Suddenly, Jerry was back in the cockpit with him, and the sail bag, still full, was dropped on the deck at his feet.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Sandy, was that the only heavy bag there was?” Jerry asked.
“That’s right. The only other bag was so light it must have been the jib. What’s the matter?”
Jerry shook his head slowly. “We’re in real trouble now,” he answered. “That’s not a spinnaker at all. It’s a spare genoa!”
“But—but I saw the bag marked spinnaker the other day!” Sandy spluttered. “Why would Uncle Russ put a spare genoa in a bag marked for a spinnaker?”
“He wouldn’t,” Jerry answered. “And what’s more, he didn’t. I was able to make out the letters on the bag, and they said ‘genoa.’ Brace yourself for a shock, buddy. Iknowwe had a spinnaker aboard. And I know we didn’t have two jennies!”
“Do you mean we’ve done it again?” Sandy gasped.
“That’s right,” Jerry said sadly. “We goofed again, and took Jones’s boat instead of yours!”
There was nothing to say. They turned in silence to look aft at the dim white shape that followed them through the night, and that slowly ate away at the distance that kept them apart.
“What can we do now?” Sandy asked.
“Just what we’re doing,” Jerry answered mournfully. “Just sail the best we can and hope that he won’t close in on us before we come across some other boat.”
“Maybe Jones won’t find our spinnaker,” Sandy suggested. “If he thinks he’s on his own boat, he knows he hasn’t got a spinnaker below, and maybe he won’t see any reason to go poking around in our sail locker.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Jerry said. “We can make a mistake like this—and make it twice—because neither of us is really familiar with your boat. But a good sailor like Jones knows his own boat the way he knows his own living room. He isn’t going to be fooled the same way we were!”
“Still,” Sandy reasoned, “that’s no guarantee he’s going to go to our sail locker, is it?”
“It’s almost a sure bet,” Jerry replied. “He’s probably got Turk looking around now to see what kind of extra canvas we might have on board, and when he finds that spinnaker, we can kiss our chances goodbye!”
“Well, he hasn’t found it yet,” Sandy said stubbornly. “And until he does, there must be something we can do to get more speed out of this boat!”
Stirring out of his gloom, Jerry trimmed the mainsheet and then the jib. Then suddenly he brightened. “Say! I remember reading about one trick that might help us. It’s called wing-and-winging. What you do is rig the jib on the opposite side from the mainsail when you’ve got the wind at your back. It’s supposed to act almost like a spinnaker.”
“Well, let’s do it!” Sandy said. “What do you want me to do?”
“You just hold the course, like before,” Jerry explained. “I’ll go forward and re-rig. When I tell you to, you uncleat the jenny sheet, and I’ll swing the sail around on the other side and brace it out. I’ll use the boat hook for a whisker pole to hold it in place. Maybe this’ll turn the trick!”
He clambered forward, and once more Sandy was left alone with the tiller, the star and the masthead. For a few minutes he thought only of holding the course, until he heard Jerry’s voice, “Now!”
Leaning forward, Sandy uncleated the sheet which held the genoa jib in trim, where it had flown almost useless before the mainsail. He watched eagerly as Jerry hauled the sail around to the windward side, lashed the boat hook to the clew and swung the big triangle outboard. Almost instantly, the jenny started to fill, and Sandy felt the little sloop start forward.
Jerry quickly leaped into the cockpit and secured the sheet, trimming the billowing sail. “It’s working!” he panted. “This may just turn the trick!”
They listened in satisfaction to the increased sound of the waves slipping past the sloop’s sides and muttering in the wake. They could actually feel the difference in the motion of the boat.
“Jones has probably had his jib winged out all this time,” Jerry said. “That’s why he’s been closing in on us so fast. Maybe this will keep the distance the way it is until we can get ashore or get help!”
“I sure hope so!” Sandy agreed.
“Just hope he doesn’t find that spinnaker! As long as we’re both flying the same sail area, and as long as we’re both heading downwind, there’s not much he can do to catch us. Running before the wind this way, equal boats with equal canvas flown in the same way will come out just about the same. It’s on a reach, or beating against the wind that expert sail handling really makes the difference. And I’m sure glad we’re not on some other point of sail, because Jones would outsail us every time!”
