The Cruise of the O Moo Page 12

  CHAPTER XII THE O MOO RIDES THE STORM

  Florence and Marian lay clinging to the bare springs of a berth. They hadmade that point of safety before the avalanche of furniture, books andbric-a-brac had reached their end of the cabin. They were enduringdiscomforts beyond description. The yacht was now pitching from side toside in an alarming fashion. The wires of the spring on which they restedcut their tender flesh. Their scant clothing was saturated with coldwater. The cabin had grown cold. Since the burning of the electric fuses,there was no heat. They were chilled to the bone, yet they dared notmove. The heavy furniture, pitching about as it did, was a deadly menace.Here, above it all, they were safe.

  As Florence lay there, benumbed with cold, suffering agonies of suspense,listening to the thud and smash of furniture, the rush and crush of wavesthat washed the deck, awaiting the crash which was to be the final one,only one question occupied her mind: How and when would the final momentcome? She dared not hope that the O Moo would ride such a storm safely.

  "Would the O Moo," she asked herself, "turn turtle in the trough of awave and, floating, mast down, would she hold them there to drown likerats in a cage? Or would some giant wave stave her in to sink to thebottom like a water-soaked log?"

  An answer was postponed. The O Moo rode bravely on. They were in theworst of it; she was sure of that. "Ought to get the engine started," shetold herself. "Then we could cut the waves; ride them, not wallow alongin a trough."

  She half rose to attempt to reach the engine room.

  "No use," she groaned; "no light. If we fool around with gasoline and acandle we'll blow the whole thing up."

  But even as she thought this, she became conscious of a dim light. Whatcould it be? She sat up quickly, then she uttered a hoarse laugh.

  "First gray streak of dawn," she muttered. Then she thought of Lucile.

  "Stay where you are," she said to Marian. "I'm going to try to get toLucile."

  By the aid of the feeble light she saw her opportunity to vault over acareening chair and to make a dash for it. A second later she was atLucile's side.

  "Lucile!" she said softly. "Lucile!"

  The girl's eyes were closed. A sudden fear seized Florence and her heartstood still a beat. Was Lucile asleep, unconscious, or--or was she dead?

  * * * * * * * *

  Over in the darkness and storm by the old scow, Mark Pence was slowlyregaining consciousness. At first he imagined that a tiny train of carswas running about on the top of his head. This illusion vanished. He feltsomething hard in his mouth--tried to think what it was. He had beengagged! That was his first thought. No, that wasn't it. He was breathingthrough the thing. The mouthpiece to his mask! That was it. He had keptit in his mouth.

  He was fully conscious now but did not attempt to sit up. Footsteps wereapproaching. He heard a voice.

  "They got away," a man's voice grumbled.

  "All but one. Drunk, that's what they was. You can't hardly shoot drunkmen."

  The first voice retorted:

  "No, you can't."

  "Well, anyway, we got one; the one with the mask. Didn't hit him hard. Heought to be coming round."

  Mark tried to discover the meaning of all this. The place had beenraided. The Orientals had escaped. They had swarmed out yelling like madmen probably. The quick action gas would make them act as if under theinfluence of liquor. Probably they had tumbled the raiders over. But whowere these raiders?

  He did not have long to wait for the answer. A rough hand dragged themask from his face. He looked up into the frank blue eyes of a burlypoliceman.

  "You're comin' round. Sit up. Why, you're no Oriental! You're a whitekid. What you doin' here?"

  Mark sat up and told them what he had been doing.

  "That quick action gas now," laughed one of the men, "wouldn't be badstuff for the police force now and again."

  Suddenly Mark made an effort to rise. He had thought of the plight of hisfriends on the O Moo.

  "You--you'll help me launch my schooner!" he exclaimed.

  "What's the idea?"

  "Why you see those girls in the O Moo don't know how to start theirengine. Somebody's got to bring them in."

  "What's your schooner?"

  "The Elsie C."

  "That turtle shell? You'd be committin' suicide to go in her. You comealong with us. We're holdin' you as a material witness and--and toprevent you from committing suicide by trying the lake in that shell."

