him, to hiss and steam where it struck the hot stove.
Cal shoved the door shut and leaned against it for a moment, panting, before he crossed the room to take a kerosene lantern from a shelf. When he had lighted it he left again immediately, fighting his way outside against wind-blown spray that seemed bent on flooding the cabin.
Sandy picked up where he had left off. “That door opens inward against the foot of the bunks. If I could turn around on this bunk so that I was behind the door when Cal opens it, and if I could kick it back against him when he was already in the room, he ought to be pretty well knocked out by the blow.”
“Knocked outside the cabin, you mean?” Ken was trying to visualize what Sandy described. It sounded like a dubious possibility.
“He might be,” Sandy agreed. “That would be all right too, if it just put him out of commission for a while. But what I hope is that if we time it right we can drive him against the opposite wall. Then I think we ought to be able to get rid of these lassos we’re wearing. All we need is plenty of time and some kind of tools.”
Ken was still mulling over the scheme Sandy had outlined. “He’d have to come all the way to the edge of the door—that far into the room—and then stop there a minute.” His voice raised a notch. “And he’d do just that if I were lying right there on the floor in front of him.”
“You?” Sandy’s question reminded Ken of his position on the upper bunk, up under the roof. “How would you get down there without breaking your neck?”
The barge lurched sickeningly. The entire cabin shook as a heavy wave struck the rear bulwark. The coffeepot fell from the stove with a loud clatter and rolled across the floor.
“On the other hand,” Sandy said quietly, when the blow subsided for a moment, “there are worse things than risking your neck.” He paused for a moment. “You hear something?” he asked.
Ken listened. “Yes! An engine! Could it be the engine of—?”
“It’s the pumping engine,” Sandy said grimly. “He’s started it up. We must be shipping water.”
“Oh.” Ken’s momentary hope that it might be the engine of a rescue craft died hard. But he tried to fight off his disappointment. “Good,” he said. “It’ll keep him busy awhile. Give us time to get ready.”
“Maybe,” Sandy said. “Or maybe it means we have less time than we thought. If it’s really as tough out there as it sounds, the tugboat captain may decide to turn back.”
“I see,” Ken said. His throat felt suddenly tight and he swallowed. “And if he decides to turn around, Cal would have to give up the idea of waiting for really deep water. He’d do—what he’s supposed to do to us—right away.”
CATAPULT
CATAPULT
CATAPULT
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try your scheme, Sandy,” Ken said after a moment. “It just means we have to speed up the schedule.”
“That’s what it means,” Sandy said. He laughed grimly. “I’ve got no feeling in my legs. My arms are numb to the elbow. I’ve got about as much chance of standing up as I have of—” He broke off, and Ken could hear him edging over on the bunk. “But I might as well try,” he concluded.
Ken moved until he could see over the rim of his own bunk. “Why stand up? All you have to do is turn around on the bunk.”
“I’ve got to get you down,” Sandy muttered. “If you try it by yourself you’ll probably break your neck in the drop.”
Sandy had flung his legs sideways and was lowering his bound feet to the floor. Because his ankles were crossed he could put only one foot flat on the floor at a time. He leaned forward, pushing himself with thehands tied behind his back. He waited until the barge was momentarily on an even keel and then forced one foot to take his weight.
The leg was numb. It collapsed immediately. Sandy barely managed to fling himself back into the bunk, to save himself from toppling forward onto his face.
Ken could feel sweat tickling his own forehead.
Outside, the pumping engine coughed. It spit, missed fire, caught again, and then died.
“Hear that?” Ken’s voice was as cheerful as he could make it. “Cal’s having a little trouble.”
Sandy was on the edge of the bunk, ready to try again. But he held himself still to listen. “He’d better get that engine going before too long,” he muttered. He pushed his foot against the floor and once more the leg crumpled.
“Try beating your foot on the floor,” Ken said.
Sandy raised his legs and lowered them, thumping first one foot and then the other against the floor.
“What’s all the hurry—about the engine, I mean?” Ken asked, in an effort to distract Sandy’s attention from the knifelike pains that he knew must be shooting through the redhead’s feet and legs. “Barges don’t really need to be pumped out, do they? You couldn’t sink them if you tried, could you?”
“Sure they sink,” Sandy grunted, “if they get enough water aboard.” He gave one last thump and then again tried his weight on his foot.
His knees buckled, but with a desperate effort he straightened up and wedged his broad shoulders against the upper bunk. He braced himself there for a moment, his face contorted with pain.
