The Golden Eagle Mystery (3 page)

“Oh, so you’re going to stay at Aunt Patty’s, are you?” asked Mr. Truelove. “Well, you couldn’t stay at a better place, nohow. Mrs. Tubbs is a mighty fine woman.”

“Yes, sir,” said Djuna.

He paid Mr. Truelove for the packages, and the old man put the money away carefully into a leather bag full of coins.

“Yes, sir, everybody thinks a heap of Aunt Patty, here in this town,” Mr. Truelove observed. “Well, come in again, young man.”

Billy Reckless had been standing at the other end of the counter, with his eyes greedily studying the things for sale in the glass case. He beckoned to Djuna.

“Look at this,” he said. “These big rubber bands. Five cents apiece, that’s what they cost. Someday I’m going to get a couple of them and make me a slingshot.”

“Gee, you could make a dandy slingshot with them, couldn’t you?” said Djuna. “But, look, let’s go ask Aunt Patty about the boat, shall we?”

They left the store and had gone only a few steps when Billy suddenly stopped short. “Oh, shucks!” he exclaimed. “I can’t go with you! I just remembered I promised my dad I’d stay home this afternoon. He has to go over to Yessank, and there won’t be anybody to take care of our boat yard except me.”

“Boat yard?” exclaimed Djuna. “Have you got a boat yard?”

“Sure,” said Billy. “My dad rents out boats. Say, why don’t you come over this afternoon? We could go out with Aunt Patty, maybe, some other time.”

“Well, maybe I will,” said Djuna. “I’ll see what Aunt Patty says.”

“See you later, then,” said Billy Reckless. “So long!”

“So long!” said Djuna. “Come on, Champ!”

“Come on, Alberto!” said Billy, whistling to his imaginary dog.

And Djuna, followed by his black Scotty, went one way, while Billy, followed by a dog that could be any color that Billy pleased, went the other.

D
JUNA FOUND
Aunt Patty Tubbs putting plates and knives and forks on the kitchen table for their lunch.

“Gracious, I was beginning to think you were lost!” she exclaimed, smiling.

Djuna had so many things to tell her that he hardly knew where to begin. So he tried to tell her everything at once.

“I met a boy named Billy Reckless,” he said breathlessly. “He’s got a dog, only it isn’t a real dog, it’s a dog he made up, and he calls him Alberto. We had an awful lot of fun. You can make Alberto do all sorts of tricks, Aunt Patty, because all you have to do is to
think
he’s doing the trick, and he does it, see? You know Billy Reckless, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know Billy,” said Aunt Patty. “But I didn’t know he had a dog like that. Sounds sort of crazy to
me
, I must say.”

But her eyes twinkled and Djuna knew she didn’t mean what she said.

“So we went to Mister Truelove’s store together,” Djuna hurried on, “and Billy showed me the lobster pound, and I saw your boat, Aunt Patty! And Billy says there are two islands out there that belong to you, and, please, could I go out to see them with you, the next time you go?”

Aunt Patty smiled at the way the words came tumbling out. “Why, of course, Djuna,” she said. “And I think we had better go out there this very afternoon. I didn’t get out there at all, yesterday, what with getting this house dusted and cleaned, before you got here, and I don’t want to let my lobster pots go too long without looking at them. Yes, I guess we had better go as soon as we’ve had a bite to eat.”

“Oh, hurrah!” shouted Djuna. “When do we eat?”

“Right away,” said Aunt Patty. “As soon as I steam these clams.”

Into a deep stewpan she put the clams, a whole quart of them, from a paper bag. On top of them she poured one cupful of water and then set the pan on the stove.

“Is that all the water you need?” asked Djuna, watching it all.

“Yes, their own juice will make two cupfuls, besides the water,” said Aunt Patty. “You’ll see.”

“Where did you get the clams?” asked Djuna. “Did you dig them, out at your island?”

“Oh, my, no,” said Aunt Patty. “I got them at the fish market, while you were out. I haven’t gone clammin’ for years, myself. It’s awful hard work, and I’m too old for it. But folks go out to my island—Haypenny Island, I mean, the other one hasn’t got any clam flats—and dig for ’em, every once in a while. I don’t mind, as long as they don’t meddle with my lobster pots at Sixpenny Island.”

“Do they ever do that?” asked Djuna.

