Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island Part 12

"It's no meat axe; it's a wood axe--look out for your heads," she retorted scornfully. "Clear out of here or I'll make kindling of both of you."

"Put down that cleaver, Lizzie, and let's talk sense. We came here to get Tod Fulton--he's my cousin, you know----" but that was as far as he got.

The girl, her face showing a determination that made nonchalant Phil jump up from his chair and beat a quick retreat, walked up on them, the axe flas.h.i.+ng viciously back and forth before her.

"You're going to get off this island," she exclaimed, "and you're going to do it quick. No tricks now! The first one who makes a break gets this axe in the back--and I can throw straight. About face, now. March!"

There was nothing to do but obey. Sheepishly enough the boys turned and meekly let her drive them out into the dark. As she pa.s.sed the lamp she caught it down from the bracket on the wall with one hand.

Thus they marched across the open ground, along the narrow path and out on the waterfront.

"Our boat is down at the other end of the island" remarked Phil, turning his head ever so slightly.

"I'll have my father bring it over to you in the morning," answered the girl relentlessly. "I see your friends waiting for you over on the other side, so it wouldn't be fair to keep them in suspense."

"You're surely not going to make us try to swim it?" pleaded Phil, pretending great consternation, hoping that he might delay their departure till something might happen to give them the advantage.

"That's not all I am going to do." Setting down her lamp on a convenient rock, and changing her axe to her left hand, she stooped over and picked up a pebble. With a quick jerk she drew back her arm and then shot it out, boy-fas.h.i.+on The boys heard the stone hum as it sailed through the air. An instant, and then a howl of pain arose from one of the Scouts dancing about the blazing camp fire on the other sh.o.r.e. It was a good hundred yards away.

"I just did that to show you what'd happen to you if you didn't head straight for that gang of pirates over there," she said grimly.

"You're _some_--tomboy!" exclaimed Phil, admiringly, Jerry thought, but the girl only laughed sarcastically.

"You first," she demanded. "You're just watching for a chance to catch me off my guard. I'm onto you."

Phil had no choice, so without more ado, he plunged in and began cutting the water neatly in the direction of the camp fire.

"He swims well, doesn't he?" remarked the girl, so easily that Jerry could have sworn she was about ready to laugh.

"He sure does!" he agreed. "He's got me beat a mile. Say," he coaxed, "we didn't mean any harm. We were just looking for a boy who was supposed to have got drowned up the river a piece but we believe landed here on Lost Island. Just tell me whether he's alive or not, and we won't bother you any more."

"Oh, you're no bother. In fact, I rather enjoyed your little visit--though I will admit you scared me a bit when you held the k.n.o.b of the door to the hangar----"

"Hangar? What's that?"

"It's--it's French for--woodshed," the girl stammered. "It's your turn now," motioning toward the water.

"But won't you tell me about Tod?"

"Did you ask my father about him?"

"If it _was_ your father, yes."

"And he didn't tell you!"

"No, and he wouldn't let us search the island."

"Well, I'm my father's daughter. So into the briny deep with you. I hope the fish don't bite you."

"But, look here," began Jerry, then fell silent and moved toward the waters edge, for the girl had picked up a handful of large pebbles and stood plumping them meaningly into the river.

The water was warm, and aside from his clothes, Jerry did not mind the swim. After he had stroked along perhaps a third of the way, he turned on his back. The light had disappeared from sh.o.r.e. He had a moment's impulse to turn back, but was afraid she might be waiting in the darkness to greet him with a laugh and an invitation to take to the water again.

He turned once more and swam steadily across the current. But after a little, once more he turned on his back, only kicking occasionally to keep himself afloat. He fancied he had heard some noise that did not belong with the night.

There it was again, that regular beat as of wood striking against wood.

He listened intently, trying to place the sound. Finally, it dawned on him that it was a boat, rowed by means of a pair of loose oars.

His mind worked quickly. It could not be the Boy Scout boat, for the sound was not right for that. It could only be the man of the island, "Lizzie's" father--she had as much as said he was away. At any rate, Jerry decided, he would wait there and find out. If the worst came to the worst he could always dive out of sight.

Nearer and nearer came the boat. Jerry lay in the water with only his nose showing. He was too heavy-boned to be very good at floating, but the barest movement of hands or feet kept him from going under. At first he could make out nothing, but as his eyes focused more sharply he distinguished a slow-moving shape against the gray of the sky. It was barely twenty feet away, headed almost directly at him.

A few noiseless strokes put him inside the boat's path, but when he stopped paddling he realized to his horror that the boat had changed direction and was cutting in toward the island. It was almost upon him when he dived.

He was not quick enough. The landward oar caught him a flat blow across his eyes. Blinded, dazed, his mouth full of water, he flung up his arms. He had a vague sense of having caught hold of something, and he held on. Through a sort of mist he heard a voice saying laughingly:

"Hit a snag, John. Better be careful or you'll wreck the s.h.i.+p in sight of harbor."

Little by little Jerry's head cleared and he realized that he had caught hold of the stern of the boat. He could not see over the edge, but he could tell that there were two people in the boat, both men.

They talked fitfully, but for the most part their voices came to Jerry only as meaningless mumbles. Once more the dark outline of Lost Island lay before him, and in Jerry's heart arose a new hope that perhaps this time he would not come away empty-handed. The boat grounded on the beach where he and Phil had stood only a few minutes before. The man who had been at the oars jumped out and pulled the boat well up on sh.o.r.e. Jerry, finding that he could touch bottom, had let go and now stood well hidden in the water.

"You might as well wait here in the boat," said the one who had gone ash.o.r.e. "I won't be gone but a minute."

He moved up the bank. It was the same man Jerry had encountered twice before on his island visits. But who was the man in the boat? Jerry wished he dared come closer.

The minutes pa.s.sed slowly, and the water did not feel as warm as it had at first. He was greatly relieved when once more he heard the rustle of someone coming through the tall gra.s.s. But though the sound came nearer and nearer, Jerry, his nerves literally on end, found the wait a long one. Would the man never get there?

But the delay was quickly explained. There were two instead of one crunching across the beach, and the other stumbled as he walked and would have fallen more than once had it not been for the supporting arm of his companion. Jerry could have shouted from joy had he dared, for some instinct told him that that swaying form belonged to no one but his chum, Tod Fulton.

And then, in an instant, the mystery was all made clear--at least for the instant. The man in the boat rose and struck a match so that the other could see to help wobbly Tod to a seat. As the light flared up full, Jerry had a good sight of the face of the man who stood waiting.

It was Mr. Fulton!

CHAPTER X

"TO-MORROW IS THE DAY!"

And then it was that Jerry saw that the temporary clearing of the mystery only made things darker than ever. For, why should Tod be rescued in this weird fas.h.i.+on? Why had the man refused to let Tod's friends come on the island? And why, why had Mr. Fulton laughed at Jerry's story--and yet followed his clue in this stealthy way? Jerry, up to his nose in the water, and deeper than that in perplexity, saw that the whole affair was really no longer the mystery of Tod Fulton's disappearance, but the mystery of Lost Island.

So, although he now felt safe from bodily harm, because of Mr. Fulton's presence, he made no sign, but waited there a scant dozen feet beyond the stern of the boat. He heard Tod answer a few low-toned questions of his father, but could not make out either question or answer. He saw Mr. Fulton pick up the oars and poise them for a sweep, dropping the blades into the water to exchange a last sentence with the shadow who stood waiting on the bank.

"Everything all right, then, Billings!"

"Varnish on the left plane cracked pretty badly, Mr. Fulton. I had to sc.r.a.pe it off and refinish it. It really ought to have another day to dry."