Witches Cove

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XXI ON AIR AND SEA

  The scene that followed will remain in the memories of the three girls aslong as life shall last. The sea, a thin fog, a great dark plane risingslowly like a black swan from the water, a small American pursuit planeappearing on the distant horizon.

  "Is it our young aviator?" Ruth asked herself, gripping at her breast tostill her heart's wild beating. "Will he be in time?"

  Higher and higher rose the giant plane. Nearer and nearer came its littlepursuer.

  When she had risen to a height of a thousand feet, the dark marauderbegan thundering away.

  But of a sudden, a white gleam appeared above her. The little silverplane was possessed of great speed. The black giant, laden with hundredsof gallons of gasoline for a long journey, was slow in picking up. Thetiny pursuer was upon her. The fight was on.

  "It's like a catbird attacking a crow," Ruth told herself. "What will theend be?"

  With a daring that set the girl's blood racing, the young aviator swoopeddown upon his broad winged opponent.

  "He--he'll crash into them," she thought in sudden terror, "He--he has!"

  "No! No!" said Betty who, all unconscious of her actions, was dancingwildly about the deck. "There! There he is! He's come out from behind."

  Again the little plane rose. Again, he came down, this time to the rightand all but upon a broad wing of the Devil Bird.

  Then came a short, sharp, insistent sound that was not made by motors.

  "They--they're shooting," said Ruth as a fresh terror seized her. "Wemust get closer. They may bring him down."

  Gripping a rope, she sent her sail upward, then prepared to glide aheadat full speed.

  But now, matters took a fresh turn. So close did the young aviator divein that the great black plane was set wobbling. It was with the utmostdifficulty that she righted herself.

  Hardly had this been accomplished when the little plane, with all theferocity of a bird robbed of her young, was upon her again.

  "He'll be killed!" screamed Betty, now fairly beside herself. "There!There he goes!"

  But the little plane did not drop. It wobbled and twisted, turned half aflip-flop, righted itself and was at the dark antagonist once more.

  Again the pop-pop-pop-pop of shots.

  This time, however, it broke short off as the black plane, after aninstant of seeming to hang motionless in air, suddenly went into a tailspin.

  "There! There!" Betty closed her eyes.

  When she opened them the black plane was gone.

  "Where--where--" she stammered.

  "Gone to the bottom," said Ruth solemnly. "We'll get over there at once.They may rise. It--it's terrible to think--"

  "Poor fellows," said the little man. "They will never come up. The plane,with her heavy motors and her loaded tanks, took them straight to thebottom. They deserved little enough. They were the enemies of law andorder and all government. Since men must live as neighbors, laws ofconduct cannot be avoided. They were blind to all this. They saw wrongsin every land; men rich and living extravagantly who deserved to live onhard bread and wear rags, other men living in poverty, and they said, 'Wemust destroy.'

  "Nothing was ever gained by destruction. Wrongs must be righted by laws,and by instilling into the hearts of all men a feeling of brotherlykindness. Those who will destroy will in the end bring destruction uponthemselves."

  The little pursuit plane had come to rest on the sea. For a half hourboth plane and sail boat cruised the waters there, but no sign of themissing plane rose from the depths.

  When the little plane at last drew in close Ruth saw, with a suddentremor at her heart, that the young aviator of that other day by GreenIsland was in the forward cockpit.

  "Sorry to spoil your game," he said, standing up. "But he was about toget away. And that wouldn't do. Done enough damage already."

  "Quite enough," said the little man. "We owe you a vote of thanks. Youwere lucky to escape. There was shooting."

  "They did all the shooting," said the young man. "I was only trying toforce them down for you."

  "Well," said the little man, "you did that with a vengeance. And now," hesaid briskly, "we better get back to old Fort Skammel. These young ladiestell me that there's a secret cache of silks there. I have no doubt thereare papers of great importance there too."

  "Like to ride back with me?" said the young aviator, looking at Ruth."I--I promised you a trip, you know."

  "Yes," said Ruth, climbing into the plane.

  "We'll get over to the fort and keep guard there until you arrive," saidthe aviator, waving them goodbye as Ruth's last strap was safely buckledinto place.

  It was a strange world that Ruth looked down upon as she sped along--herown little world seen from above. Islands, homes, ships, all floated likeminiature affairs of paper beneath her. Then, much too soon, they wereskimming the bay for a landing.

  All was serene and dreamy about old Fort Skammel as the two, Ruth and herpilot, came ashore there. Dragon flies darted here and there. Spider websdrifted by.

  "The calm of a Sabbath afternoon," said the young pilot. "How good it isto be alive!"

  "Life," Ruth replied, blinking at the sun and struggling to reassembleher scattered thoughts, "could not be sweeter."

  An hour later, with the Secret Service man in the lead and an armed guardstationed along the corridors, the little company entered the room ofmany mysteries.

  They were all there, Ruth, Pearl, Betty and even the little city girl whohad come over in a row boat. And such a time as they had feasting theireyes on the softness and beauty of the silks laid out before them.

  CHAPTER XXII THE STORY TOLD

  A few moments later the men from the revenue cutter were passing boxesand bales of silk up from the strangely snug underground room, and hadbegun carrying them down dim corridors to the ancient granite dock thathad once served the fort.

  "Ingenious chaps, those fellows were," the little Secret Service mansaid, touching an electric heater. "Ingenious and resourceful. Heated theplace with electricity."