  Reluctantly Mark obeyed.

  "Can't something be done?" he demanded desperately.

  "Not before morning. Not much then, probably. How'd you find a yachtblowin' round loose in this whirlin' bag of snow?"

  * * * * * * * *

  There is a bottom to every depth, a state of darkness which cannot beexceeded, a limit even to despair. As Florence looked upon Lucile'sclosed eyes she reached the bottom; experienced the utter darkness; foundthe limit of despair.

  And then a strangely joyous thing happened.

  Lucile's eyes opened. She smiled faintly. Strange to say, in the midst ofthis tumult, she had merely fallen asleep.

  Florence took a new and firmer grip on hope.

  "How--how do you feel?" she stammered.

  "I think I am better," Lucile whispered. "Where are we?"

  "We're all right," said Florence quickly. "Day is breaking. The stormwill go down as the sun rises. They'll be after us in a tug. In a fewhours we'll be back on the dock?"

  She said all this very quickly, not knowing how much of it she believedherself, but feeling quite sure that Lucile ought to believe it. Justthen a chair, pitching across the floor, caught her behind the knees andsent her sprawling.

  The very shock of this set her blood tingling. "Believe we could dosomething about the furniture now it's getting light," she told herself.

  "Marian," she called, "come on down and let's see what we can do to savethings. We're ruined as it is. No more university for us. It will takeall the money we have to put this cabin back into condition. But we mightas well save what we can."

  A table came lurching at her. She caught it as if it were a piece ofgymnasium equipment. Then rescuing a water-soaked sheet from the floorshe tied the table to a hand-rail.

  Marian joined her in pursuit of the cabin furnishings. It really grewinto quite a game. If a chair came at them too viciously they wereobliged to vault over it and bring up an attack from the rear. If a wholeplatoon of tables and chairs leaped at them in the same second, they tookto the cots.

  Little by little order was restored. When a survey had been made it wasfound that one table was broken to splinters, two chairs had broken legsand numerous books and pictures had been utterly ruined.

  "It might have been worse," said Florence cheerfully.

  "Yes," agreed Marian, "We might have gone to the bottom. I do believe thestorm is letting up."

  She attempted to look out of a porthole. Daylight had come. Snow hadceased falling but a heavy fog was driving over the turbulent waters.

  "Fine chance of anyone finding us," Marian whispered.

  "Sh!" Florence warned as she shook a finger at Lucile's berth, thenaloud: "Boo! but I'm cold. Where are our clothes?"

  Marian pointed mournfully at a mass of soggy rags in the corner. "No!"she exclaimed suddenly, "no, not all. We put our evening skirts andmiddies and slippers in the hammock of our berths. And," she shoutedjoyously, "they are there still."

  After some desperate struggles at keeping their balance and dressing atthe same time, they found themselves warmly clad and immediately matterstook on a different aspect.

  "I believe," ventured Florence, "that we might get the generator going.There's just one place where water would cause a short circuit and thatcan be dried out by a candle. Then we can put in a new fuse and thatlittle old friend of ours will be chug-chugging as well as ever. Not thatI feel any need of heat," she mocked with a shrug and shiver, "but you
know the supplying of warmth to our homes has become a social custom."

  Having taken a candle from a drawer she lighted it, lifted a trap doorand descended to the generator. She was relieved to note that the O Moohad shipped very little water.

  "She's a dandy staunch little craft," she sighed. "It's a pity to haveabused her so. I'd like to have a hand on the person who turned herloose."

  For a quarter of an hour she worked patiently on the generator; thenthere came a sudden pop-pop-pop and the hardy little machine was doingits work once more.

  At once a drowsy warmth began to creep over the cabin.

  The storm was really beginning to abate. Waves no longer washed the deck.The O Moo rose high, to fall low again as great, sweeping swells racedacross the surface of the lake, but she did not pitch and toss.

  Marian brought the electric range up from its hiding. After wiping itdry, she made toast and tea. The first she gave to Lucile. Then, afterseeing her eyes close once more in sleep, she shared a scant breakfastwith Florence.