With that thought to cheer them, the boys sailed in silence. Above them, clouds occasionally blotted out the stars of the dark moonless night, and it was hard to set a course by any one of them. At the helm, Jerry steered as much by the feel of the wind on his back as by the stars he could see.
Behind them always, never drawing any nearer, but never falling astern, was the white blur of Jones’s canvas. It was as if the two boats were tied together with a fixed length of cable or a rigid bar that would not allow the gap between them to change.
The race went slowly. It was like a chase in some fantastic dream, Sandy thought, a dream where he was running in slow motion, trying with every ounce of strength to make his legs go faster.
But there was a difference, for here there was no exertion, no strain, except on the nerves. Here all was, to a casual glance, peaceful and pleasant. If any boat were to pass, all its passengers would see would be two pretty sloops, out for a night-time sail.
Suppose another boat did come? How would they know? Then Sandy remembered the flare pistol. He had put it on the seat when they had come aboard! Maybe the bulky brass gun would come in handy again! He searched the night for some sign of a boat’s running lights, but saw only the same black sea and sky on all sides. Still, perhaps nearer shore....
The nightmarish quality of the race increased as each moment wore on. It seemed to Sandy that he was doomed to sail on forever, like the legendary Flying Dutchman, never getting to shore, never getting within hailing distance of another boat.
He strained his eyes against the darkness ahead, and then turned to look astern at the following shape of Jones’s boat, stubbornly staying with them at the same fixed distance. He almost wished that Jones would in some way catch up, just to break the tension. Maybe in a fight, there would be a chance! At least, they wouldn’t just be sitting and waiting.
As he watched, something on the pursuing sloop seemed to change. A shimmer of white sails, then nothing.
“Jerry!” Sandy whispered, gripping his friend’s arm. “Look back there! I thought I saw something change in his sails. I couldn’t tell for sure, but doesn’t it seem to you that the shape is different now?”
Jerry squinted back at Jones’s boat. “I think you’re right,” he said. “It looks as if he’s changed his sail trim some way. I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve this time?”
“Do you think he’s found our spinnaker?” Sandy asked.
As if in answer, the white shape behind them altered once more. A new piece was added to it—a long, flapping shape. As they watched, fascinated and fearful, but unable to do a thing, the long white triangle billowed out, changed into a full, taut shape and lifted high above the deck of Jones’s boat.
“So that’s a spinnaker,” Sandy said.
“It sure is,” Jerry answered grimly. “Take a good look at it, because it may turn out to be the last one we’ll ever see!”
As Jones’s spinnaker filled and lofted, a fresh breeze came up from astern, tugged at the rigging, tightened the sails and sent the boys’ sloop ahead at a sharper pace.
“Feel the breeze!” Sandy said. “Maybe that’ll help us out of trouble!”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Jerry replied. “The same breeze is helping Jones, and he’s got an awful big sail up to catch it!”
“Even so, Jerry,” Sandy objected, “I seem to remember you saying something that ought to give us a chance now....”
“If you do, you’d better let me know,” Jerry said, “because I sure don’t feel very full of ideas now.”
Sandy wrinkled his brow and strained at his memory. There seemed to be some fact, some idea half remembered from all Jerry had told him, that ought to help. He looked astern, and the sight of Jones’s sloop bearing down on them and swiftly closing the gap between the two racing boats, seemed to have just the stimulating effect he was looking for.
“I know!” he almost shouted. “Didn’t you say that we can do better on a reach than a boat with a spinnaker can do downwind?”
“That’s right,” Jerry said doubtfully. “But we have to sail a downwind course to get to shore.”
“Well, what’s your hurry?” Sandy asked. “Why don’t we put off going ashore just now? I mean, if we take off on a reach, maybe we can lose Jones in the dark before he can change sails to follow us. If we can just put some distance between us, we can head back for shore later!”
Jerry clapped Sandy on the shoulder and shouted, “You’re right!” Then he looked back at Jones’s boat, clear in shape, but not in detail. “I wish I could see how he has his spinnaker sheeted, but I can’t make it out. Still, let’s just take a chance.” He looked at Sandy in admiration. “Boy, you’re sure catching on fast! That was a real racing sailor’s idea!”
Carefully selecting the best course to give their boat the most speed and to lose the least time in putting about, Jerry instructed Sandy.
