The Golden Eagle Mystery (18 page)

With his back to the wall, he faced around, desperately hoping that the footsteps would pass by.

But they came straight on, to the door. A man shouldered his way in.

Djuna’s heart sank. The intruder was “Bonehead” Bohnett.

A startled look spread over the man’s stupid face as he saw Djuna.

“What are you doin’ here, kid?” he demanded, taking a step toward him. “My brother Harve is a-lookin’ for you! You and that smarty friend of yours, that kid Reckless!”

“You mean Billy?” asked Djuna innocently. Only one thought was in his mind—he must keep Bonehead from finding out that Billy was anywhere near them, and alone! “I haven’t seen him for a long time.” And to himself he added, “Not for almost an hour!”

“Well, how did you git out here?” demanded Bonehead. “How did you git here on Sixpenny?”

“I swam here,” said Djuna, truthfully. He was sure, from Bonehead’s question, that Bonehead had not seen Billy’s boat, hidden in the secret cove.

Bonehead grunted. “Swam over!” he said, scornfully.

“You tryin’ to tell me you swum three miles, from Stunny Harbor? You think I’m a fool?”

“I didn’t say that, Mister Bohnett,” said Djuna politely. “But if you don’t believe me, just look at my swimming pants. I swam here, I tell you.”

Bonehead looked doubtful, and rubbed his chin. “Well, you’re goin’ to stay right here, anyways,” he said, “until my brother Harvey comes.
He
’ll fix you!”

“Where is your brother?” asked Djuna, desperately.

“Now, wouldn’t you like to know?” drawled Bonehead provokingly. “Maybe he’s gone over to Stunny Harbor to fetch a friend of ourn, and maybe he ain’t. Maybe when he gits back the three of us will haul up some of old lady Tubbs’ lobster pots, and maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll git ourself a good lobster dinner, and maybe we won’t. I ain’t tellin’. What do you reckon I brung these rubbers for? To ketch eagles with?”

Grinning, he showed Djuna what he held in his hand—a small cardboard box full of elastic rubber bands, very short and sturdy rubber bands.

Djuna knew only too well what they were for—they were the bands which the fishermen put around the claws of live lobsters, to keep the claws from pinching them. He flushed angrily. Bonehead and his brother were planning to rob Aunt Patty’s lobster pots!

Bonehead chuckled. “Now, don’t ye git mad,” he said. “Take it easy!”

Bonehead sat down at the doorstep of the cabin and stretched his long legs out. He filled his pipe and lit it. He looked lazily off to sea, instead of watching Djuna. But as Djuna could not have got outdoors without stepping over Bonehead’s legs, Bonehead hardly needed to watch him.

“Might as well make yourself comf’tubble,” said Bonehead. “It’ll be a long time, mebbe, before Harve gits back.”

“Do you mind if I walk around, Mr. Bohnett?” asked Djuna, wretchedly.

“Walk around all you’re a mind to,” said Bonehead, grinning. “Only don’t go tryin’ to climb out. I wouldn’t do that, if I was you. You might get hurted.”

He puffed away at his pipe without looking around. Djuna hated the sound of his voice. For a moment he stood looking angrily at the back of the man’s head. His fists clenched. But then he dropped them despairingly. What was the use? The man was so big and strong that it was useless to think of trying to get away from him!

Djuna walked up and down the sagging floor boards of the cabin, his thoughts racing wildly. What could he possibly do? No one but Billy knew where he was, no one knew that he had been made a prisoner, no one would come to rescue him… .

He stopped short, and almost gave a groan. He bit his lip, choking down the lump in his throat. No one coming? Why, it was worse than that—Billy might get tired of waiting for him and come to look for him, at any minute!

Yes, Billy would come, and he would walk right into the trap! There was no way to warn him!

Djuna could see just how it would happen, just as plainly as if it were already happening right before his eyes. Billy wouldn’t guess that anything was wrong, he would come sailing around from Haypenny Island, and anchor and come ashore, and come running up to the hut, never once dreaming that anyone except Djuna would be there. And Bonehead wouldn’t make a sound, nor let Djuna shout a warning, but would squat there, silent as a tiger, until Billy had walked up to the shack, and then he would pounce on him!

