by Roy J. Snell
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morganand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net
_A Mystery Story for Boys_
_The_ SHADOW PASSES
_By_ ROY J. SNELL
The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago
COPYRIGHT 1938 BY THE REILLY & LEE CO. PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I The Silver Fox 11 II Blackie's Story 32 III Fat and Furious 38 IV The Capture of Old Silver 53 V Johnny Fights for Fun 68 VI Smokey Joe's Blue Bears 77 VII A Strange Battle 85 VIII The Stormy Petrel's First Prize 98 IX Fate Lends a Hand 103 X A New World 111 XI The Fall of Red McGee 119 XII A Ptarmigan Feast 128 XIII The Shadow 141 XIV A Voice in the Fog 147 XV A Roar from the Deep 158 XVI Looming Peril 166 XVII Trapped 174 XVIII Five Rounds and a Friend 181 XIX Ordered Below 189 XX A Battle in the Dark 194 XXI Wall of Glass 201 XXII Dreams 209 XXIII In the Blue Bear's Cave 216 XXIV Overtaking a Shadow 225 XXV "Bill" Returns 233
THE SHADOW PASSES
CHAPTER I THE SILVER FOX
"And then I saw it--the Shadow."
The speaker's eyes appeared to snap. Johnny Thompson leaned forward inhis chair. "It glided through the fog without a sound." The voice dronedon, "Not a sound, mind you! We had a small boat with powerful motors. Istepped on the gas. Our motors roared. We were after that shadow."
"And then?" Johnny Thompson whispered.
"For all I know," the black-eyed man murmured, leaning back in his chair,"we might have cut that shadow square in two. Anyway, that's the last wesaw of it for that day.
"But think of it!" he exclaimed after a second's pause. "Think of thething just disappearing in the fog like that!"
He was a romantic figure, this man Blackie. The boys of Matanuska Valleyin Alaska loved this gathering of an evening about the red-hot stove inthe store. And no part of the evening's entertainment was ever half sothrilling as Blackie's stories.
"It was spring then," Blackie added, "late May, when the salmon run wason."
"It was a whale after salmon, that shadow," someone suggested.
"No, sir!" Blackie fairly shouted. "It was too fast for a whale! Somesort of Oriental craft, I shouldn't wonder. Though how they'd make it gowithout a sound is beyond me.
"Ah well," he sighed, "I'll be rid of these by spring." He kicked at thecrutches beside his chair. "Then I'll be after 'em again, those bloomin'Orientals and their gliding shadows."
"You going back into the Coast Guard Service?" Johnny asked eagerly.
"I sure am!" Blackie agreed heartily. "Boy! That's the life! A speedyboat with two or three airplane motors in her hull, a good crew, plentyof gas, the wide open sea and enough trouble to keep your eyes open dayand night. Man! Oh, man!"
"Take me along," Johnny suggested impulsively.
"Me too!" put in Lawrence, his slim, bright-eyed cousin.
"What do you know about boats?" Blackie asked.
"Plenty," was Johnny's prompt reply. "Been on 'em all my life, powerboats on the Great Lakes, Carib Indian sailboats in the Caribbean,skin-boats way up north. It's all the same.
"And Lawrence here," he added after a brief pause, "he knows aboutmotors."
"I--I was assistant mechanic in an airplane hangar for a season,"Lawrence agreed modestly.
"Well, it--might--be--arranged," Blackie replied slowly. "Don't knowabout pay. You sort of have to be on regular for that. But up here in thenorth, things can't always be done according to department regulations.Anyway, it's worth thinking about."
"Thank--oh, thank you," Lawrence stammered. Johnny knew how he wasfeeling at that moment. He, Johnny, had met adventure in many climes.Lawrence had lived a quiet life. Really to sail on a coast guard boat insearch of Orientals suspected of stealing salmon, smuggling or spying offthe Alaskan shores, to chase gray shadows that pass in the fog! Worththinking of? Well, you'd just know it was!
Johnny was still thinking of all this when two hours later, he creptbeneath the blankets in the small log cabin room occupied by Lawrence andhimself.
"That would be great!" he was telling himself. In fancy, he allowed hismind to wander. Bristol Bay, a hundred and fifty miles wide and a hundredand fifty long, fishing boats on the water, canneries on the shore andback behind all this in the fog somewhere, beyond the three-mile line,great dark bulks that were Oriental ships. Why these ships? No one knewexactly. "Spying out our shore-line," some said, "stealing our salmon,"said others. And perhaps they were smugglers. It was known that theseships carried smaller crafts that could be lowered to the water. "Coulddo anything, go anywhere, these small boats," Johnny assured himself.
"And the Shadow, that mysterious gray form that goes streaking throughthe fog. What could it be?
"Ah, well," he settled deeper among the blankets. "It's a long time tillspring, and here, right in Matanuska Valley is exciting adventureaplenty."