“We’re going to jibe,” he said, “but don’t worry. This is going to be deliberate, not accidental. It’s the accidental jibes that wreck the rigging. We’re going to put about this way so’s not to waste time shifting the genoa jib to the other side. As soon as I’ve got that whisker pole ready to come off, we’ll do it.”
He went forward, and after a moment’s work, quickly returned to the cockpit. “Ready now,” Jerry said. “I’ll take the tiller and you take the mainsheet. As I start to put about, you haul in on the sheet, until the boom is right over the keel of the boat. Then I’ll put her hard over, and you let the sail out evenly on the other side until I say stop. Got it?”
Sandy wasn’t sure, but he figured that this was no time for more detailed instruction on the art of the deliberate jibe. Holding the mainsheet, and his breath, he silently hoped that he knew what he was doing. One mistake now—the wrong kind of jibe, that could wreck the rigging—would surely put them back in Jones’s hands.
He watched Jerry carefully, and, following his instructions, started to haul in on the mainsheet. It came very lightly and easily. Remembering the terrific force of the jibe on the first day’s sailing, though, Sandy knew enough not to be fooled by appearances. He shortened the sheet so that he would not be taken unawares when the wind caught the mainsail on its new tack.
A few seconds of hauling and shortening brought the mainsail directly over the center of the boat, with the sheet securing it tightly against the dangerous sudden jibe. Then, as Jerry brought the sloop about hard on her new course, the wind took the sail. The boat heeled far over, leaning its lee side into the waves through which they were cutting with a new speed.
Sandy held hard to the sheet, the pull of which was almost cutting his hand. The load of wind in the taut sail transmitted its strength to the sheet, and became a hauling, tug-of-war enemy.
“Let her out!” Jerry shouted. “More! More! Okay ... hold her there!” Sandy felt some of the pull lessen as he allowed the sail to swing farther out over the side. “Good,” Jerry said. “Now take the tiller—hold everything as it is—while I free the jenny and trim it properly.”
Sandy, the mainsheet wound tightly about his right hand, took the tiller in his left, while Jerry went forward to do his job. He was burning with eagerness to look back to see how their maneuver had affected Jones, but he didn’t dare. He had too much to think about to take his eyes away even for a second from his own work of sailing. This was the first time he had handled both the tiller and mainsheet and it was really the first time he had actually handled the boat. There was a new sense of command now and of real control. The feel of the boat was complete. It almost seemed alive. His hands told him how a change of rudder position worked a change on the sail, or how a shift of the mainsail, a few inches in or out, affected the pull on the helm.
In a few minutes, Jerry was back in the cockpit, trimming the genoa sheet and setting the sail in its best shape ahead of and overlapping the mainsail. When all was made fast, he took the tiller from Sandy once more, and the boys were at last free to look back.
What they saw was not encouraging. As they had expected, the change of course had increased the distance between them and Jones, but the distance was not great enough to take them out of sight. A few minutes of looking revealed that they were not likely to outdistance Jones on this tack any more than they had on the downwind run.
“How come we can’t beat him?” Sandy asked. “He surely hasn’t had time to get his spinnaker down and his genoa up, has he?”
“He didn’t have to,” Jerry answered. “He’s using his spinnaker now as if it were a genoa. It’s a good stunt. What he did was to bring the spinnaker pole forward and lash it to the deck, so that it made a kind of bowsprit. Then he sheeted the sail flat. It makes a powerful sail that way.”
“What if he wants to go on the opposite tack?” Sandy asked. “How can he put about?”
Jerry grinned. “I think you’ve done it again, Skipper,” he said. “That’s the best question you’ve asked all night!”
“What do you mean?” Sandy asked, puzzled.
“I mean that he can’t put about on the other tack without an awful lot of trouble. We can, and we will, and with luck we’ll lose him that way!”
This time the maneuver was a familiar one of bringing the sloop up into the wind, shifting the genoa jib and coming off the wind to the new tack. It was performed smoothly, both boys working like an experienced crew.
On the new tack, they looked about once more for Jones’s following sloop. As they had hoped, the strange zigzag they had described had left him far astern, but still in sight. Even as they watched, they saw Jones drop his spinnaker and re-rig it on the new tack. Once more, he was in pursuit!