Djuna felt more worried about Billy than about himself. He must save Billy from capture, but how could he possibly do it? It was dreadful to feel so helpless. He gritted his teeth. One thing was sure, he desperately resolved—if he heard Billy’s footsteps coming toward the shack, he would shout! No matter what Bonehead might do to him, afterwards, he would shout! It wouldn’t give Billy much time, but perhaps it would save him. There was nothing to do, now, but wait, and hope!

As he walked back and forth, staring at the floor, he tried his best to think of some way in which to head Billy off, so that he would not come!

He glanced up at the rafters. There was plenty of room between them to throw a stone, for the roof itself was gone. He remembered how Billy and he had tossed stones down through it, that day they first visited Eagle Rock. He looked around, trying to find something that was neither too large nor too small, to throw. He saw the old iron oarlock and picked it up. But it was much too big and clumsy to throw. He tossed it aside, discouraged.

And besides, he told himself, what would be the use of attracting Billy’s attention by throwing stones towards Billy’s boat, even if he had any stones to throw? If they hit near the boat, they would make Billy yell, and Bonehead would hear him. Or, if he didn’t yell, he would come over to see what was the matter, and then Bonehead would grab him. Either way, it would be useless, or worse than useless.

No, he would simply have to think up some way to write a message and some way of getting it to Billy. But how could he possibly do such a thing?

There wasn’t a chance! The whole idea was so hopeless that Djuna felt like screaming. Write a message? Why, he wasn’t even wearing anything but his swim suit! He had the stub of a lead pencil in his shirt pocket—but his shirt was back there in the locker of Billy’s boat! Even if he had had a pencil, there was no paper to write on! Nothing!

He looked down. There on the floor lay the tattered old almanac. He picked it up and began turning over its pages, just because he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

There was a calendar for each month of the year printed on each page, with the days of the month, and the hour when the sun rose each day, and when it set, and all such information. Djuna had turned over three or four pages before he noticed that at the bottom of each page were printed some words that had nothing to do with the date or the weather. The words he first noticed at the foot of the page were these:

WORDS WORTH REMEMBERING

“Don’t give up the ship!”

Those were the words that Djuna saw first. He straightened up. It was as if someone was shouting encouragement to him, just when he had given up hope. “Never surrender! Don’t give up the ship!”

Courage rose again in his heart. He read the brave command over and over. It comforted him. He would
never
give in, now! Somehow, somewhere, he must find a way!

He stared at the rest of the sentences on the page. Well, he thought, they held good advice, but they didn’t help to cheer him up, just now… . They didn’t help him… . And, then, just as he was about to turn the page, he gasped. Why, yes, they
could
help him! A look of wonder and surprise and eagerness spread over his face. Yes, perhaps this was the way to escape! “Don’t give up the ship?” No fear, he wouldn’t!

His eyes darted eagerly from object to object on the disordered cabin floor—the pile of clam shells, the old boot that Champ had dragged across the floor, the heavy oarlock, shaped like a rounded Y; and, last of all, the open package of rubber bands that stood there on the floor by the doorway, close to Bonehead’s hand!

He caught Bonehead’s eyes on him, watching him.

Carelessly, as if he had found nothing in it to interest him, Djuna tossed the almanac on the pile of clam shells. He walked toward Bonehead, smiling.

“Gee, Mr. Bohnett, I’m getting tired of being in here,” he said, pleadingly. “Can’t I go outdoors and run around a little?”

Bonehead shook his head. “No, you’ll be all right here,” he drawled. “Why don’t you set down and rest your legs, the way I’m doin’? Don’t cost ye nothin’.”

Djuna sighed. “Well, all right,” he said. He bent over and picked up the cardboard box of rubber bands.

“Do you mind if I look at them, Mr. Bohnett?” said Djuna. He tried to make it sound as if it didn’t matter at all.

“Go ahead,” said Bonehead amiably, relighting his pipe. “Only don’t ye lose none of ’em, ’cause we’ll probably need all of ’em, me and Harvey.”

“Oh, I won’t,” said Djuna, and added under his breath, “At least I hope not.”

Taking the rubbers with him, he squatted down beside the pile of clam shells, with his back to Bonehead, so that what he was doing could not be seen.

