The Flying Stingaree: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

by Harold L. Goodwin

  CHAPTER XI

  On the Bottom

  There were three wooden cases stored in the full-length closet in thehouseboat cabin. Rick and Scotty took the two bulkiest to the cockpitand opened them to disclose full skin-diving equipment. The boys hadmade the cases themselves, to be carried like suitcases. Each held asingle air tank, regulator, mask, fins, snorkel, underwater watch, depthgauge, weight belt, equipment belt, and knife. The third case containedspears and spear guns, but they wouldn't need those in searching for theobject that had splashed near the houseboat.

  While Rick checked the equipment, made sure there was sufficient air inthe tanks, and put on the regulators, Scotty searched for a heavy stakeand something with which to drive it. He found a sledge hammer inSteve's workshop. At the edge of the woods was a pile of saplings thathad been cut to make a fence. He chose a sapling that would serve as astake and took it back to the boat.

  One of the spare lines that the houseboat carried was quarter-inchnylon. Scotty fastened one end of the small rope to the sapling, abouthalfway up, and secured it with a timber hitch. Then he wound the ropeon the sapling as smoothly as possible.

  Rick finished checking the equipment and announced that he was ready.

  "Same here," Scotty replied. "Let's get into swim trunks."

  As the two changed, Rick asked, "Suppose we find something, but can'tget it up without help? How do we mark the place?"

  Scotty paused. Normally they would simply attach a line to a float andsecure the float to the object. But a float would attract attention."Take bearings?"

  Rick shook his head. "The boat will be swinging at anchor. It might behard to get good bearings. Would a piece of fish line work? We could tieit to the object, carry it to the shore, and secure it to somethingunderwater. The line would sink. Later, we could just drag until wecaught the line."

  "It would work," Scotty agreed. "There's a new spool of heavy line onthe shelf in the closet. Fifty yards. That should do."

  "Especially since the most we would need is fifty feet," Rick agreed."I'll stick it in a belt pocket, just in case."

  Back on deck, Rick started the houseboat's outboard motors and listenedcritically. They were operating smoothly. Scotty walked up the pier anduntied the bowline. At Rick's signal, he stepped aboard on the foredeck,bringing the line with him. Rick cast off the stern line, pushed thehouseboat away from the pier, then put the motors in gear.

  The trip to Swamp Creek was a familiar one now. Rick cut corners,knowing he had enough water under the keel, heading directly for thecreek entrance. Scotty came back to the cockpit and joined him.

  "Do you suppose Orvil Harris will be around?"

  Rick shrugged. "It's pretty late for a crabber. He's probably gone bynow."

  "I wonder if he'll ever see any flying stingarees come out of thecreek."

  Rick shook his head. "Most of the sightings are in the late morning orlate afternoon. Only a couple were around dawn."

  While the houseboat moved across the Little Choptank, Scotty checked thetide tables. He reported that the tide was coming in. It was about onehour from high tide. Rick had been studying the chart. "No problem," hesaid. "Mean low water averages four feet in the cove, with seven feet inthe middle. Think your stake will be long enough?"

  Scotty had placed the sapling with its winding of rope on the cabin top.He estimated its length again. "Depends on how deep the mud is. If it'smore than three feet, the top of the stake will be under water."

  "Three feet is a lot of mud," Rick said. "It's likely a lot less thanthat."

  He turned into the creek mouth, throttling back. It would be hard toanchor precisely where the houseboat had been anchored that first night,but he was sure they could find the spot within twenty feet. Scotty wentup on the bow and got the anchor ready.

  "Use about thirty feet of line," Rick called. He took the houseboat tothe exact center of the cove, as closely as he could estimate, then putthe motors in reverse to kill the speed. When it fell to zero, he yelledto Scotty. Scotty lowered the anchor and made it fast, then hurried backto join Rick, who backed off until he felt the anchor dig in.

  It was silent in the cove with the motors off. "I'll start," Rickoffered, and at Scotty's nod he picked up his Scuba and slipped into theharness. His weight belt was next, then his fins. Finally he slipped themask strap over his head, and put the mouthpiece in place. He took acouple of breaths to make sure he was getting air, then walked to theedge of the cockpit and fell backward into the water, letting his tanktake the shock of landing. He slipped the mask off, took the mouthpieceout, and spat into the mask to prevent fogging, then he rinsed it, putit on, and replaced the mouthpiece.

  Scotty had taken the sapling from the cabin top. He handed it to Rick,who dove with it, thrusting the sharpened end into the mud far enough sothat the sapling stayed in place.

  Rick surfaced again and swam to the boat, which had drifted a few feet.Catching the leg of one motor, he pulled the boat back to where thesapling projected above the surface. He held the boat in position whileScotty took the sledge and drove the sapling down until its top was onlya few inches above the water. Rick tested the pole. It was firm.

  He removed the mouthpiece, treading water. "Looks okay. I'm going tostart."

  "Good luck," Scotty called.

  Rick submerged and swam down, using the pole as a guide. The rope,attached to the pole, was perhaps two feet above the bottom. He freedthe end of the rope, unwound a few feet, slipped the end through hisbelt, and secured it with a slip knot. Then, hands extended, he beganthe slow work of covering the cove bottom inch by inch, searching forthe thing that had splashed.

  The boy swam in an ever-widening circle, the rope unwinding from thesapling as he moved. The unwinding of the line, which he kept taut,ensured that he would cover new ground each time he rounded the pole,but without missing any. He couldn't see, because his hands stirred upmud as he traveled. Only his sense of touch told him what was on thebottom. He wasn't afraid of grabbing a crab or an eel. All underwatercreatures with any mobility at all get out of the way as fast aspossible. He knew the compression wave caused by his movement would warnall living creatures.