“I’ve never seen anyone handle sails that well,” Jerry said in unwilling admiration.
“Do you think we can outmaneuver him?” Sandy asked.
“Well, we might keep up the sort of thing we’ve been doing,” Jerry answered. “If we keep changing tacks, we can probably keep him out of close shooting range all night. Then, by morning, we can hope to see some other boats and maybe get help. There’s only one thing wrong with that plan, though.”
“I know,” Sandy offered. “We’re all right as long as we don’t make any mistakes. But the minute we goof on one maneuver, we lose the race! Right?”
“Right,” Jerry said. “Still, I don’t see what else we can do but try. We haven’t got much choice.” As they sailed on in silence, Sandy reviewed their situation. The trouble with their plan was a simple one. They had to do a perfect job of sailing, and he doubted whether they were up to it. All Jones had to do was follow their maneuvers, and when they made their first mistake, he would close in. There was no hope, he could see, in waiting for Jones to make the first mistake himself. The man was too good for that.
If only they could find some new way to take the initiative, things might work out, Sandy thought. This cat-and-mouse game couldn’t possibly do any good. Besides, even if they could hold out till day-light, there was no guarantee that they would get help from any other boat before Jones could finish the job. After all, lack of light was all that was preventing Jones from firing at them now. When morning came, it would most likely be accompanied by a hail of shots!
The more Sandy thought, the less it seemed that they could find a way out of their desperate straits. Then his gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Jerry.
“Got any more ideas?” he asked. “I know it’s my turn to think up a good one, but I can’t seem to come up with a thing.”
“I don’t know,” Sandy answered. “It seems to me though, that we’re going to have to do something really different now if we’re going to get back to shore in one piece!”
Then he suddenly sat up straighter, pushing back his blond forelock. “Jerry! I think I have an idea!”
“What is it?” Jerry asked eagerly.
“It may sound crazy, but I want to go back on a downwind course again!”
Jerry looked puzzled. “A downwind course? Sandy, we don’t have a chance that way! That’s the way we were sailing when Jones first started after us, and with his spinnaker in place, he’ll have us in no time!”
“I know,” Sandy said, “but I have an idea that might work this time. I want Jones to get close—real close—to try this!”
Jerry shook his head. “It sounds nutty to me,” he said, “but if you think you’ve got something that’ll work, I’m game. Just tell me what....”
“Not now, Jerry,” Sandy cut him off. “Let’s just change course while I work out the details. If we don’t do this now, I might lose my nerve!”
“I’ll do it,” Jerry agreed, shaking his head doubtfully from side to side. “But what worries me isn’t that you might lose your nerve. I’m afraid that you’ve already lost your mind!”
It was still pitch-dark on the Pacific, miles off Cliffport, but Sandy saw a dim, gray smear of light in the east that told him dawn was not too far off. Dawn—and the shots it would bring from Jones and Turk!
If his plan didn’t work now, it would never work, he knew. This was to be really a one-shot try! But better to try, he felt, than to tack aimlessly back and forth, waiting for Jones to close in.
Almost mechanically, Sandy helped Jerry put the sloop about on her new course before the wind. Once again the genoa jib was held out wing-and-wing with the boat hook, and once again the mainsheet exercised only a light pull in his hand. With everything set, Sandy and Jerry turned their attention to the sloop behind them.
The pursuing white sails shone dimly through the darkness as Jones followed them in their course. His spinnaker, released from its duty as a genoa, was once more flying full and round before him, taking advantage of every puff of wind at his back. It was a foregone conclusion that he would catch them now, unless they were even faster than before in putting about on some new tack.
Jerry could not stand the suspense a moment longer. “Sandy, what are you going to do?” he cried. “Whatever it is, if we don’t do it now, we’re goners!”
“Not yet,” Sandy muttered. “He’s got to get closer!”
“If he gets any closer, he’s going to start shooting,” Jerry replied. “What do we do then?”
“We’ve got to be ready for it,” Sandy answered. “I expect him to shoot, and I expect him to start pretty soon. In fact, we’d better get down as far as possible right now!”
Both boys sat together on the cockpit deck, Jerry awkwardly steering and Sandy holding the mainsheet in his left hand. “You steer, Jerry,” he said. “I’m going to turn around so I can keep an eye on Jones. I expect the fireworks to start any minute now!”