The barge tilted, lifting its forward end as if the entire Atlantic were piling up under it, thrusting it skyward. Sandy’s shoulders began to slide along the bunk, his poorly balanced body tilting sideways.
Ken twisted swiftly and thrust his legs out over the edge of the bunk, holding them stiff with all his strength. Sandy slid against them. For a moment Ken thought the redhead’s weight would push them aside, and that Sandy would fall past them to the floor. But just as Ken realized that he could no longer bear the strain, the barge reached the peak of its upward lift and began to tilt the other way. Sandy’s body slowly righted itself.
“Now,” Sandy said, “I’m—”
The pumping engine coughed and started. The boys froze. If it began to work smoothly again, Cal would certainly not remain outside in the driving wind and weather.
Just then the engine sputtered several times and died again.
“Quick!” Sandy said. “Maybe the next time he’ll make it. Force your knees apart and bring your legs down over my head. I’ll set you down pickaback.”
“You can’t!” Ken told him.
“Come on. Stop arguing.” Sandy barked the words.
There were times, Ken knew, when Sandy’s stubbornness was like a rock. This was apparently one of those times.
He lifted his legs above Sandy’s head, forcing them apart at the knees until they formed the facing halves of a diamond. The movement was agony.
Sandy ducked his head and brought it up between Ken’s legs, so that Ken’s crossed ankles thrust themselves out before his chin.
Again the engine coughed into life, sputtered, and died. A wave struck the barge’s aft bulwark, and shattered into spray which rattled against the cabin like a hail of machine-gun bullets.
“Throw yourself forward,” Sandy ordered, “and hope for the best. If I go down try to protect your head.”
Ken took a deep breath. Suddenly his perch, five feet above the floor, seemed atop a skyscraper.
“Get ready,” he muttered. “Here goes.”
He leaned back and then lunged forward, his weight shoving Sandy clear of the bunk. The redhead’s foot slid on the tilting floor, his legs buckling. His shoulders jerked to the right. He was fighting with everything he had to keep himself steady.
“Hang on!” he gasped.
A single grunt of pain escaped him as he dropped forward onto his knees, striking the floor with a bone-jarring crash.
For a moment he knelt almost upright, balanced by a fortunate roll of the barge. Then he slumped sideways, no longer able to bear Ken’s weight on his shoulders.
They sprawled in a tangle, Ken’s legs still fastened around Sandy’s neck, their chests heaving, their bodies aching.
Outside, the engine started again. The throb of its exhaust, muffled by the sound of wind and water, seemed steady.
Sandy groaned. “He’ll be coming back in! Get going! Get off my neck!”
Ken tugged and Sandy squirmed and wriggled. Finally Ken was free. With a burst of frenzied strength he managed to roll over on his stomach and shove himself upward to his knees. Then he began to inch his way over the floor to the place in front of the door—the spot where they wanted Cal to stop.
Sandy had also gotten to his knees in front of the bunk. He waited, panting, until the barge heaved in the right direction, and then threw himself over the edge of the lower bunk, squirming and fighting until he was on it again.
When they were both in place, Ken said, “I’ll have to tell you exactly when to kick the door shut. You won’t be able to see him, once it’s open. When I yell, you let drive.”
Sandy didn’t answer for a minute. When he did, his voice was low and jerky. “It’s no use, Ken. I wouldn’t be able to kick a ping-pong ball now.”
“Cut that out!” Ken said sharply. “You’ll do it all right. When you’ve had a minute’s rest. Listen! The engine’s stopped again! Now he’s got to work on it some more. Just relax until he comes in. Take deep breaths.”
A wash of solid water struck the side of the cabin, and water began to ooze in under the door, forming a slowly widening puddle. The kerosene lamp in its wall bracket flickered as a gust of cold wet wind rattled the windows and penetrated inside.
Sandy was lying perfectly still on his back, his legs hanging over the side of the bunk. Ken watched him tensely. Finally Sandy gave a long, shuddering sigh. Then he lifted his head slightly to take a sight on the door, shifted his body a few inches, and slowly brought his knees up toward his chest. If he thrust them out they would strike the outer edge of the door as it was flung open.
Ken’s own sigh of relief came all the way from his numb and nerveless toes. Sandy was going to be all right.
“This look O.K. to you?” Sandy muttered.
“Just right,” Ken told him. “Perfect.”