  His groping hands identified various pieces of wood, all natural, andassorted other objects including an old tire. There were cans, some ofthem food tins that had been opened, and some beverage cans,recognizable because of their triangular openings. Once he found asection of fishing pole.

  It was a long, tedious job. The world closed in on Rick and there wasonly the murk outside his mask and the rhythmic sound of his ownbreathing. Only his hands, constantly probing the mud, were in touchwith reality. He lost all sense of time. Once, to see how much ground hehad covered, he pulled himself to the pole by the line, estimating hisdistance. He was about fifteen feet from his starting point. He returnedto the full extent of the line and started the round again, afterlooking at his watch. He had to hold it close to see the dial throughthe murk. He had been down only twenty minutes, although the time seemedmuch longer.

  Ten minutes later his hand swept over something smooth. Instantly heturned in toward the pole, and swam back around the circle for perhapsten feet. Then, covering the ground again by crawling along the bottom,he felt for the object. His fingers touched it. His first impression wasof something cylindrical, but he made no attempt to pick it up. Heneeded to explore it thoroughly, first. His breathing was faster, and heknew his pulse had accelerated at the moment of discovery. If thiscontinued, he would use air too fast. He willed himself to slow hisbreathing, and for a few seconds he stopped altogether.

  In that instant, Rick heard a slap on the water, then another. Hewaited, holding his breath. There was a pause, then more gentle slaps.He counted them.

  One, two, three, four--the signal for danger!

  He and Scotty had long ago agreed that four sounds underwater would bethe danger signal. He reacted instantly. The fishing line was in apocket on his equipment belt. He took it out and pulled line from thespool. Then, probing deep
ly with one hand, he pushed the line under thesmooth object, reached across and down with the other hand. When hishands met, he passed the line from one to the other and pulled the linethrough. Now it was around the object. He tied the line quickly, thenrolled over on his back and looked upward at the surface. He could gaugethe position of the sun, even though he could see no details. Using therays filtering through the murk as a guide, he oriented himself.

  "Which bank?" He thought quickly. Danger could only come from themansion, and that was on the south bank. He turned and swam north, goingslowly, paying out line from the spool. Now that he was traveling in astraight line, he covered the bottom quickly, and in less than a minutehe was in shallow water. He stopped, afraid that his tank would showabove the surface.

  It was clearer in the shallows. He made out the line of a branch, orroot of some kind that thrust its way through the surface. It wouldserve. Quickly he passed the spool around it and made a knot, then hepushed the spool itself into the mud and turned.

  Now to find the boat again. Cruising slowly, he headed in the generaldirection, rising slightly as he swam. Finally, he found the boat by itsshadow and swam under it to the stern. Again orienting himself by thesun, he made sure that the boat would be between him and the south bank.He surfaced and pulled off his mask.

  Scotty was swabbing the deck of the cockpit as casually as thoughtrouble was the last thing on his mind. Rick wondered briefly if he hadimagined the danger signal, or had mistaken some other sound for asignal. Then Scotty hailed him.

  "Where are all the clams?"

  Rick's mind raced. Obviously someone was listening. Was the someone onthe boat, or ashore?

  "I only found one," he called back. "I don't believe there are enough inthis cove to bother about, no matter what those fishermen said."

  "Did you dig deep enough?" Scotty asked.

  "As deep as I could without a shovel. The mud is two feet thick downthere."

  "Well, you might as well come aboard. I guess if we're going to haveclam chowder, we'll have to buy clams from a commercial boat."

  Scotty wouldn't invite him aboard if there was any danger, Rick knew. Heaccepted the hand Scotty held down and got aboard.

  He surveyed the situation quickly. There was no sign of any danger.

  "Pretty murky down there?" Scotty asked.

  "Like swimming in ink."

  "We'll try again out in deep water. It should be clear near the rivermouth."

  "Suits me," Rick said. "I never did think we'd find clams in this cove.The mano boats dredge in deeper water than this."

  "Maybe the fishermen didn't want us stirring things up where they clam.Come on in and I'll fix you some coffee. I made it while you were downbelow."

  "Okay."

  Once inside the cabin, Scotty said softly, "Two men. On the shore. Oneis the bodyguard. I've never seen the other one before. Both of themhave rifles."

  Rick considered. "They couldn't possibly know the thing--whatever itis--dropped in the water here. Or could they?"

  "I don't know. Anyway, they're suspicious. Did you find anything?"

  "Just as you signaled. How did you signal, by the way?"

  "With the mop pail. Four taps with the bottom on the water surface. ThenI filled the pail and began swabbing down."

  Rick nodded. "I don't know what I found. A cylinder, maybe two inches indiameter, maybe less. Smooth. I got the fish line around it and carriedthe line to the shore. We'll have to come back later."

  "We certainly will." Scotty's eyes sparkled. "But for now, let's upanchor and get out of here."

  "How about the stake with the rope on it?"

  "The tide's still coming in. It will be completely under the water athigh tide. We'll have to avoid it, and warn Harris if we don't get backtonight."

  An idea was beginning to form in Rick's mind. "Okay," he said. "Let'sget going."

  Within minutes the houseboat was on its way out of the cove, the twoboys acting normally, as though no one was observing their departure.Rick saw no one on shore, and not until they were sunward from the coveentrance did he see the sparkle of sunlight on binocular lenses. Scottyhad been right, as usual.