“I can do without the entertainment,” Jerry said. Then he added once more, “Boy, I sure hope you know what you’re doing! If you don’t....” His voice trailed off.
Half kneeling, Sandy crouched by the stern seat, keeping as much under cover as possible. Over the edge of the afterdeck he saw Jones’s sloop, closer now than it had been ever since their fantastic race had begun. For some reason, Jones was holding back, not closing in as fast as he had been before. Sandy knew that he must be puzzled, and trying to figure out what their next move would be. His success depended on outthinking them as much as it did on outsailing them, and his skill lay largely in his ability to guess what maneuver the boys were going to try next. This time, Sandy thought, he must really be baffled. No one in his right mind would try to escape as they were doing!
For minutes that seemed like hours, the chase continued with Jones making no effort to advance. Then, Sandy realized, Jones made up his mind to attack. His sails were trimmed fuller, his spinnaker lofted higher, and a white bow wave broke out to signify Jones’s new speed. There wasn’t much time left now before things would start popping!
By now, less than one hundred yards separated the two boats. Not much more distance, Sandy thought, than a target range. Still, it wasn’t quite close enough....
A shot! As they heard the crack of the pistol, the whine of the bullet passed overhead! Another shot—another—and a piece of the coaming splintered off uncomfortably close to Sandy’s ear!
Jones’s boat surged on, preceded by a rain of shots. Now less than fifty yards of water were between them! More shots followed, mostly going through the sails. With athunk, one hit the hull—another gouged up the deck—a third hit the tiller, not six inches from Jerry’s hand.
Jerry’s face looked white as he craned his neck to look up at his friend. “Whatever you’re planning, I wish you’d tell me now,” he said. “Because I may not be around to see the big moment when it comes!”
“You’ll be here,” Sandy said, “because the big moment is now! Turn around with me and watch Jones’s boat. If this works, it’s going to be something worth watching!”
As Jerry changed his position, he saw for the first time that Sandy had the big brass flare gun in his hand! He was cocking it carefully, and keeping an eye on Jones’s sloop which seemed to be almost ready to ram them. Lying flat on the foredeck of the pursuing boat, they could clearly see the figure of Turk, hurriedly reloading his pistol.
“You’re not going to try to shoot him with that?” Jerry said. “Those things are way too inaccurate! You won’t stand a chance!”
“Not him,” Sandy said. “It!” He steadied the flare gun on the edge of the afterdeck and squinted down its length, aiming at the spinnaker!
Seeing now what Sandy was attempting, Jerry crouched beside him and held his breath. Sandy waited till almost the last possible minute until, just as Turk was raising his pistol to fire once more, he released the flare.
A dazzling arc of fire leaped from the brass muzzle straight for the bellying spinnaker! It landed in a shower of sparks, bright enough to show them Turk’s astonished face turned upward to see what had hit them. The shot had hit squarely in the center of the ballooning sail, burning a small, red-ringed hole which slowly spread.
Would this be all? Just a spreading ring of coals that would die in a minute or two? If this was all, it was not enough! Then, just as Sandy was beginning to fear that he had made a mistake that might well cost them everything, the sail burst into flame!
The column of fire shot straight upward into the blackness of the night, vividly illuminating both boats. In its brilliant light, the boys saw Turk stand up, black against the flames, then leap overboard.
“One down!” Sandy said. “But what about Jones?”
As the flaming spinnaker spread its fire to the mainsail and the mast, they saw Jones rise in the cockpit, level his rifle and shoot. Six shots rang out in quick succession, and all six whizzed harmlessly by. Then Jones flung his empty gun into the sea and turned his attention to the fire.
Jerry and Sandy sailed slowly away from the flaming scene, and then started to sail in a circle around it, still watching Jones. He had gotten a bucket from below, and was throwing sea water, as fast as he could scoop it up, over the burning and the unburned parts of the sloop. The fire was gaining though, and his efforts were obviously doomed to failure.
“If he hadn’t been so busy shooting when the fire started,” Jerry said, “he would have stood a good chance of putting it out. The delay is going to sink him!”
Jones worked feverishly until the last possible moment, until the decks and the cabin were aflame, and the fire had spread to the little cockpit. Finally, when it was obvious that there was no more he could do, he kicked off his shoes and jumped over the side.