With swift fingers, he picked up the printed almanac and tore out the lower part of the page he had been looking at. Folding the edges of the scrap of paper carefully, he tore it twice across, along the creased lines, making three pieces of it. Quickly selecting an empty clam shell from the pile, he slipped one of the three pieces of paper into the hollow halves of the shell, and just as quickly snapped a rubber band around the shell, closing it tight. In a jiffy he had slipped the shell into his canvas sneaker, and under the arch of his foot.

He was just in time. Bonehead had risen to his feet and was strolling over to see what Djuna was doing.

“What in tarnation are ye tryin’ to do?” he asked, peering over Djuna’s shoulder.

Djuna looked up.

“I was just wondering how I could make a slingshot out of these rubbers,” he said dolefully. “But I guess I can’t—they’re too short to do anything with.”

“Slingshot, hey?” said Bonehead. “Well, now, that’s an idee! Used to have a lot o’ fun with a slingshot, myself. Here, lemme see them bands.”

He took a handful of them from the box, and turned them over in his powerful fingers.

“They’re too short,” Djuna repeated. “I was wondering how I could tie some of them together, but I haven’t got any string.”

“String?” said Bonehead. “What do ye need with string? You ain’t much of a hand at knots, I reckon. Here, lemme show you.”

Taking two of the bands, he slipped one end of one band through the other band, then deftly pushed the end of the second band through the other end of the first one. Then he pulled them tight, and held them up triumphantly for Djuna to see. They were knotted into one, a band twice as long as it had been.

“Gee, that’s swell!” exclaimed Djuna. “But they’ll have to be even longer than that, I guess. Do you think you could make them longer, Mr. Bohnett?”

Bonehead beamed. “Easiest thing in the world!” he said. “Just gimme some more of ’em.” And forgetting all about his own warning not to lose any of them, he knotted one band to the other until he had two sizeable strings.

“There!” he said, proudly. “There you be! But what are ye goin’ to use for the crotch? Haven’t got one here, have ye?”

“I thought I’d use that oarlock over there,” said Djuna, pointing at it. “It’s about the right size, isn’t it?”

“Why, sure,” said Bonehead, picking it up. “This is bigger than most—must have been for a scullin’ oar, in a whaleboat, likely. Sure, this ought to do fine!”

“And for the leather, I thought I’d cut a piece out of that old boot,” said Djuna innocently. “But we still need a piece of string to tie it together with.”

“Oh, so you were goin’ to cut it, was ye?” asked Bonehead sarcastically. “What with? Don’t see any knife around here, do ye? Or was ye fixin’ to chew it off?”

Djuna was meekly silent, while Bonehead fished a knife from his own pocket, grinning. Hugely delighted with his own fun, Bonehead cut a wide strip of leather from the old boot and punched holes in each end of it with the point of his knife blade.

“You see?” he said. “Ye don’t need any string—just pull the rubber through these holes and knot it the same way. Now ye can fasten it to the oarlock with a couple more of them rubbers, and there you be!”

He handed the finished slingshot to Djuna and went back to his seat by the open door. “What are ye aimin’ to shoot at?” he asked, as he refilled his pipe and lit it again.

“Oh, nothing,” said Djuna. “Can I go outdoors and see what I can hit with it?”

“No, sirree!” said Bonehead emphatically. “If I was to let ye go out on the beach, you might signal to somebody goin’ by. Right here is where you stay, till my brother gets here. And don’t you git to thinkin’ you can fool me into lettin’ you loose, nohow.”

Djuna made no answer. Pretending to sulk, he went back to the empty fireplace and the piles of clam shells beside it, and made several “bullets” by stretching rubber bands around empty shells, to hold them shut. Standing with his back to the fireplace, he made practice shots with them, and was delighted to find that the home-made slingshot sent them straight and far. They whanged up against the opposite wall of the cabin with thuds that satisfied him that they would have easily carried across the narrow channel to Haypenny Island and the hidden cove where Billy was waiting.

When he was sure of this, he took the first shell that he had made and put it in the sling. Then, pulling the rubber back as far as he could stretch it, he aimed into the air and let go. The shell flew up into the blue sky, framed by the bare rafters, higher and higher, then curved downward.

Djuna drew a long breath and turned towards Bonehead, who had been yelling with delight at each shot as it hit its mark.