“But I won’t be able to hold this position for very long. And if I let my legs down—”
“No! Don’t do that!” Ken said urgently. “We won’t get any warning. He’ll just burst in when he comes.”
The engine started up once more.
“See?” Ken said. “It’s going again. Any second now—”
He broke off and listened intently. There was a lull in the storm, and in the unexpected quiet they could hear the pumping engine ticking smoothly away. They could even hear the gurgle of water spouting out of its pipe.
A long minute passed, and then another. Ken watched Sandy, and his heart thudded in sympathy. Sometimes Sandy’s legs would sink forward and down, and Ken would catch his breath. But Sandy always pulled them back again, the muscles of his neck drawn tight with the effort.
“He’ll be here any second,” Ken repeated. “The pump sounds steady as a watch now.”
With a rush the wind came back again, throwing a ton of water against the side wall.
“He won’t stay out in this if he doesn’t have to,” Ken said.
Sandy’s feet suddenly crashed to the floor.
“Sandy!” Ken’s voice snapped like a whip. “Get them up! He might—”
They both heard Cal’s heavy body lunge against the wall near the door, thrust off balance by the wind.
“He’s coming! Sandy!”
Sandy’s feet came up from the floor slowly, inch by inch, and his knees bent back toward his chest.
And then the door started to open, and a heavy rubber boot stepped over the threshold.
Ken’s view of Sandy was immediately cut off. He had no idea whether Sandy would be able to get into position in time or not—or whether he had the strength left to get into position again at all.
Cal’s whole body was in the room now, his right hand pushing the door wide ahead of him. Water streamed down his face. He brushed it out of his eyes with the left hand and caught sight of Ken, near his feet. Instinctively he leaned forward over Ken’s prone body.
“Now!” Ken shouted.
The heavy door traveled only six inches before it struck its crouching target. But those six inches were enough. Somewhere Sandy had found the strength to put his whole weight behind the push.
Cal’s body zoomed sideways. The force of the drive had knocked him off his feet like a bowling ball hitting a tenpin. His arms flailed as he fought for balance. His mouth opened on a shout.
But the shout was never uttered. Cal flew across the cabin, missing the stove by inches. His head crashed against the far wall with a thud that jarred loose a frying pan hanging above the stove. The clang of metal on metal was still echoing in the little room when Cal’s whole big body collapsed in an inert heap.
The door banged shut.
WITH THE HELP OF FIRE
WITH THE HELP OF FIRE
WITH THE HELP OF FIRE
“You did it!” Ken’s exultant shout broke the spell of silence that had fallen on the cabin.
“It looks like it.” Sandy laughed shakily. “Now all we have to do is get these ropes off before he comes to again.”
“If we could find a knife I could back up to you and hack through the ones on your wrists,” Ken said, his eyes traveling rapidly over the room. “There must be one here somewhere. He has meals on board.”
But there was no knife visible. There was no drawer in the table where one might be found. Their survey of the room revealed that the only place in the cabin which might conceal a knife was the row of cupboards high on the rear wall.
“I think I could pull the doors of those things open with my teeth, if I were standing up,” Sandy decided. “Anyway, it’s worth a try. Can you see to it that Cal goes on slumbering comfortably while I’m at it?”
Ken thought a moment. Bound as he was, it was unlikely that he could knock Cal out again if the man began to revive.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Even if I sat on him, he’s big enough to throw me off. I’ve got it! I know how to take care of him. You go ahead, Sandy—if you’ve got the strength to move.”
Sandy was still breathing heavily. “I’m O.K.,” he said. “I seem to have got my second wind.” He began once more to work himself off the bunk.
Ken wriggled over to the armless wooden chair beside the kitchen table and began to shove it laboriously along the floor toward Cal. The man lay on his back, his head a few feet from the wall against which he had been knocked out. His sou’wester had fallen off, and an egg-shaped bump was beginning to swell up almost in the center of his crown.
Ken managed to get the chair between Cal’s body and the wall, and then shoved it forward until its legs straddled the man’s head.
“Now if I can just climb up on the chair,” Ken explained to Sandy, “with my feet on his chest, I’ll be able to give him a solid thump on the chin with my heels if he begins to stir. And if he tries to sit up suddenly he ought to knock himself out again by hitting the bottom of the chair seat.”
Sandy, who had managed to maneuver himself to a spot just beneath the high cupboards, sent Ken a congratulatory grin. “Brain conquers brawn again,” he said. “Good work. Do you need a boost up onto the chair?”
