Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island

by Gordon Stuart

  Produced by Richard Prairie, Charles Franks and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.

  The Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island

  BY GORDON STUART

  CONTENTS

  I OVER THE DAM

  II A HOPELESS SEARCH

  III LOST ISLAND

  IV MORE THRILLS

  V A STARTLING CLEW

  VI TO THE RESCUE!

  VII THE FLYING EAGLE SCOUTS

  VIII A VOYAGE IN THE DARK

  IX A RESCUE THAT FAILED

  X "TO-MORROW IS THE DAY!"

  XI A MID-AIR MIRACLE

  XII AN EMPTY RIFLE SHELL

  XIII THE GAME BEGINS

  XIV PATCHING THE "SKYROCKET"

  XV A WILD NIGHT

  XVI TRICKED AGAIN!

  XVII THE BIG PLAY

  XVIII A CLOSE FINISH

  The Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island

  CHAPTER I

  OVER THE DAM

  Three boys stood impatiently kicking the dew off the tall grass inRing's back yard, only pausing from their scanning of the beclouded,dawn-hinting sky to peer through the lightening dusk toward the clumpof cedars that hid the Fulton house.

  "He's not up yet, or there'd be a light showing," grumbled the short,stocky one of the three.

  "Humph--it's so late now he wouldn't be needing a light. Tod neverfailed us yet, Frank, and he told me last night that he'd be right ondeck."

  "We'd ought to have gone down right off, Jerry, when we saw he wasn'there. Frank and I would have stopped off for him, only we was so surehe'd be the first one here--especially when you two were elected to digthe worms."

  "We dug the worms last night--a lard pail half full--down back of hiscabbage patch. And while we were sitting on the porch along comes hisfather--you know how absent-minded he is--and reaches down into thebucket and says, 'Guess I'll help myself to some of your berries,boys.'"

  "Bet you that's why Tod isn't here, then."

  "Why, Frank Ellery, seventh son of a seventh son? Coming so early inthe morning, your short-circuit brain shockers make us ordinary folksdizzy. This double-action----"

  "Double-action nothing, Dave Thomas! I heard Mr. Fulton tell Todyesterday he was to pick four quarts of blackberries and take them overto your Aunt Jen. Tod forgot, and so his dad wouldn't let him gofishing, that's all."

  "Sun's up," announced Jerry Ring.

  "So's Tod!" exclaimed Dave Thomas, who had climbed to the first highlimbs of a near-by elm and now slid suddenly down into the midst of thepiled-up fishing paraphernalia. "I just saw him coming in from theberry patch--here he comes now."

  A lanky, good-natured looking sixteen-year-old boy, in loose-fittingoveralls and pale blue shirt open at the throat, came loping down thepath.

  "Gee, fellows," he panted, "I expect you're cussing mad--but I _had_ topick those berries before I went, and it took me so long to grouch outthe green ones after it got light."

  "I see you brought the very greenest one of all along," observed Davedryly.

  "Oh, you here, too, little one?" as if seeing him for the first time."I didn't know kindergarten was closed for the day. I make one guesswho tipped over the bait can."

  "Ask Frank," suggested Dave with pretended weariness; "he's got secondsight."

  "Don't need second sight to see that worm crawling up your pants leg.We going to stand here all day! I move we get a hike on down to theboat. Maybe we can hitch on behind Steve Porter's launch--he's going uppast Dead Tree Point--and that'll save us the long pull through theslough."

  The boys picked up the great load of luggage, which was not so big whendivided among four boys, and hustled out of the Ring yard and down thedusty road. They were four of a size; that is, Tod Fulton was tall andsomewhat flattened out, while Frank Ellery was more or less all in abunch, as Jerry said, who was himself sturdily put together. DaveThomas was neither as tall as Tod nor as stocky as Frank; He lookedundersized, in fact. But his "red hair and readier tongue," his friendsdeclared, more than made up for any lack of size. At any rate, no oneever offered a second time to carry the heaviest end of the load.

  Now, as they walked along through the back streets of Watertown,rightly named as it was in the midst of lakes, creeks and rivers, theybegan a discussion that never grew old with them. Tod began it.

  "We've got plenty of worms, for once."

  "Good!" cried Dave. "I've thought of a dandy scheme, but it'd take apile of bait."

  "What's that?" asked Jerry, suspecting mischief.

  "You know, you can stretch out a worm to about three inches. Tie abouta hundred together--allow an inch apiece for the knot--that would maketwo hundred inches, or say seventeen feet. Put the back end of the lineabout a foot up on the bank and the other end out in the water. Alongcomes a carp--the only fish that eats _worms_--and starts eating. Hegets so excited following up his links of worm-weenies, that he doesn'tnotice he's up on shore, when suddenly Tod Fulton, mighty fisherman,grabs him by the tail and flips him----"

  "Yes--where does he flip him?" Tod had dropped his share of the luggageand now had Dave by the back of the neck.