“Well, I don’t know that they have,” said Aunt Patty, “but some folks are mean enough to do anything. There really isn’t any way of telling, unless you catch ’em at it.”

She lifted the lid of the stewpot and peeped in. A delicious fragrance of clam broth filled the air.

“They’re done, I reckon,” she said. “All the shells have popped open.”

She ladled out a generous heap of the steaming clams on each of their plates, and then poured from the pot a cupful of the clam juice for Djuna and one for herself. She had already placed salt crackers, a dish of coleslaw, two big glasses of milk, and two saucersful of melted golden butter on the table.

“Now,” she said, taking her chair, “let’s be thankful!”

Djuna had never tasted anything so delicious as those clams, dipped in the melted butter. By the time they finished, Aunt Patty and he had heaped up a small mountain of empty clam shells on their plates.

“Oh, boy!” said Djuna, with a sigh of satisfaction. “Am I glad I came to Stony Harbor!”

When Aunt Patty had washed the dishes and put them away, she went into the woodshed beside the kitchen door and closed the door behind her. When she came out again, Djuna could hardly believe his eyes. She had changed her clothes, and was wearing overalls, a pair of short rubber boots, and a man’s coat, together with an old straw hat with a wide brim, which she had tied under her chin. She looked just like a man.

“These are my lobstering clothes,” she explained, noticing Djuna’s look of surprise. “It’s liable to be wet work, lobstering is.”

“Are we going to start now?” asked Djuna excitedly. “Can Champ go with us.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Aunt Patty. “Better put him in the woodshed, I guess.”

So Djuna locked Champ up in the woodshed, giving him some dog biscuits to chew on for comfort, and they set off for the dock where Aunt Patty’s boat was tied. But first Aunt Patty got two long oars that were leaning against the woodshed and lifted them to her shoulder. She held the oars with one hand, and with the other she carried a jug that she had filled with fresh drinking water.

“You can bring that empty bucket along, Djuna,” she said. “We’ll get some bait at the fish market.”

“What are the oars for, Aunt Patty?” asked Djuna. “I thought your boat was a motorboat.”

“It is,” said Aunt Patty. “But it’s got an awful old engine in it, and if the engine ever breaks down, we’ll need the oars to get home with. It’s never broken down, yet, but I’m taking no chances.”

At the fish market, Aunt Patty asked Mr. Steptoe, the man who had the market, if he had any lobster bait to spare. Mr. Steptoe filled Djuna’s bucket with scraps of fish that he was going to throw away, and then they went on to the boat.

When they got to the ladder at which her boat was tied, Aunt Patty put down the things she was carrying and climbed carefully down the ladder to the deck of the boat. Djuna handed the oars and the jug and the bucket of bait down to her, one by one, and then scrambled down to the deck of the boat, eagerly.

The
Patagonia
was only sixteen feet long and seemed to be almost half as wide as it was long. The engine, which had been covered with an old piece of canvas, was in the stern cockpit. The wheel was up forward, enclosed in a little house. All the space between the wheel and the engine was taken up by a wooden well, in which the lobsters—if they caught any—were to be put. Aunt Patty put the jug of water and the bucket of bait in a locker under the stern seat.

In a few minutes Aunt Patty got the engine started, and then Djuna helped her unfasten the mooring lines, keeping one rope loosely around the mooring post on the dock until Aunt Patty gave the word. When she had taken her place at the wheel, she said, “Cast off!” Djuna hauled the rope on board, Aunt Patty started the propeller, and the
Patagonia
moved slowly but grandly away from the dock.

As they passed the next pier, which was the one where Mr. Phinny Truelove had his store, they saw him standing at the end of his dock. Djuna waved to him, and Mr. Truelove waved back and shouted “Good luck!”

Aunt Patty, with her eyes fixed steadily ahead, steered the
Patagonia
among all the boats anchored in the harbor and headed out to sea. Djuna, standing beside her, looked excitedly around, for this was the first time he had ever been so far from land. Everything seemed different. Even the houses on shore looked different now, as their boat chugged slowly past them. It was like seeing houses in a foreign country. They all stood in a neat, orderly row, looking very small at that distance, and at the end of their line was a house with stone walls and a low tower. That was the lighthouse at the end of the Point, Aunt Patty said. The wind blowing toward them brought the smell of the ocean, a wonderful salty smell. Soon the stubby little
Patagonia
, leaving the harbor behind, began to rise and fall gently with the gentle waves rolling in from the sea, and sometimes a larger wave would slap against the
Patagonia’s
nose and send a splatter of spray flying past them.