As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured dreamily, "We'll go afterhim again tomorrow."
"Yes," Johnny agreed, "tomorrow."
"Lawrence! Look! There he is!" Johnny pointed excitedly up the glisteningexpanse of frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They were on the river.
"Wh--where?" Lawrence whispered.
"You don't have to whisper." Johnny laughed low. "He's way up there. Ican scarcely see him with the glass. Here! Take it. See that pool ofwater on the right side?"
"Yes--yes, I see." Lawrence took the field glasses.
"At this end of that pool. I saw him move. Look quick!"
For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied that pool. "Yes," heexclaimed at last, "he _is_ there! I saw him move over to the right."
"Lawrence!" Johnny's voice was tense with emotion. "I'm going after him!"
Johnny bent over to tighten a skate strap. "Here! Give me the bag. Youfollow me, but not too fast. You can keep the glasses. I won't needthem."
"Al--all right, Johnny. Be careful! You--"
But Johnny was away. Skating from the hips, scarcely lifting a foot fromthe ice, he appeared to glide without effort over the glass-like surfaceof the river.
The boy's spirits rose. They were "after him again." And "he" was a grandprize indeed.
"If only we can get him," Johnny was thinking. "If we only can."
The distant future quite forgotten, John
ny was living intensely in theglorious present. Lawrence followed slowly. He, too, was a skillfulskater. The river at this point was frozen solidly. No need for thoughthere. At once his mind was busy with memories of the not-too-distant pastand plans for the future.
Life for him had been strange. Eight months before he had been on thebroad, dry prairies of the Dakotas. Now he was skating on the MatanuskaRiver in Alaska. Nor was this just an adventurous winter trip. TheMatanuska Valley was his home and would be, he hoped, for years to come.Six miles back and up a half mile from the river was their claim and thesod-covered log cabin they called home.
"We are pioneers!" he whispered to himself. "Pioneers!" he repeatedsoftly. How he loved that word. How much it meant to them all; freedom,new life, fresh hope and in the end a home all their own. "And paid for,"he declared sturdily.
Yes, when the government had announced a resettlement project in thisrich valley and the Lawsons who had been driven from their farm home bydrouth and dust heard of it they had joined up. And here they were:father, mother and son, with cousin Johnny thrown in for good measure.
"Been here six months," Lawrence thought. "Got a little start. And nextyear!" Ah, yes, next year. His face sobered. So much depended on thefuture. And they needed so many things.
"We'll not go in debt," his father had insisted stoutly. "Not for asingle thing we can do without."
But now the boy's mind came back with a snap to the immediate present. Ashe looked ahead he saw nothing of Johnny. For a second his heartfluttered. Had his good pal come upon an unsuspected air-hole? Had hegone through? Was he, at this moment, caught by the swift current,shooting along rapidly beneath the ice?
"You have to know your river," an old-timer had said to them. "Every footof it." Did Johnny know it well enough, or--
Of a sudden he let out a low, happy laugh. Some distance ahead, showingamong the branches of a fallen fir tree, he had caught a glimpse ofJohnny's plaid mackinaw.
"He--he's all right," he breathed. "Just getting a look."
Johnny was now within a hundred yards of that dark pool, where, he hoped,their prize still lurked.
"He must see him with the naked eye," Lawrence murmured as he glided intothe shadow of a shelving bank. Here, steadying himself with one hand, heheld the glass to his eyes with the other.
Then, with hand trembling so it seemed the glass would drop, heexclaimed, "Man! Oh, man! It's a silver fox and a beauty! If only he getshim! If he does!"
They were hunters, these boys. "Strange hunters!" some might say. "Noguns! No traps!" This valley was alive with rich, fur-bearing animals.With guns and traps one might reap a winter's harvest. Without guns ortraps how was it to be done! This had been the question uppermost intheir minds some weeks before. In the end they had found the answer, orthought they had. And a strange answer it was.
They had arrived, this little family of four homesteaders, along withhundreds of others in the Matanuska Valley, too late in the spring toclear land and raise a crop. They had been obliged to content themselveswith a large garden and an acre of potatoes.
Such potatoes as those had been! "We'll sell two hundred bushels!"Lawrence had exulted. "That will go a long way toward buying a smalltractor. Then just watch our smoke!"
"Oh, no you won't!" Jack Morgan, an old-time settler in the valley, hadlaughed.
"What? Why not?" the boy demanded.
"Who'll you sell 'em to?" the old-timer asked in a kindly voice.
"Why, we--we'll ship 'em out."
"You can't, son," Jack's voice rumbled. "That's the trouble. At presentthere's no market for farm products here. Never has been. That'll beworked out in time, now the government is interested. But just now wehave to eat our own potatoes."
"But how do you get any money?" Lawrence had demanded.