  "Back into the water and makes him eat another string of worms aspunishment for being a carp."

  "You with your old dead minnows!" exclaimed Tod, giving Dave a pushthat sent him staggering. "Last time we went, all you caught was adogfish and one starved bullhead. There's more real fish that'll biteon worms than on any other bait. I've taken trout and even black bass.Early in the morning I can land pickerel and croppies where a minnow ora frog could sleep on the end of a six pounder's nose. Don't tell me."

  "Yes," put in Jerry, "and I can sit right between the two of you andwith my number two Skinner and a frog or a bacon rind pull 'em outwhile you fellows go to sleep between nibbles."

  "Bully!" exclaimed Frank. "Every time we go home after a trip, you hanga sign on your back: 'Fish for Sale,' with both s's turned backwards.I'm too modest to mention the name of the boy who caught the largestblack bass ever hooked in Plum Run, but I can tell you the kind of flythe old boy took, all the same."

  "Testimony's all in," laughed Tod, good-humoredly. "And here we are atthe dock of the 'Big Four.'"

  "Yes, and there goes Porter up around the bend. We row our boat to-day.We ought to get up a show or something and raise enough money to buy amotor."

  "I move we change our plans and leave Round Lake for another trip." Itwas lazy Frank who made the proposal.

  "What difference does it make to you? You never row anyway. Plum Run'stoo high for anything but still fishing----"

  "I saw Hunky Doran coming back from Parry's Dam day before yesterdayand he had a dandy string."

  "Sure. He always does. Bet you he dopes his bait," declared Tod.

  "Well, you spit on the worm yourself. The dam isn't half as far as DeadTree, and, besides, we can always walk across to Grass Lake. Jerryvotes for the dam, don't you, Jerry?"

  But Jerry only shrugged his shoulders. Frank and Tod always disagreedon fishing places, largely because their styles of angling weredifferent and consequently a good place for one was the poorest placein the world for the other. So Jerry, who usually was the peacemaker,said nothing but unlocked the padlock which secured the boat, tossedthe key-ring to Dave with, "Open the boathouse and get two pair ofoars. Tod, take a squint at the sun--five-thirty, isn't it? An hour anda half to the Dead Tree, and an hour more to Round Lake. What kind offish can you take in old Roundy after eight o'clock?"

  "Oh, I knew we were going to the dam, all right. I give in. But if I'vegot to go where I don't want to, I'm going to have the boat to fishfrom."

  "As if you didn't always have it!" snorted Frank. "The only one whofishes in one place all day,
but he's got to have the boat--and forgetshimself and walks right off it the minute he gets a real bite. Huh!"

  Tod paid no attention to this insult. He and Jerry settled in theirplaces at the oars, with Frank at the stern for ballast, and Dave upahead to watch the channel, for Plum Run, unbelievably deep in places,had a trick of shallowing at unlikely spots. More than once had the_Big Four_ had her paint scraped off by a jagged shelf of rock or shoal.

  They were all in their places, the luggage stowed away, and Frank wasready to push away from the dock, when he raised his hand and saidinstead: "Understand me, boys, I'm the last one in the world tokick--you know me. But there's one request I have to make of you beforethe push of my fingers cuts us off from the last trace of civilization."

  "'Sw'at?" cried the three.

  "When we have embarked upon this perilous voyage, let no mournful noteswell out upon the breeze, to frighten beasts and men--and fish--intobelieving that Dave Thomas is once more _trying_ to sing!"

  Immediately a mournful yowling began in the bow of the boat, growinglouder as they drew away from shore. And then, amid the laughter of histhree companions, Dave ended his wail and instead broke into a livelyboating song, the others joining in at the chorus. For Dave's singingwas a source of pride to his friends.

  So, Dave singing lustily and Tod and Jerry tugging at the oars in timewith the music, they swung away from the dock and out in the centerchannel of Plum Run, a good hundred yards from shore. Once in thecurrent, they swung straight ahead down stream. Before long the lasthouse of Watertown, where people were fast beginning to stir, had fadedfrom view. They passed safely through the ripples of the shoals aboveBarren Island, a great place for channel cat when the water was lower.Through the West Branch they steered, holding close to the islandshore, for while the current was slower, at least the water was deeperand safer.