“I’ll make it—somehow,” Ken told him.
He struggled to his knees alongside the chair, maintaining a precarious balance by swinging his bound hands behind his back. Then he tried to jerk himself back and up, onto his bound feet. But his numb ankles gave way and he pitched forward on his knees again with an agonizing thump.
In almost the same moment Sandy, who was also trying to hoist himself into an erect position in front of the cupboards, toppled forward in a similar defeat.
After an instant’s silence each of them asked the same question. “You O.K.?”
“Sure,” Sandy said, past clenched teeth.
“Sure,” Ken echoed.
Ken edged himself into position once more, his chest almost touching the side of the chair. He took a deep breath.
“Wait for the roll,” Sandy said. “It’s coming.”
The barge dipped. Ken used all his energy in an attempt to straighten his knees. He got halfway up. For a second he seemed suspended in mid-air. Then his knees began to buckle. With a last desperate effort he twisted around. When he fell he hit the very edge of the chair and hung there, his body in a long slant that touched the chair seat midway between his hips and his knees. Almost immediately he began to slide downward as the barge reversed its tilt.
Ken threw his head far back. His bound hands scrabbled for a hold on the slippery wood. With all his might he pushed his heels against the floor, trying to hold his position against the pull of the deck beneath him.
He was fighting a losing battle when the barge reached the depth of its dive and began to climb.
Slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, he moved backward onto the seat of the chair.
“You’re almost on!” Across the room Sandy had abandoned his own efforts for a moment in his anxiety over Ken. “Push!”
Ken gave one final shove and then let his breath out with a gasp. He had made it! He slumped against the chair back, his chest rising and falling with the gulps of air he was sucking into his lungs.
After a moment he swung his feet up off the floor and onto Cal’s chest. They landed some six inches from Cal’s chin.
“O.K.,” Ken said. “He’s under control. One little backward jerk and I can subdue any ambitions he might develop. The only trouble is I can’t see his face. So give me a signal if you see him beginning to open his eyes.”
“It will be a pleasure,” Sandy assured him.
Then the redhead returned to his own problem. The cupboard knobs were more than five feet above the floor. There was no way to reach them without standing up.
Sandy made one more gigantic effort to thrust himself upright from his knees.
For an instant he seemed to have succeeded. And then the barge gave an unexpected sideways lurch and Sandy fell heavily on his side.
He lay there perfectly still, his eyes shut in a face that looked startlingly white in the flickering light of the lamp.
“Sandy!” Ken jerked forward involuntarily but caught himself just before he lost his hard-won position on the chair. “Sandy!” he repeated urgently. “Are you—?”
Sandy opened one eye. “I’m—all right,” he gasped.
He raised his head slightly and his mouth tightened with pain.
“But I think I must have twisted my ankle a little when I fell,” he went on after a moment. “I don’t think I can put my weight on it for a while, even if I could get upright.”
“Don’t try it,” Ken said quickly. “You’re going to be no help if you’re knocked out.” His eyes searched the room frantically. “There must besomethingaround here we can use to get out of these ropes.” His voice lifted suddenly. “Maybe Cal’s got a knife in his pocket!”
He leaned forward instinctively toward the body beneath him.
“Don’t get off the chair!” Sandy said quickly. “I’ll come over.”
Again hope seemed to have given him new strength. Slowly at first, and then a little faster, he squirmed his way over the floor. Sitting down near Cal, with his back toward the unconscious man, his bound hands began to fumble with the fastenings of Cal’s oilskins.
Five minutes went by, and then ten more, before Sandy had explored every pocket in the man’s clothes.
“Nothing,” he said. “I guess we’re—” A slight movement caught his glance.
Cal’s eyelid was fluttering. His head turned.
“Ken!” Sandy said quickly. “He’s coming to!”
Ken jerked his heels backward. They smacked against Cal’s chin.
Sandy bent forward for a careful look. “All right,” he said. “You’ve taken care of him.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
“We’ve done the hardest part,” Ken finally burst out. “We’ve got Cal out of the way. Don’t tell me we’re stuck now!”
Sandy didn’t answer.
“Do you suppose I could chew through those ropes on your wrists?” Ken asked.
Sandy grinned faintly. “In about three days, maybe—if they were well boiled first, to tenderize them.”
“But there must be—” Ken broke off. “Listen!”
“Listen to what?”
“The pump’s not running!”
Sandy concentrated, his head nodding slowly. The reassuring chug of the gasoline engine was no longer audible.