"Trap foxes, minks, martin. Good money in trappin'," was the old-timer'sreply.
Of course, the boys had come rushing home bursting with the news thatthey could make money all winter long trapping.
To their surprise they saw Lawrence's father's smiling face draw intosober lines.
"No, boys," he said quietly. "Not that. Anything but trapping. It's toocruel. I'd rather you went out with a gun."
"But we haven't a gun," Lawrence protested.
"That's right," the father agreed. "And it's not to be regretted.
"You see, boys," his face took on a strange look, "when I was about tenyears old I had a dog I thought the world and all of. He didn't cost alot of money. Never won any prizes at dog shows. But his hair was kinky,his eyes alive with fun and his bark a joyous sound to hear. No boy everhad a more faithful friend than good old Bing.
"And then," his voice grew husky, "well, you see there was a man wholived all by himself down by the river, Skunk McGee they called him.Never amounted to much, he didn't. But he trapped enough skunks andmuskrats to pay for his groceries.
"Our farm was along the river, on both sides. Father told him more thanonce not to set his traps on our farm.
"One time in the dead of winter, way down below zero, old Bing didn'tcome home. I was worried but father said, 'He's gone to the neighbors andthey took him in on account of its being so cold.'
"But he hadn't," Mr. Lawson's tone changed abruptly. "He was in one ofSkunk McGee's traps. And when we found him he was dead, frozen hard as arock.
"And so you see, boys," he added quietly, "I've always hated traps. Inever see one even now but I seem to see poor old Bing with one foot init, whining and shivering out there all alone."
From that day on the thought of traps was banished from their minds.
But the foxes? Did they vanish? No indeed! The foxes saw to it that theywere not forgotten.
Before the summer was at an end some families, unaccustomed to thepioneer life, lost courage and decided to return to their original homes.Among these were two families who had brought with them small flocks ofchickens. By careful planning the Lawsons were able to buy the chickens.Having built a stout log henhouse and a small wire enclosure for sunnydays, they felt better than ever prepared for the winter.
"Chicken for Thanksgiving and Christmas and eggs all winter long! Whatluck!" Lawrence rejoiced.
The chickens, no doubt, were something of a surprise to the foxes. Buthad they not always preyed upon ptarmigan? And were not chickens just bigplump ptarmigan? Perhaps this was the way they reasoned. At any rate, onenight Lawrence heard a loud squawking and rushed out just in time to seea plump white hen vanish into the night. A fox had her by the neck.
"Something must be done about that," he insisted at once. "If we can'ttrap the foxes, what then?"
"Take them alive," was his father's prompt reply.
"Alive! Alive!" both boys cried.
"I can't see why not," was Lawrence's father's quiet reply. "Of course,you'll have to wear tough, moose-hide mittens and keep your noses out ofreach, but--"
"We'll do it," Lawrence exclaimed. "But then," his face sobered, "how'llwe ever catch up with a fox?"
"When I was a boy," said his father, "we used to catch muskrats onskates."
"Muskrats on skates?" Lawrence laughed.
"We were on the skates," his father corrected with a smile. "The ratswere on the ice, you see," he leaned forward. "We worked it this way.We'd watch until the muskrat came out of his hole to get a drink. He'd goto an open pool of water at the edge of the ice. We'd wait until he'dstarted back across the ice. Then we'd come swooping down on him. He'dget frightened and sprawl all over the ice--no wild creature can handlehimself well on the ice. So we had him.
"Once," he chuckled, "Bob Barnett saw something moving on the ice. It wasjust getting dark. He thought it was a rat. He come swooping down upon itand--" he paused to chuckle. "Well, it turned out to be a skunk. Theskunk objected to his intrusion. So Bob went home to bury hisclothes--just for a scent."
The boys joined in the laugh that followed but they were not slow infollowing this suggestion. They found, however, that great skill andcaution were needed in this type
of hunting.
They made progress slowly. After catching two muskrats, a snow-shoerabbit and two ground-squirrels, they decided to start a small zoo alltheir own.
"Who knows?" Lawrence enthused. "We may catch some truly rare creature.The keepers of zoos are always on the lookout for live specimens. We maysell enough to get that bright new tractor down at Palmer after all."
"A tractor!" Johnny doubted. "Oh! No! Surely not that much!"
"And yet," Lawrence now thought as he stood watching for Johnny's nextmove on the river ice, "there he is creeping up on a silver fox. What isa real, live silver fox worth?" To this exciting question he could formno accurate answer. He had a hazy recollection of reading somewhere aboutone that was sold for $3000.00.
"No such luck as that," he whispered.
Just now, however, his attention was directed toward the silver fox that,still very much at liberty, had taken a good drink from the pool and wasstanding, nose in air, apparently looking, listening, smelling. Had hesmelled trouble? Would he drop into the pool to swim across and disappearon the farther bank, or would he start back across that glisteningstretch of ice? Lawrence felt his heart leap as he saw the fox drop hishead. The big moment was at hand.