“Would you like to steer for a while?” asked Aunt Patty suddenly.

Djuna’s heart gave a jump. “
Would
I!” he exclaimed eagerly. “Could I, really?”

Aunt Patty showed him how to manage the wheel and to hold the boat on its course, and Djuna quickly learned the knack of steering.

They were heading for the two little islands that belonged to Aunt Patty. She pointed in their direction, but they were so far away and so low that at first Djuna could not see them. They seemed, when he first saw them, only a gray line above the water. But one of them became more and more distinct as they came closer, and in a few minutes Djuna could see that at one end of it there was a large, bare rock, as high as a house.

“Now you can see the islands,” said Aunt Patty. “They call that rock Eagle Rock. And now you had better let me take the wheel again. There are a good many rocks under water, around here, and if you don’t know the channel you are liable to hit one.”

She slowed the boat down as she took the wheel, and they moved forward very cautiously.

“Where is the other island?” asked Djuna. “I can see only one.”

“That low ground in front of you is Haypenny Island,” said Aunt Patty. “From here, it looks as if it were part of Sixpenny Island, but it isn’t. There’s a narrow channel between them.”

As the
Patagonia
crept nearer to Sixpenny Island, going slowly around it, Djuna caught sight of a piece of wood floating upright, the end sticking up several inches out of the water. It was painted red and white.

“Oh, look!” he exclaimed, pointing at it. “What’s that?”

“That’s one of my lobster-pot marker buoys,” said Aunt Patty. “Now we’ll see what we’ve caught.”

She steered the boat over to it and shut off the engine just as she reached the floating stick. Leaning over the rail, she lifted it in, and then began hauling at the light rope that was fastened to its lower end. Djuna, standing beside her and watching with excitement, soon saw the lobster pot appear at the other end of the rope, as it rose slowly through the clear water. The rope was dripping and so was the box, as Aunt Patty lifted it on deck with a final heave. As she had said, it was wet work. But Djuna gave a squeal of joy as he saw two large lobsters through the slats of the box, waving their big claws threateningly.

“They’re good ones,” said Aunt Patty with satisfaction. “They’ll weigh all of a pound apiece.”

“But I thought lobsters were red, Aunt Patty,” said Djuna. “These are dark green. Aren’t they ripe yet?”

Aunt Patty laughed. “All lobsters are dark green until they’re cooked,” she said. “It’s the boiling water that makes ’em turn red.”

When she had taken them out of the lobster pot and dropped them in the box-like wooden “well” in the middle of the boat, she fastened some fresh bait in the lobster pot, taking it from the bucket, dropped the lobster pot overboard again and tossed the red and white marker, with its rope, after it. Djuna watched the lobster pot sink slowly to the bottom, weighted down by the stones in it, until it disappeared from sight and only the marker was left floating to show where it could be found.

“There!” said Aunt Patty. “Now we’ll go on to the next one!”

She started the engine up again, but by the time it began to chug again, the boat had drifted several feet away from the floating marker.

“What’s making us move?” asked Djuna curiously.

“That’s the tide current,” answered Aunt Patty. “It runs a little faster, going out between these two islands, because the channel is so narrow. It carries things along with it. See those gulls over there? They’re watching for any scraps of food they can find floating in the tide. They’re always around here at this time of the tide.”

Djuna had already noticed the big gray and white sea gulls which were circling back and forth over the narrow strip of water separating the two islands. Now and then one of them would make a sudden swoop downward and pick up a bit of floating seaweed, or anything else that looked as if it might be good to eat; and usually two or three other gulls would chase after the first and try to take it away from him. They were fun to watch.

Aunt Patty steered the
Patagonia
past the entrance to the channel and continued on around the edge of Sixpenny Island, keeping in the deeper water off shore and stopping the boat whenever she came to another of her lobster-pot markers. One by one, they hauled up the lobster pots, and although a few of them were empty, most of them had trapped one or two lobsters. By the time they had finished, both Aunt Patty and Djuna were pretty well soaked with water that had dripped from the lobster pots as they lifted them in and out of the boat. But, scuttling around in the bottom of the boat, safely under cover, were fifteen fine big lobsters!