  A mile-long stretch of smooth rowing lay ahead of them now, after whichthey entered Goose Slough, narrow and twisty, with half-hidden snags,and sudden whirlpools. More than one fishing party had been capsized inits treacherous quarter mile of boiling length. Then came a so-calledlake, Old Grass, with the real Grass Lake barely visible through itscircle of trees. A crystal-clear creek was its outlet to Plum Run, athousand gleaming sunfish and tiny bass flashing through its purlingrapids or sulking in deep, dark pools. There was good fishing in GrassLake, but waist-high marsh grass, saw-edged, barred the way for nearlyhalf a mile.

  But just ahead of them Plum Run had widened out once more to real riversize, its waters penned back by concrete, rock and timber dam, withParry's Mill on the east bank.

  "Land me on the other side, above the big cottonwood," decided Frank."There's a weedy little bight up there where I predict a two-pound bassin twenty minutes."

  "I'll try the stretch just below, working toward the dam, I guess. Howabout you, Jerry!" asked Dave.

  "I'll stay with the boat awhile, I reckon. Where away, boatman?"

  "Dam," grunted Tod.

  "Not swearing, I take it?" inquired Jerry.

  "No--fishing there."

  Dave and Frank were dropped out at the cottonwood, where they were soonexchanging much sage advice concerning likely spots and proper bait.Jerry and Tod chuckled as they rowed away. Tod himself was keen onstill fishing with worms or grubs; he liked to sit and dream while thebait did the work; but his quarreling with Dave and Frank was mostlymake-believe. Jerry, the best fisherman of the four, believed, as hesaid, in "making the bait fit the fish's mouth." His tackle-box heldevery kind of hook and lure; his steel rod and multiple reel were thebest Timkin's Sporting Goods Store in town could furnish; they had costhim a whole summer's savings.

  Tod rather laughed at Jerry's equipment. His own cheap brass reel andjointed cane pole, with heavy linen line, was only an excuse.Throw-lines with a half dozen hooks were his favorites, and a bigcatfish his highest aim. As soon as the boat hit the dam he begangetting out his lines. Jerry jumped lightly over the bow.

  "Shall I tie you up?" he called over his shoulder.

  "Never mind, Jerry. I think I'll work in toward the shore a bit first,and, anyway, she can't drift upstream." So Jerry went on his way outtoward the middle of the dam.

  It was really a monstrous affair, that dam. The old part was built onand from solid rock, being really a jutting out of a lime stone cliffwhich had stood high and dry before the water had been dammed up by theheavy timber cribs cutting across the original stream. Concreteabutments secured these timbers and linked the walls of stone with thehuge gates opening into the millrace that fed the water to theponderous undershot millwheel. Just now the gates were open and thewater rushed through with deafening force. Jerry made his way acrossthe stonework section, having a hard time in the water-worn crevices,slimed over with recent overflows, for when the millgates were closed,Plum Run thundered over this part of the dam in a spectacular waterfall.

  He had hardly reached the flat concrete before he noticed that the roarfrom the millrace had ceased; the gates had been closed. All thebetter; this part of the river was shallow; when the water rose, bigfish would be coming in to scour over the fresh feeding grounds. So hemoved a little nearer shore and quickly trimmed his lines. He heard ahail from the bank as he made his first cast. It was from Dave.

  "Mind if I come out and try my luck beside you?"

  "Not at all. Water's coming up fast. Best try some grubs or worms,though. No good for minnows here now."

  "Sure," agreed Dave, settling comfortably beside him. "Water sure isfilling up, isn't she? Guess the Miller of the Dee dropped a cogwheelinto his wheat."

  "Not wishing anybody any bad luck, but I hope they don't start up againall day. This'll be a backwater as soon as the current starts goingover the dam. Another six inches--say! Look at Tod. If he isn't fishingright above the flume. Wonder if he's noticed."

  "Noticed? He's got a bite, that's what! Look at him bending to it. It'sa big one, you bet. Golly, did you see that!"

  "I see more than that," exclaimed Jerry grimly, dropping his preciouspole and starting across the slippery rocks on the run. "If he doesn'tget out of there in about thirty seconds, he's going over the dam!"

  But just as Jerry mounted the last clump of rocks, just as Dave'sdesperate shouts had aroused Tod to a realization of hisdanger,--something happened. You have watched a big soap bubbleswelling the one last impossible breath; you have seen a camp coffeekettle boiling higher and higher till _splush!_ the steaming brown massheaves itself into the fire--the bending, crowding mile-wide surface ofPlum Creek found a sudden outlet. And right in the center of thatoutlet was a plunging tiny boat.

  "Help!" rang out one choked-off cry, as in a great rush of suddenlyfoaming flood, over the dam plunged a boat and a terrorized boy.