  "Things are looking better, don't you think?" she sighed. "I am reallybeginning to think we'll get out of this alive. Won't that be wonderful?"

  "Those questions," smiled Florence, "must be answered one at a time, butI have faith that they will both be answered and that we'll be back inthe dear old city for Christmas."

  "Christmas?"

  "Two weeks off. Next week is final exams. We've just got to be back forthem."

  "In that case let's have a look at the engine."

  A half hour later the two girls, dressed in greasy overalls, their hairdone in knots over their heads, their hands black with oil, might havebeen seen engaged in the futile attempt to unravel the mysteries of thesmall gasoline engine, which, in other days, had been used to propel theO Moo when the wind failed to fill her sails.

  "We might be able to sail her home," suggested Marian.

  "Might," said Florence.

  Risking a look out on deck, she opened a door. Her eyes swept the spacebefore her. Her lips uttered a low exclamation:

  "Gone! Mast, canvas, everything. We can't sail home, that's settled."

  * * * * * * * *

  Mark Pence, after his strange adventures at the old scow, was marched offto the police station, where he was allowed to doze beside the radiatoruntil morning.

  Soon after daybreak he was motioned to a desk, where a sergeantquestioned him closely regarding his knowledge of the events of the nightand of the Orientals who lived in the old scow.

  He was able to tell little enough and to explain next to nothing. When hehad told of the disappearance of the O Moo, of the grease on the tracks,of the sample he had saved and of the block of wood with the crossembossed upon it, the officer proposed that they should together make atrip to the beach and go over the grounds.

  "But these friends of mine? These girls in the O Moo?" he protested.

  "Oh! That!" exclaimed the sergeant. "What could you do? That was reportedto the life-saving station hours ago. Best thing you can do is to help ustrack down the rascals who played such an inhuman trick on your friends."

  "What could have been their motive?" demanded Mark suddenly.

  "That," said the officer, "is a mystery which must be cleared up. Wethink we know. But you never can tell. Are you ready? We'll have a cup ofcoffee before we go."

  A half hour later Mark found himself standing once more before the oldscow. In the broad light of day it had lost much of its air of mystery.The door had been left open and had been blown half full of snow. Havingclimbed over this pile of snow, they entered the hallway and descendedthe narrow, circular stairs.

  A hasty search told them that the place was deserted. A carefulexamination revealed the fact that the bottom of the scow had been cutaway; that a cellar had been dug beneath it, then walled up with cement.

  "Regular underground den," the officer exclaimed. "Must have been a swarmof them."

  "Twenty or thirty, I guess," said Mark absent-mindedly. He had picked upa clumsily hand-forged ax.

  "Guess I'll take that along," he said presently.

  In another room he found a large iron pot one-third full of a peculiargrease.

  "That settles it," he murmured. "Come on over to my schooner."

  They went to his schooner. A comparison of his sample of grease with thatin the iron pot left no doubt as to who had greased the track over whichthe O Moo had glided to the water. The ax he had brought from the scowhad a cross on one side of it, cut no doubt with a chisel when the steelwas still hot. The cross embossed on the wood exactly fitted in the crosson the side of the ax.

  "They drove the ax in to pull the nails," Mark explained. "Then when thecleats didn't give way, they used something to pry the ax loose. That'show the ax came to leave its mark."

  "You'd have thought the noise would have wakened your friends," said theofficer.

  "There was a wild storm. Couldn't hear anything."

  "Well," said the sergeant, yawning as he rose, "that fixes somethingdefinitely on them. That's what we've been trying to do for some time.Next thing is to catch them."

  "But why did they do it?" insisted Mark.

  "Well," replied the sergeant, "since you've helped us and I know youwon't go blabbing, I'll tell you what we think."

  It was a long story, a story so absorbingly mysterious that Mark startedwhen he looked at the clock and saw that a whole hour had been consumedin the telling of it.

  "So that's that," smiled the officer as he rose to go. "Tell your ladyfriends on this O Moo if you like but not anybody else. They've got aright to know, I guess, and they'll keep quiet about it until the thing'ssettled for good and all."