“How long ago do you think it happened?” Sandy asked quickly.
“I don’t know. I just noticed it.”
Sandy’s eyes sought the clock.
“Almost eight,” he muttered. A glance at the window told him that the hour was correct. The grayness outside would have been daylight if the weather were less stormy. “We’re probably pretty well out to sea,” Sandy said. “So the weather will be getting worse, if anything. A while ago we were afraid they’d turn back. Now....” His voice sank to a whisper.
“We’re not licked yet,” Ken said stubbornly. “We can’t be—not as long as this thing is still afloat and we’re still conscious.”
The barge shuddered as another solid wave poured over the bulwark and struck the cabin. The water seeping in under the door was coming faster now.
“As long as this thing is still afloat,” Sandy repeated, and shrugged. “That might not be long at this rate.”
“But if we’re really in trouble,” Ken said, “the barge up ahead will be able to tell—now that it’s getting light.”
“They may be able to tell,” Sandy agreed, “though I doubt if they can even see us in this weather. But there’s not much they can do about it except cut our towline if it looks as if this tub were really going down.”
“Would they do that?” Ken sounded incredulous.
“What else could they do?” Sandy asked. “You couldn’t expect them to hold on and be carried down with us.”
Ken swallowed. “We could always go overboard—with something to hang on to. Any piece of wood—”
“Sure,” Sandy said. “And how long do you think we’d last in this kind of a sea—even with something to keep us afloat—when we’re trussed up like this?”
“You mean,” Ken said slowly, “that unless we get that pump going there’s really a chance that—?”
Sandy didn’t wait for him to finish. “That’s just what I mean. The more water she ships,” he explained carefully, in a colorless voice, “the deeper she rides. And the deeper she rides, the more water she takes. It’s what’s known as a vicious circle.”
Crash! That time the water dove full over the cabin roof, pouring down the walls in solid sheets.
How many like that, Ken wondered, would it take to fill the barge to its gunwales and drag it under? How soon—?
But all thought blanked out of his mind as the barge careened far to one side. Ken fought to retain his place, digging his heels into Cal’s rocklike chest.
Sandy, with nothing to brace himself against, slid helplessly across the floor toward the hotly glowing stove.
“Sandy!” Ken shouted. “Watch out!”
But Sandy couldn’t check his headlong dive. His shoulder struck hot metal.
Even as he hit it he was twisting away, with all the strength of his muscles. But the smell of burned cloth quickly filled the air. And as Sandy managed to lunge himself toward the wall, and safety, Ken could see the charred black burn on the sleeve of his windbreaker.
“Did it go through?” Ken asked. “Are you burned?”
To his amazement Sandy’s answering voice was suddenly strong—almost cheerful.
“I just got warmed up,” he said. He twisted around so that Ken could see his face. “We’ll beat this thing yet, Ken.”
Ken stared at him. The thought popped into his head that Sandy’s mind might be wandering. A moment ago he had sounded completely beaten. Now Sandy was edging back toward the stove.
“What are you doing?” Ken demanded. “Sandy, stop!”
“Let me alone. I’m burning to get out of these things.” He lay down on his back in front of the stove and started to lift his legs into the air. “I’m not going to risk working on the ropes around my wrists,” he said. “Too tricky. I couldn’t see what I was doing and I might put my hands out of commission. And I’ll need ’em when we get out there to work that pump. But the ones around my ankles—”
Ken’s heart had stopped pounding in panic. In a sudden flash he had realized what Sandy was planning to do. He was going to burn through the ropes that bound his feet together.
“Can I help?” Ken leaned forward. “Maybe if I—”
“No,” Sandy grunted. “You stay where you are. But keep an eye on me. I can’t see very well from down here.” His feet were above the top of the stove now, and Sandy was lowering them carefully so that the ropes were directly above the metal edge. “How’m I doing?”
“Looks good from here. But be careful!”
New life sounded in both their voices now.
There was a low sizzling sound. The ropes had become damp from the water on the floor. Then again a scorching smell filled the cabin.
“Ouch!” Sandy yanked his legs away. “Too close that time.”
Once more he got into position. Once more the scorching smell rose from the vicinity of the stove.
“One strand gone,” Sandy muttered a few minutes later. He winced and jerked his feet upward but immediately lowered them again.
Ken winced in sympathy.
“There goes another one!” Sandy announced.
And suddenly his feet were free. The cord that had bound them lay in smoking tendrils on the floor.