“What do we do now?” Sandy asked. “We can’t just leave them there to drown. They probably deserve it, but I don’t think it’s up to us to judge what kind of sentence they get.”
“You’re right,” Jerry agreed. “But if we take them aboard, we won’t stand much of a chance against them. Why don’t we try to find them and toss them a couple of life jackets so they can stay afloat while we make up our minds?”
It was no trouble to find Turk, who came swimming up to the side to beg to be taken aboard. Sandy kept the empty flare pistol aimed at him while Jerry looked for the life jackets. When he had found them, he tossed one over the side, and Turk struggled into it. Then, still frightened of the flare gun which he did not know was empty, he held up his hands tamely to allow Jerry to tie them together.
“Now will ya lemme come on board?” he pleaded.
“I don’t think so,” Sandy answered. “I think you’ll be safer at the end of a long line. Just relax, and we’ll tow you back to shore!”
With Turk in tow, the sloop handled rather sluggishly as the boys circled the scene of the fire searching for Jones. The bright light of the flames had died to a glowing, dull orange which was soon to go out altogether as the sloop settled lower and lower in the water.
“What we need is a searchlight,” Jerry said. “We may never find him unless he swims to us the way Turk did!”
“Listen!” Sandy said. “If I’m not mistaken, I hear a searchlight coming now!”
Turning in the direction of the new sound of powerful marine motors, they were met with a bright searchlight beam, which swept from them to the burning sloop and back again. For the first time since their adventure had started, Sandy felt a genuine feeling of relief, as the Coast Guard cutter reversed its engines and came to a neat stop alongside.
With the arrival of the Coast Guard, the problem of finding Jones solved itself. He quickly realized the hopelessness of his position and swam in from the darkness toward the cutter and the sloop, tamely giving himself up.
It was only after he and Turk had both been taken on board the Coast Guard vessel and placed under guard that the captain of the cutter, Lieutenant Ames, started to ask the necessary questions.
He listened, absorbed in the story, until Sandy had finished talking. Then he sighed. “That’s quite a yarn, boys. It sounds pretty wild. For your sakes, I hope that you can show some evidence to back it up. Otherwise, all we have is your word. Now, your word may be good enough for me—” he held up a hand to forestall Sandy’s objections—“but it’s going to take more than that to make a charge of counterfeiting stick in a court of law.”
“We’vegotmore than that!” Sandy said angrily. “We can show you the island, and unless I miss my guess, we’ll find Jones’s counterfeiting presses there!”
“I hope so,” Lieutenant Ames said. “Meanwhile, since you’ve made charges against these men, I’ll hold them in custody until we get ashore. Then I’ll turn them and the whole case over to the FBI, where it belongs.”
His official statement done, Lieutenant Ames relaxed into a boyish grin. “You can get those scowls off your faces now,” he said. “I just wanted you to realize that we’ve got to have good, solid proof before this business is over with. As for me, I believe your story, and I think the FBI will, too.”
“I’m not too worried about proving our story about Jones and Turk,” Sandy said. “But what worries me is how we’re going to get the freighter, now that it’s out of U.S. coastal waters.”
“The Navy will take care of them,” Lieutenant Ames said. “But that reminds me, you didn’t tell me the name of the freighter, and we’ll need to radio that to the Navy right away.”
“I noticed the name on the lifeboat,” Jerry said. “It was theMary N. Smith, from Weymouth.”
“No!” Sandy said. “You must have gotten it mixed up in the darkness. I saw it clear as day on the stern. It was theMartin Southfrom Yarmouth!”
“I’m sure I had it right,” Jerry said. “I remember thinking to myself that it was a pretty innocent, girlish name for such a dirty freighter!”
“Maybe you’re both right,” Lieutenant Ames said. “It sounds to me as if both names have a lot in common. They probably have a set of phony papers under each name—and maybe under three or four more names that sound a lot like those. That way, all they have to do is paint out and change a few letters after each port, instead of having the whole job to do. It allows them to make quick shifts of identity.”
“It also lets them explain that they were picked up because of an accidental similarity of names, in case of trouble,” Jerry put in. “I wonder what name they’re using now,” he added.