"He--he's going across!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "It means somuch!" His thoughts went into a tailspin. Not only would they possess areal, live silver fox for which, beyond doubt, some zoo would payhandsomely, but their flock of chickens would be safe, for they couldtell by the size of the tracks that he was the one that was getting thechickens. He was a sly one, indeed, this fox. Three times in the lastmonth, in spite of their every effort to prevent it, he had carried off afat old hen.
"He--Johnny's starting," Lawrence said, as, gliding silently from cover,he prepared to follow his cousin on his swift, silent, breathless quest.
It was a truly wonderful sight, those two boys moving as if pushed by anunseen hand closer, ever closer to the unsuspecting fox.
Moving swiftly, Johnny reached a fallen cottonwood tree. Just then thefox, pausing in his course, once more sniffed the air. "I might get himif I rushed him now," he thought, "and I might miss." This was true. Thefox was but a third of the way across the ice. He was still too close tothe pool. The plan was to allow him to reach the very center of theriver, then to rush him. Startled, he would start quickly for some shore.Losing all sense of caution, he would begin to sprawl upon the ice. Asthe boy came rushing on with the speed of the wind, he would stoop over,snatch at the fox and speed on. He must seize the fox just back of hisears. Could he do it? As he stood there hidden his pulse pounded madly.He, too, had seen that it was a silver fox.
"He--he's smelled me!" The boy's voice rose in a sudden shrill shout."Come on, Lawrence! I'm going after him! Bring the bag!"
Gripping a large, moose-hide sack, Lawrence went speeding after him.
As for Johnny, with breath-taking suddenness, he saw the distance betweenhim and the fox fade. A hundred yards, fifty, twenty, and--"Now!" hebreathed. "Now!"
The fox was not a foot from the edge of the pool when, still speedingwildly, the boy bent down and made one wild grab.
"Got him!" he shouted exultantly. But wait! Ten seconds more and thefox's ivory teeth were flashing in his very face. He seemed to feel themtearing at his nose. There was nothing to do but drop him. With asuddenness, startling even to the fox, the boy let go.
Down dropped the fox. On sped the boy. When Lawrence reached the spot thefox had vanished into a hole and Johnny was skating slowly, mournfullyback.
"Never mind," Lawrence consoled. "We'll get him another time."
"But a silver fox and a beauty!" Johnny exclaimed. "Think of losing him!"
"I have thought." Lawrence was able to grin in spite of hisdisappointment. "It would have meant a lot and now--" he chuckled, "nowwe know it's a real silver fox after our chickens. We'll have to lockthem in a vault."
"Not as bad as that," said Johnny. "But Lawrence," his voice dropped."This must remain a deep secret. Not a word to anyone. If Jim and JackMayhorn knew about this there'd be a trap on every foot of the river."
"Never a word," Lawrence agreed.
They were a rather disconsolate pair as they pulled off their skates ahalf hour later.
"To think!" Johnny groaned. "I had my hands on five hundred dollars,perhaps a thousand dollars worth of fox and had to drop it because it wastoo hot."
"The price of a tractor," Lawrence agreed. "It's too bad."
It was too bad indeed. All day, five days in the week, they worked hardat clearing land. The trees were coming down. After the spring thawthousands of stumps must be pulled. A tractor would do that work. Afterthat it would draw the plows.
"If only I hadn't lost him!" Johnny groaned.
"Aw! Forget it!" Lawrence exclaimed. "Come on! Let's go home by thecamp."
The "camp," as they had come to call it, was a three-sided shelter builton a corner of their forty-acre claim. It had been built, and apparentlyabandoned, only a few months before their arrival. Such a snug shelterwas it that the boys had often sought its protection from storms. Once,with a roaring fire before its open side, they had spent a night sleepingon its bed of evergreen boughs.
The place never lost its fascination. Who had built it? Trader, hunter,trapper or gold prospector? To this question they could form no answer.Would he some day return? To this, strangely enough on this veryafternoon they were to discover the answer, at least that which appearedto be the answer. As they were looking it over for the twentieth timeLawrence suddenly exclaimed, "Look! Here's a bit of cloth tacked to thispost. And there's a note written on it in indelible ink!"
Johnny did look. "Read it!" he exclaimed.
"I will," Lawrence began to read. "Can't quite make it out," he murmured."Oh, yes, this is it.
"'I WILL BE BACK ON JULY 1st. BILL.'"
"So he's coming back," Johnny's tone was strange.
"Coming back," Lawrence agreed. "All right, Bill, old boy," he laughed."We'll keep your snug little camp ship-shape till you arrive."
And for this bit of service, had they but known it, they were to receivea very unusual reward.