  "But where did they get the current?" Ruth asked.

  "There's an electric power cable passing across the island. They wiredthis place, then waited for a time when the current was off to tap theline, I suppose."

  "So that's it," said Ruth.

  "There is a great deal more that remains to be explained," said thelittle man. "I fancy I shall find it all recorded here." He patted agreat heap of books and papers which he had collected from one corner ofthe room. "If you young folks wish to come out to Witches Cove ratherlate in the afternoon, I am quite sure I shall have a lot to tell. Liketo come?"

  "Would we!" said Ruth.

  "Try us," said Betty, standing on tiptoes in her excitement.

  "That's settled, then. Come in the _Flyaway_ at dusk. I'm sure the threegray witches will be there to greet you. So will I, and my two blackcats."

  "It's a pity," he said a little later as he stood by the great heap ofsilks that lay on the dock ready to be transported to the customs house,"that I can't permit each one of you to select a wardrobe from amongthese beautiful creations, but the law wouldn't permit that."

  As their eyes rested on the broken bundles from which rich garments ofrare beauty shone through, they felt that he spoke the truth.

  That evening, just as the shadows had turned the dark green waters ofWitches Cove to pitchy black, the three girls, Ruth, Pearl and Betty,rode into that little natural harbor of many mysteries. Having droppedanchor, they rowed Ruth's punt silently to the rocky shore, then mountedthe rugged natural stairway to the cabin that crowned the crest.

  A curious light, flickering and dancing, now waving, now glowing bright,played hide and seek through the cabin's two small windows. A driftwoodfire was burning in the large room of the place.

  Before this fire, on the skin of some great bear whose grinning whiteteeth seemed ready
to devour them, sat the little man. On either side ofthe hearth the two black cats sat blinking. Before him was a heap ofpapers and a thick black book.

  "Sit down," he said, moving over to give them room. Lifting a simmeringpot from the hearth, he poured them delicious hot chocolate in cups asblue-green as the waters of Witches Cove.

  "We drink to the health of all loyal sons and daughters of Maine," hesaid, lifting a cup to his lips.

  "It's all written here," he said after a moment of solemn meditation."Written down in this book." He patted the fat black book.

  "It's strange," he said thoughtfully, "that men cannot resist recordingdeeds of daring. Whether they be done for lawful or unlawful purposes,makes no difference. Even the Buccaneers had their historians.

  "The author of this," again he touched the book, "was none other thanthat dark fellow, whom you called the 'face-in-the-fire' man.

  "It's a remarkable story," he went on. "Lindbergh crossed the ocean oncealone, and the whole world went mad. This man made seven round trips fromEurope to America and there was not one shout. Because," hepaused--"because almost no one knew. Seven men knew. They dared not tell.He brought them to America one at a time in the gray seaplane in which heto-day met so tragic a death. Our nation refused them entrance. Hebrought them. Very soon now they will be found and sent back. But becausethese men could not pay him, he engaged in silk smuggling. He used theold fort as a hiding place because no one would expect to find himthere."

  "But why?" Ruth leaned forward eagerly. "Why did he do all this?"

  "He crossed the ocean seven times bringing each time a man," the speakerwent on impressively. "Each time he recrossed the lonely old ocean alone.Think of it! Seven times! An unbroken record!

  "Loyalty," he stared thoughtfully at the fire, "loyalty is a wonderfulthing. But loyalty to a wrong cause can bring only disaster.

  "This man and his seven friends believed that the private ownership ofproperty was wrong, that your home, your boat, your horse, your dog, yesand perhaps your very father and mother, should belong to the State. Thatall men should own everything, and no individual anything."

  "How terrible!" said Ruth.

  "You think so," the little man said. "So do I. So do most Americans. Andyet that was the principle for which they stood. For this principle theywould smuggle, bomb, cast helpless girls adrift in a dismantled boat,destroy all."

  "That," said Ruth, "is a terrible way to live."

  "We think so. We believe that you have done your country a great service.You will not go unrewarded."

  "The thing I can't understand," said Betty, "is why they remained in theold fort and kept their silks there after they knew that Ruth and I hadbeen in that room."

  "They thought you were at the bottom of the sea where they meant you tobe," the little man smiled. "You would have been, too, had it not beenfor that chap you call Don and the fearless city boy."

  "Yes, we would," Ruth said solemnly.

  "And that," said the little man, "is the end of the story. You have allbeen fortunate. You have helped solve mysteries and have knownadventures.

  "Your lives from this day may flow as smooth as a river, but the memoryof this summer, with its joys and hopes, its perils, despairs, itsdefeats and victories can never be taken from you."

  "To-morrow night," he said, as he walked with them to their waiting boat,"Witches Cove will be dark. My black cats and I are leaving to-morrow.Good night, good-bye, and good luck."

  That night Ruth sat looking out once more from her room upon the moonlitbay. Her summer of adventure was over. Betty was returning to Chicago.The cottages were closing. Soon there would be left only the fisher folksand the sea.

  "Life," she told herself, "is quite wonderful, and not a joke at all."She doubted if anyone really, truly in the depths of their hearts, everthought it was.

  So, sitting there in her chair, dreaming in the moonlight, she allowedher head to fall forward and was soon fast asleep.

  THE END.

  Transcriber's Notes

  --Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.

  --Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.