“That’s pretty easy to guess,” the Coast Guard officer said. “If I were changing names after leaving a port, I’d paint the bow and stern while I was at anchor, and leave the lifeboats and other things for when I was at sea. My guess is that we’ll find them sailing as theMartin Southfrom Yarmouth.”
“Unless,” Sandy added, “unless they decided to change it to something else while at sea, after the trouble. After all, they have no idea whether Jones got us or we got him, and they’ll probably be expecting to get picked up.”
“Well, we won’t take any chances,” Ames said. “I’ll radio the Navy now to be on the lookout for any freighter with a name anything likeMartin SouthorMary N. Smith. And if I know those boys, we’ll have a report on them within the next few hours!”
After giving his instructions to the radio operator, Ames decided it was time to head for shore and turn over Jones, Turk and the boys to the FBI. It was decided to take the sloop in tow behind the cutter, and Sandy went over the side to find a towing line to hand up to the cutter’s deck.
“Come on over with me,” Sandy said, “and I’ll show you some of the bullet holes we’re carrying. They ought to help support our story!”
Lieutenant Ames followed Sandy over the side and joined him on the deck of the little sloop, where he examined the holes in the sail and the furrows in the deck and the coamings. “They sure came close!” he said. “You’re pretty lucky to be here in one piece now.” He ran his finger thoughtfully along a deep scar in the coaming near where Sandy’s head had been, and whistled low when he saw the splintered spot on the tiller.
Lieutenant Ames followed Sandy below in search of the spare mooring line. (The original one had been left dangling from the deck of the freighter.) He stood stooped over in the low cabin, surveying the trim accommodations. At last, Sandy found a line that would do, stowed away up forward with the anchor.
Joining Ames in the cabin, he pointed to the locker above the compact galley. “There’s where we found the money when we went looking for the canned food,” he said. “It was filled up all the way to here,” he indicated, sliding back the locker door.
“What do you mean,was?” the Coast Guard officer asked with a gasp. The open locker door revealed the stacked counterfeit, untouched, just as the boys had first seen it!
“Whew!” Sandy sighed. “Well, I guessthattakes care of our case against Jones!”
As they towed the sloop back to Cliffport, heading into the bright colors of a Pacific sunrise, they pieced together what must have happened.
“From what we overheard on the freighter,” Sandy said, “Jones and the freighter captain were both dissatisfied with the original deal they had made for the counterfeit money. Jones wanted more for the stuff, because of the risk he had run with us and because of the added chances he was taking if we disappeared from Cliffport. A local investigation of our disappearance might turn up someone who had seen us near his island.”
“Right,” Jerry added. “And the Captain wanted a larger share than usual for himself because of the risk he was running in getting rid of us for Jones. They bargained about it for a long time.”
Lieutenant Ames nodded. “And Jones wasn’t taking any chances by bringing the money on board until his deal had been settled. He must have been going for it when you saw him and the Captain shaking hands on deck. And the reason he was so desperate when he saw you sailing off was that he knew you were not only escaping, but escaping with the evidence!”
“I guess it’s not always a bad thing,” Sandy laughed, “to make the same mistake twice!”
Three days later, the case ended where it had really begun—back in the Cliffport Boat Yard. Only this time, Sandy and Jerry picked their way over the timbers and rails with Lieutenant Ames instead of with Sandy’s Uncle Russ.
“I guess you boys are glad this is all over,” he said. “I suppose you’re all set for your trip home now?”
“We sure are,” Jerry said. “We just need to buy a few things, and we’re ready.”
“It was sure nice of the FBI to let us have Jones’s sloop as part of the reward,” Sandy added. “I felt pretty bad when I saw my boat on fire. I was sure that if we ever got back to shore, we’d be taking the train home!”
“There was no sense in keeping it,” Ames said. “Not even for evidence. We had all the evidence we needed with that bundle of counterfeit money—and even more than that, with the printing press and the plates we found at Jones’s little resort. And everyone agreed that you ought to have it.”
They walked along the sea wall until they reached the corner of the shed, where Lieutenant Ames suddenly stopped. “As long as you’re thanking the FBI for the boat,” he said, “I think you might as well thank the Coast Guard too!”
“Well, of course,” Sandy said, puzzled. “I only meant that it was the FBI who really had title to it, and they were the ones who decided.... I mean, we’re grateful to you all.”
