Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island Part 6

"Yah! He _wasn't drowned!_"

Then he sat down again and caught up his oar and began lunging desperately at the water. "Hurry, Dave, hurry!" he commanded excitedly.

"What's got into you?" exclaimed Dave impatiently. "You've been flying off on about forty different angles lately. What new bug has bitten you?"

"Bug! Dave, do you mean to tell me you didn't hear what the man said?"

"Course I did--but we're going, aren't we? He didn't say he'd shoot unless we kept on coming ahead."

"Oh--_that!_ Well, you've been up all night, so no wonder you're half asleep. Didn't you hear him say: 'Where was young Fulton drowned?'"

"Sure."

"Well?"

"Well what? What in thunder's got into you? Why shouldn't he ask that?"

"He should have. He should have asked it the first time we talked to him. But, gee whiz, Dave, he shouldn't have known it was _young Fulton_ unless--unless it was young Fulton himself who told him. Dave--Dave!

Don't you see? We never mentioned his name."

"Great guns!" gasped Dave.

That was all he said, and for that matter, all that either one said.

The man stood on the point of Lost Island till he was satisfied that the boys had tied the boat safely and did not mean to loiter in the neighborhood. Then he disappeared among the trees of the lower part of the island. But the boys did not pay much attention to their late antagonist, save for a bare glance as they topped the high ridge that followed the river course.

Miles to the north they could see a big square white building that they knew as Carter's Mills, really only a grain storage elevator. Almost due west of that was the milldam, which was about the only place they could hope to be able to cross Plum Run--and Watertown lay on the other side. Of course, they might follow the river bank on the chance of meeting some good-hearted fisherman or camper who would row them across. But the chance was too slim. They decided to cut across country till they reached the mill.

It was a long, hard drill on an empty stomach. Up hill and down dale, and every step kept time to by a pang from the inner man.

"Do you think it's a sin to steal?" This from Dave.

"Certainly."

"Apples!"

"Apples? A sin? Not if you know where there are any. Lead me to them."

"Oh, I don't know where any are. I just wondered what you thought of it."

"Do you think it's wrong to punish criminals?" This from Jerry.

"Put 'em in jail you mean?"

"Well, whatever way seems best."

"No, I can't say as I do. Why, Jerry?"

"I'm going to thump you good and plenty for fooling me about those apples, that's why."

"Catching comes before thumping!" and Dave was off with all the speed his weary legs could muster. Fortunately Jerry's legs were in no better shape, so the race, while exciting enough, was a long, slow one. Before Jerry was able to overhaul his chum, he was so tired out that anything so strenuous as thumping was quite out of the question.

"If you'd just kept running straight ahead, instead of ducking and dodging, we'd be home by now," he complained as he released the puffing Dave.

But at that they had made good time through their chase and within a very few minutes the last bend of the river showed them the milldam.

The place was deserted.

"I guess Mr. Aikens persuaded Tod's father to go back home and get breakfast and rest up a bit," remarked Dave. "If there doesn't happen to be a boat on this side of the river we may have to wait some time for that breakfast you've been promising me the last ninety-eight miles. We sure can't get across the dam, with all that water rus.h.i.+ng over."

"I'll swim it before I wait," grimly declared Jerry. "Do you suppose Mr. Aikens took the mill boat?"

"Most likely. Where'll you try it, below or above? Swimming, I mean."

"No chance below, with that current. But I guess we won't need to. I see Pete Galpin's clam-boat down at his dock. It leaks like sin, but if one bails while the other rows I guess we can make it."

No one was astir at Galpin's shanty, a houseboat pulled high and dry on sh.o.r.e, and almost hidden by great piles of driftwood snagged upon the bank to serve as winter fuel. Old Pete Galpin lived there all alone, fis.h.i.+ng and clamming and occasionally taking a wood-cutting contract to help out through the scant winter months. Once he had been known to work with an ice-cutting gang, but quit because he was afraid he'd make so much money that it would tempt somebody to rob him.

The flat-boat that was moored down at Galpin's "dock"--four railroad ties roped together--was none too substantial looking, having been built by Galpin himself from odds and ends picked up from sc.r.a.p heaps and driftage. As Galpin himself said, the only whole part about the boat was the name, which had been painted in red on a single thin board sticking a full two feet past the stern--"UPANATUM."

But the boys did not waste a great deal of time in admiring the beautiful lines of their borrowed craft. Jerry made at once for the oar seat, leaving Dave to untie and push off. For all the tremendous leak which at once developed, the boat responded easily to the strenuous tugs of Jerry's muscular arms and back.

They beached the boat and made their way up the bank and across a field where oats had just been cut, the bundles lying yellow as gold in the early morning sunlight. Just beyond was a narrow, plum-thicket bordered lane, which in turn led into the newly graveled "county" road. The boys found the walking much easier in a path that twisted along next to the fence. However, within a mile, along came a farmer, hauling a load of early potatoes to town, and the boys gladly accepted his invitation to "hop on."

Within a quarter of a mile both were sound asleep, nor did they waken until the springless wagon rattled over the interurban tracks less than two blocks from Dave's home. Rubbing their eyes in a vain attempt to drive out the sleep, they stumbled along the quiet street.

"Where will I find you after breakfast?" asked Jerry, as Dave turned in at his gate.

"In bed. I'll be lucky if I stay awake till after breakfast."

"But we've got to tell Mr. Fulton."

"You tell him, Jerry. I just know he won't pay any attention to what we say--I don't more'n half believe it now myself----" Dave had to stop for a tremendous yawn.

"If that's the case, you might just as well sleep." Jerry was out of patience, but Dave was too sleepy to care very much.

"I'll see you--see you--later, Jerry," he said drowsily as he turned and staggered up the walk.

Jerry, after an undecided second or two, faced about and began to retrace his steps. He cut through the Ellery back yard and came out on the cross street at whose corner the Fultons lived. The house was a big ramshackle affair of a dozen rooms or so, far too large a place for the Fultons, since there had been only the two of them, Tod's mother having died when he was only a little tad. Indeed, as Tod said, they only used three rooms, the kitchen and two bedrooms. But that was hardly true; there was a big bas.e.m.e.nt under all the house, the most of it used as a workroom, and here it was that the two of them spent the better part of their waking hours.

Mr. Fulton was an odd sort of man, a bit inclined to think his business his own business. But it was no secret among his neighbors that all sorts of queer contrivances were planned and made in that combination machine shop, carpenter shop, forge and foundry below stairs.

Mr. Fulton was an inventor. True, for the most part he invented useless things; he had inherited money and did not need to make any more. But the boys, who were allowed to roam through the workshop at will, were wildly enthusiastic over the ingenious devices schemed out by father and son, for Tod was a chip off the old block.

Now, Jerry did not go up to the front door, even though it was standing ajar. Instead he hurried to the little side porch and reached high up under the eaves, where an electric b.u.t.ton was concealed. He pushed it, hard, well knowing that if Mr. Fulton were anywhere in the house he would hear that bell. That was why it had been so well hidden.

But there was no response. Again Jerry rang; he could hear the shrill br-r-r-r of the bell. After a long time he heard footsteps, but something told him they were not those of Mr. Fulton. The door swung open. There stood Mr. Aikens.

"Is Mr. Fulton here," demanded Jerry.

"Asleep," nodded Mr. Aikens.