The Flying Stingaree: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

by Harold L. Goodwin

  CHAPTER IX

  The Duck Blind

  Orvil Harris had described the opening to the hidden waterway, but whenthe boys examined the line of reeds and marsh grass there was no sign ofit. "He said thirty yards downstream," Scotty remembered.

  Rick was at the wheel of the runabout. "Climb out on the bow," hesuggested. "Take the boat hook with you. I'll just keep nosing in untilwe find it."

  "Okay." Scotty took the short, aluminum boat hook from its fastenings inthe small cockpit, stood up on the seat, and stepped over the windshieldto the bow. For a moment he surveyed the shoreline from his highervantage point. "There's a place that looks promising." He held the boathook out like a spear, pointing.

  Rick put the runabout in gear, and moved forward at idling speed.Looking over the side, he could see the bottom clearly. They were inonly two feet of water, and the outboard was stirring up mud at thestern.

  "No good," Scotty called. "That one doesn't go anywhere. Try upstreamanother six feet."

  Rick turned the boat, watching for the opening Scotty had spotted. Hesaw it a moment later. "Looks too small," he called back.

  "I think it opens up. Go ahead slow."

  The runabout nosed up to the almost solid line of tall swamp grass, andScotty leaned forward. "I think this is it. Take it easy."

  The heavy grass rubbed on both sides of the boat, but nothing impededits progress. The runabout pushed through the brown-green swale until itwas almost enclosed by the grass. Then they were through, into a narrowchannel with high grass on both sides. It was hard for Rick to see aheadbecause of the turns, and Scotty served as his eyes, motioning from oneside to the other as the channel shifted.

  Rick wondered if the sound of the outboard motor could be heard at themansion, and decided it probably could not. The heavy marsh grass was agood sound baffle and the motor was relatively quiet. He leaned out,trying to see ahead. There were many birds in the swamp, and next to theboat a surprised snapping turtle looked up briefly, then scurried intothe mud for cover.

  The channel was narrowing now. Scotty looked back and drew his handacross his throat in the old signal to "cut." Rick instantly killed themotor.

  "I'll pole us," Scotty said softly. He began using the boat hook as apole, digging it into the bank and pulling the runabout ahead. Finallyhe stopped, and wiped sweat from his face. "This is about as far as wecan go."

  Rick took a swipe at a black fly that bit him on the arm. "Okay. Let'scollect the gear and get started."

  Scotty tied the boat to a projecting root while Rick took the equipmentfrom its place under the seat and put it within reach on the forwarddeck, then jumped ashore. His feet hit apparently solid ground, but keptright on going down into a foot of ooze.

  He lifted one foot that was a black blob of mud, tried to locate moresolid footing on which to place it, and gave it up as a bad job. Heleaned over and took the telescope case and tripod.

  Scotty picked up the Polaroid camera and their binoculars and cameashore, sinking into the swamp as Rick had done. He grinned wryly."We're up to our knees in this mystery already."

  Rick lifted a foot with five pounds of mud clinging to it. "If we get init up to our hips, we'll have a fine time getting out. How far do youthink it is to the duck blind?"

  "Maybe twenty-five yards. Not much more than that, maybe less. Come on."

  Slowly, because of the need to haul each foot out of the mud, the boysstarted through the swale. The marsh grass was over their heads, forminga thick screen. The grass, however, was no handicap to the biting flies.Within a few seconds each boy was carrying equipment in one hand, usingthe other to fight off the swarms. An occasional mosquito added to theirdiscomfort.

  The muddy ooze thinned, then gave way to higher ground. The marsh grasswas less thick and there was an occasional clump of willow. Rick studiedthe terrain ahead, and in a moment caught sight of dark-green foliageamong the brown tips of swamp grass. In a few more feet he made out thetops of trees, and then the glint of sunlight on the aluminum of theantenna they had come to photograph.

  Scotty had seen it, too. He stopped and the boys consulted.

  "We're about twenty yards too far upstream," Scotty guessed.

  Rick estimated as best he could. "I think you're right. Let's stay onhigh ground and head downstream a little. We must be almost there."

  Scotty turned and Rick followed, waving uselessly at the cloud ofinsects. He was grateful for the advice Steve had given them to wearlong trousers and long-sleeved shirts. If they had been wearing shorts,the insects would have had free access to several square feet of barehide.

  Both boys counted steps automatically, and after twenty pacesdownstream, Scotty turned toward the mansion once more. They pushedthrough the tall grass into thick mud, then into water with a deep muddybottom. A few more steps and the grass thinned. Scotty stopped andmotioned Rick back. They moved sideways, then forward again, and emergedwith the duck blind between them and Calvert's Favor.

  Rick thought to himself that it had been pretty good navigation,considering that most of the journey had been blind, in grass over theirheads. Apparently Scotty thought so, too. He turned and gave Rick a biggrin, then headed for the rear of the duck blind.

  The water deepened, washing off some of the mud. Rick reached down andsplashed a handful on his face. It was warm. He saw a wet black heademerge from under the duck blind and speed for shore. It was a startledwater rat. Alerted by the small splash of their coming, the rodentdecided to take better cover. Then they were at the corner of the blindwhere the entrance was located.

  The floor of the blind was level with their chests. Rick looked in.There wasn't much space, since the blind had been built to provide onlya place for hunters to sit, wait, and then shoot from kneeling orsitting positions.

  Both boys put their equipment on the dry wooden floor. Then Rick swunghimself up and pushed the equipment back to make room for Scotty. For amoment they sat on the floor, resting. Coming through the swamp had beenexhausting work.

  After a few moments' rest, Rick moved to the side of the duck blind andfound a small opening, a square window about six inches on a side, thathad apparently been made to give the hunters a view in that direction.The opening was near the forward, upstream corner, and it looked out onCalvert's Favor.

  Merlin the mysterious and his two close companions were sitting underthe willow tree enjoying something liquid from tall glasses. As Rickwatched, a fourth man, evidently a servant, brought a tray on which asilver pitcher rested. The boy could see the trickles of water cascadingdown the outside, and knew they were caused by moisture condensing onthe cold metal of the pitcher. He moistened his lips. A fine pair ofdunderheads, he and Scotty were. They had come without even a canteen ofwater.

  "Easy shot," he whispered to Scotty. "Let's set up and take thepictures, then get out of here. I'm getting thirsty just watching them."

  Scotty adjusted the tripod, while Rick took the telescope out of itscase with reverent hands. It was a beautiful and delicate piece ofequipment, Steve's personal property, and he appreciated the trust theagent had placed in them by allowing its use. He fitted the instrumentto the mounting screw on the tripod, then aimed it through the six-inchwindow. When he squinted through the eyepiece, he saw only willowbranches, but, by keeping his eye in place and cranking the gearedtripod head, he quickly aligned the telescope with the trio under thewillow.

  _Scotty fitted the camera to the telescope_]

  The telescope had a fixed focus, and was designed for looking at stars.Consequently, the field of vision was extremely narrow at the shortdistance across the water, and Rick could only manage to get Merlin andhis small, insignificant-looking companion into the frame. What's more,they were upside down, as is common in reflecting telescopes. The boyknew there was an erecting prism in the case, a device that would putthe image upright, but it couldn't be used with the camera. Anyway, itwouldn't matter, since the print could be turned over.

  He studied the faces in the upside-down position.
The telescope gave himan even better close-up than at the restaurant. Again he groped for theidentity of the white-haired man, but it eluded him.

  Scotty tapped him on the shoulder and motioned that the camera wasready. Rick moved aside and his pal quickly fitted the camera to thetelescope and tightened the mounting rings. Rick nodded to indicate thatthe telescope was on target, and Scotty tripped the camera.

  The advantage of the Polaroid camera is that the picture can be seenwithin seconds. Scotty quickly went through the simple routine, andwithin a quarter of a minute the boys were looking at the photo. It wasan excellent close-up, but a trifle dark. Scotty opened the iris on thecamera another stop and Rick rechecked the alignment. Scotty snapped thepicture and processed it. This time it was perfect, only slightly hazybecause of the rising heat waves across the hundred yards of distance.

  Rick readjusted the telescope for a full view of the third man. Hispicture was added to the others. Scotty wiped both with fixative and putthem on the floor to dry.

  The antenna was next. Rick focused on it without difficulty, but thefield of view was so narrow that he couldn't see all of it. They wouldhave to photograph it in two sections, then fit the prints together.

  Five minutes after their arrival at the duck blind, they were back inthe swamp, the pictures protected in a plastic bread wrapper Rick hadbrought. They cut directly across the swamp and emerged, hot, sticky,and dirty, only a few yards from the boat. They stowed the equipmentwordlessly, then poled backwards into the wider channel. It was toonarrow to turn, so Rick started the motor and backed out with greatcaution.

  Once in the clear, they headed at top speed for Steve's, tied up at thepier, and plunged into the water without even bothering to remove theirclothes. Their only precaution was to empty their pockets.

  Rick luxuriated in the coolness of clean water, then stripped to hisundershorts and threw his sodden clothes onto the pier. Only when he wassure he had washed off the last of the clinging mud did he pull himselfup to the houseboat cockpit, Scotty following.

  They toweled and put on clean clothes, then carried the equipment backto the farmhouse. Two bottles of Coke apiece from the refrigerator hadthem feeling normal again. Over the last one, they studied the photos.

  "I don't think we've ever known Merlin," Rick said thoughtfully. "We'veseen him, but we don't know him."

  Scotty scratched a mosquito bite. "Think he might be some kind of publicfigure?"

  Rick looked up sharply. "I think you hit it! If that's true, we shouldbe able to get him identified easily."

  "Steve could do it through JANIG," Scotty suggested.

  "It would take too long. He won't be home until tonight, and the picturewouldn't reach JANIG until tomorrow. Then it would take a day to checkit out."

  "Are we in a hurry?" Scotty asked.

  Rick chuckled. "I am. But don't ask me why. Look, I'll bet Duke or Jerrycould identify it by going through the newspaper morgue." Theirnewspaper friends were owner-editor and reporter for the Whiteside paperback home.

  "They're on vacation," Scotty reminded him. Once each year, the paperwas turned over to a friend of Duke's, a former newspaperman turnedprofessor of journalism, who used the occasion to give some of hisstudents practical experience.

  That was true, Rick remembered. Neither Duke nor Jerry would beavailable. Who else did they know who could help? Suddenly he snappedhis fingers. "I've got it! Ken Holt would help, if we could get thepicture to him."

  Ken Holt, the young newsman whose adventures were favorite reading forRick and Scotty, had once asked Spindrift for help, and Rick had givenhim a set of pocket-size radio transceivers of the kind known as "TheMegabuck Network."

  "Sandy Allen is a photographer," Scotty pointed out. "He might knowthese people."

  Rick took a chair next to the telephone and dialed the operator. "Aperson-to-person call," he stated, "to Mr. Ken Holt, at the _BrentwoodAdvance_, Brentwood, New Jersey." He put his hand over the mouthpiece."Let's hope he and Sandy aren't off on an assignment somewhere."

  Luck was on their side. Ken Holt was in, and he was delighted to be ofhelp. "Put the picture in the mail," the young reporter suggested. "Ifyou make it airmail, special delivery, we'll have it first thing in themorning. With luck, we might even get it tonight. We'll phone you assoon as we have an identification. Incidentally, the Megabuck unitsworked like a charm, as I told you when I wrote. Thanks a lot."

  "Glad they were helpful," Rick replied. "We'll hurry to town and get thepicture in the mail right away."

  He hung up and nodded at Scotty. "We'll get the picture ready, and takeit to town when we go to pick Steve up. If we're a little early, theletter probably will go out on the early evening plane to Washington."

  Scotty nodded. "What time is it?"

  Rick glanced at his watch. "Nearly three. We'll be ready to take off assoon as Steve calls, or doesn't."

  "If he calls, that means he won't be back," Scotty reminded.

  "No matter. We'll go to town anyway, and have an early dinner."

  Rick had envelopes and letter paper on the houseboat. He wrote a briefnote to Ken, addressed the envelope, and printed AIRMAIL SPECIALDELIVERY on both sides, then enclosed the best picture of Merlin andsealed it. Scotty spent the time on a small repair job, taping up theneoprene gasoline hoses that carried fuel to the houseboat motors. Bythe time he was finished, it was nearly four. The boys went into thehouse to wait.

  Steve called on the dot of four. "Rick? ... Steve. I'm sorry, fellow. Ihave a little more to do on this case, and I'll have to stay over.Everything going all right?"

  Rick briefed him quickly on the day's events and Steve replied, "Ittakes about half an hour for a letter to make the early evening plane.Allow enough time."

  "We will," Rick assured him. "Anything new on the sighting data?"

  "Not yet. I sent the cards to the computing center, but they won't havetime to run the data through until tomorrow or the next day. Makeyourselves at home, and don't spend all your time on flying stingarees.Get in some fishing and swimming."

  Rick assured him that they were enjoying the vacation and would try toget in some fishing. He hung up and turned to Scotty.

  "He'll be in tomorrow on the same plane. He wants us to get in somefishing."

  Scotty chuckled. "I thought he knew you better than that. Give you amystery to chew on and there's no room for anything else in that thickBrantish skull."

  "We'll solve this one," Rick said confidently. "Then we'll fish."

  Scotty just grinned.