Ames laughed. “I don’t want to keep you in the dark,” he said. “The FBI gave you the boat, all right, but we decided to pitch in a little, too. Look!”
They turned the corner of the boat-yard shed. In front of them, resting in a high cradle, was the sloop, freshly painted and gleaming in the sun, her sides as smooth as glass.
After both boys had thanked Lieutenant Ames profusely, Jerry asked, “How did you ever get so much done in just three days?”
“Oh, that’s the Coast Guard way with boats,” Ames said and he laughed. “A whole gang of the boys decided to go to work on her, and we did in three days what would take most boat yards a week or two. It started when we decided to fix up the bullet scars, and it just didn’t stop until we had finished the whole thing!”
Climbing to the deck, they inspected the newly painted cabin and cockpit, the freshly varnished coamings and mast, the almost invisible repairs on the decks.
“We’ll have her launched within the next hour,” Lieutenant Ames said. “Why don’t you go into town to buy whatever you need in the meanwhile? It shouldn’t take you too long to get stores for a short trip.”
“That’s a good idea,” Sandy said. “But we’re going to need more than the regular stores. I’m going to spend some of that reward money right away on a new spinnaker. That’s one thing I’ve decided never to be without again!”
“Not only that,” Jerry added, “but we want to get some more shells for the flare pistol. I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable without that on board!”
“There’s something else, too,” Sandy said. “I think we ought to think up a name for this boat right away, and pick up some brass letters for the stern. I don’t want to keep on making mistakes!”
Ames joined in the laughter, then said, “That’s one thing I think you don’t have to do. That is, unless you don’t like the name the Coast Guard picked out for you!”
Rushing to the stern, Sandy and Jerry leaned over to see the shiny brass letters screwed to the counter of their sloop. Looked at upside down, they spelled:
REWARD
SANDY STEELE ADVENTURES1. BLACK TREASURESandy Steele and Quiz spend an action-filled summer in the oil fields of the Southwest. In their search for oil and uranium, they unmask a dangerous masquerader.2. DANGER AT MORMON CROSSINGOn a hunting trip in the Lost River section of Idaho, Sandy and Mike ride the rapids, bag a mountain lion, and stumble onto the answer to a hundred-year-old mystery.3. STORMY VOYAGESandy and Jerry James ship as deck hands on one of the “long boats” of the Great Lakes. They are plunged into a series of adventures and find themselves involved in a treacherous plot.4. FIRE AT RED LAKESandy and his friends pitch in to fight a forest fire in Minnesota. Only they and Sandy’s uncle know that there is an unexploded A-bomb in the area to add to the danger.5. SECRET MISSION TO ALASKAA pleasant Christmas trip turns into a startling adventure. Sandy and Jerry participate in a perilous dog-sled race, encounter a wounded bear, and are taken as hostages by a ruthless enemy.6. TROUBLED WATERSWhen Sandy and Jerry mistakenly sail off in a stranger’s sloop instead of their own, they land in a sea of trouble. Their attempts to outmaneuver a desperate crew are intertwined with fascinating sailing lore.PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER
1. BLACK TREASURE
Sandy Steele and Quiz spend an action-filled summer in the oil fields of the Southwest. In their search for oil and uranium, they unmask a dangerous masquerader.
2. DANGER AT MORMON CROSSING
On a hunting trip in the Lost River section of Idaho, Sandy and Mike ride the rapids, bag a mountain lion, and stumble onto the answer to a hundred-year-old mystery.
3. STORMY VOYAGE
Sandy and Jerry James ship as deck hands on one of the “long boats” of the Great Lakes. They are plunged into a series of adventures and find themselves involved in a treacherous plot.
4. FIRE AT RED LAKE
Sandy and his friends pitch in to fight a forest fire in Minnesota. Only they and Sandy’s uncle know that there is an unexploded A-bomb in the area to add to the danger.
5. SECRET MISSION TO ALASKA
A pleasant Christmas trip turns into a startling adventure. Sandy and Jerry participate in a perilous dog-sled race, encounter a wounded bear, and are taken as hostages by a ruthless enemy.
6. TROUBLED WATERS
When Sandy and Jerry mistakenly sail off in a stranger’s sloop instead of their own, they land in a sea of trouble. Their attempts to outmaneuver a desperate crew are intertwined with fascinating sailing lore.
PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER