Stratemeyer Edward
A Young Inventor's Pluck: or, The Mystery of the Willington Legacy
CHAPTER XVI
ON BOARD THE "KITTY"
"Hello!" exclaimed Jack, in astonishment. "I never knew such large craft came here."
"It's really haunted," replied Meg. "Mustn't go near it."
The young machinist laughed.
"Seems to me everything is haunted around here," he said, "Were you ever on board?"
"Nope, Pooler would kill me if I went. He's terrible when he's mad;" and Meg shook her head as the memory of past trials arose in her mind.
Meanwhile Mont had gone on ahead, and now, not without some difficulty, reached the deck of the stranded vessel. Jack followed him, leaving the girl behind.
"Don't be long, please," called out Meg; "I don't like to stay here, and besides, I've got to get back, you know."
"We will stay only a few minutes," replied the young machinist.
Mont had walked aft, and picking his way over the odds and ends that littered the deck, Jack joined him.
"Jack, do you know what I believe?" asked the young man, when they were out of Meg's hearing.
"What?"
"I believe that this yacht was once my father's," replied Mont, earnestly. "His was named the Kitty, and was last seen on this river, above Corney. He used it to cruise around the lakes in."
"Yes, but that was above the falls," returned Jack. "You don't mean-" he began.
"Yes, I do. The water was higher years ago, and I'm convinced that his boat was caught in the stream and went over the falls."
Jack stepped back in astonishment.
"But he could never live through it," he cried.
"He was never seen after that," returned the young man, gravely, "Yet we came out alive," he added. "If he was on the boat he might have escaped."
Mont led the way carefully down the half-rotten companion way into the cabin below.
There the air was foul and stifling. It was totally dark, but Jack stumbled around until he found a small window and threw open a shutter.
A curious sight met their gaze. The place looked as if it had been left immediately after a struggle, although this might have been caused by a violent movement of the craft. A big armchair lay upset in one corner, with a pile of books in another. On the table lay a pile of written and printed papers, some of which had been swept to the floor, and were covered with the ink from an upturned bottle, which, however, had dried years before. Dust, mold and cobwebs were everywhere.
Jack picked up some of the written matter and brushing off the dust tried to read it.
"It seems to be an agreement," he said to Mont, who was looking over his shoulder. "An agreement about an invention, that-"
"It is my father's handwriting!" exclaimed the young man, in an unnatural voice; "I could tell it in a thousand."
Jack turned the document over.
"I guess you're right," he said. "It seems to relate to some improvement in making tools." He looked at the title. "Gracious me!"
"What is it?" cried Mont.
"It is drawn up between the Gray Brothers of the first part, and Martin Willington of the second!"
"And Martin Willington-" began the young man.
"Martin Willington was my father!" ejaculated the young machinist, in great surprise.
At that instant both heard Meg's voice calling loudly.
"Better clear out. Here comes Pooler, and that Andy Mosey is with him!"
Jack and Mont were startled by the unexpected cry from Meg. Both were thoroughly absorbed in the document which the former had picked up from the floor, and for an instant neither caught the full meaning of the girl's announcement.
"Andy Mosey!" repeated the young machinist, looking up from the agitated reading of that faded manuscript. "How in the world did he get here?"
"Heaven only knows!" ejaculated Mont. "Affairs seem to be all mixed, and I give it up. One thing is certain: he and Pooler are close friends."
"Or else have a mutual interest at stake," was Jack's comment. "Just as we two seem to have here," he continued, folding up the paper and putting it in an inside pocket.
"You're right. But what brings Mosey up to this end of the island?"
"Perhaps he thinks to find one or both of our bodies," suggested the young machinist.
"Did you hear me?" called out Meg again. "Pooler and Mosey are comin', and they've both got guns! Better skip out!"
Meg's language was forcible even if not well chosen. In her anxiety to do her two friends a good turn, she had overcome her dread of the so-styled haunted craft, and approached to within a few feet of the side, so that her shrill voice sounded plainly.
"It's a shame to leave these things here," said Mont, as he too, stuffed several papers in his pockets. "This boat was undoubtedly my father's property, and I believe I'm entitled to whatever is here."
"Certainly you are," replied Jack. "As it is, I intend to come back myself. But we can't do much, now, and if those two men see us they may make it very unpleasant, to say the least."
"Wish we were armed. This is the first chance I have ever had of learning the true state of my father's affairs, and how he died, and I don't want to leave until I have sifted the matter thoroughly."
Mont was already on the companionway, and Jack quickly followed him.
"It's queer that Pooler should know that this stranded boat is here, and yet not touch a thing on board," remarked the young machinist. "He seems to be so close, it's a wonder he hasn't carried all the stuff away."
"You don't remember that he thinks this is haunted," replied Mont.
Jack laughed.
"Do you believe that yarn?" he asked.
"Not altogether; yet the man is certainly a strange fellow."
Meg was eagerly awaiting them on the shore.
"I don't see Mosey and Pooler," said Jack, as he stepped to the rail and looked over.
"They're comin' through the woods," explained the young girl, hurriedly; "I just saw 'em through the clearing ahead."
"What brings them here?" asked Mont.
"Don't know. Pooler comes only once in a great while, and I never knew that Mosey to go anywhere but to the cottage."
"Well, what shall we do?" asked the young man, turning to Jack.
"Better get out of his way," suggested Meg. "He's a wicked man when he's mad, and he'll be the maddest man in the district if he catches you two on this boat."
"Suppose we go below and hide," replied the young machinist. "It ought to be an easy thing to do so on such a craft as this."
"Just the idea!" exclaimed Mont. "How slow of me not to think of it."
"But how about the girl?"
"Ain't you goin'?" asked Meg impatiently.
"No; we intend to hide on board," replied Jack. "We were just thinking about you. I hope you won't tell Mr. Pooler where we are?"
"Not unless you want me to."
"Which we certainly do not."
"Suppose you go back to the boat, and get it ready," replied the young machinist after a moment's thought. "We may wish to leave in a hurry."
"All right."
"I can trust you?" he added, with a smile.
"Trust me? Just you try me, that's all!" and with a toss of her head, Meg darted away into the bushes, and was lost to sight.
At the same instant Mont caught hold of Jack and dragged him behind the cabin.
"I just saw Mosey and this Pooler through those trees yonder!" he exclaimed. "They'll be here in another moment!"
"Let's go below at once. We want to get the 'lay of the land,' and secure the best place we can," returned the young machinist, leading the way back to the cabin.
They found several staterooms, all but one of which were locked. The open one seemed to be as inviting a place as any, and this they entered, closing the door carefully behind them.
They were none too soon, for hardly had they settled in the place before they heard the two men clamber on board.
The newcomers were evidently having a spirited confab, but as the deck was thick, not a word could be heard below. Their heavy boots sounded up and down the planking several times, and then the two in hiding heard them come down into the cabin.
"You must have been mistaken," Max Pooler was saying; "I know they were on the island, but the girl rowed 'em to the mainland half an hour ago."
"Oi say no," replied Mosey. "Oi seen them coming over here from me boat. But why should they be on the island at all?" he continued with apparent indifference.
"They fell in the river and went over the falls."
"And lived? Come now, Max-"
"They say so, anyway. Of course I didn't believe the story. I guess they're only a couple of young tramps," said the master of the island. "But if they are still hanging around I want to know it."
"Tramps!" burst out the Irishman. "Phat are ye talkin' about? Do ye mane to say ye don't know who they are?"
"Why no," replied Max Pooler in surprise.
He had tried the doors of two of the staterooms, and was now walking toward the others.
"Well, thin, let me tell ye, one was Jack Willington, whose father got up that machinery years ago-"
"What!"
"And the other wan was Monteray Gray's son."
The miser of the island uttered a loud cry.
"You are fooling!" he said, excitedly.
"No, I ain't."
"Why, I thought his son was dead, that he-he died here," continued Max Pooler, with a white face.
Mosey laughed, a cold, hard laugh.
"Max, me b'y, ye can't kill that lad. If ye'd go out into the worruld more ye'd larn more. Now his father-"
The miser of the island grasped the Irishman fiercely by the shoulder.
"Stop there!" he commanded; "I won't have it-remember that-I won't have it!"
CHAPTER XVII
MEG TO THE RESCUE
The last part of Mosey and Max Pooler's conversation would no doubt have greatly interested Jack and Mont had they heard it, but the truth was that as soon as they saw the two men preparing to search the place, they immediately sought for some means to escape.
In one corner of the stateroom they found a small door leading by a narrow passage to what, for the want of a better name, may be termed the forecastle. Why it had been put there was not apparent-except, perhaps, to allow a direct communication between the captain and the men, but nevertheless, they used it, and when Max Pooler spoke so sharply to Mosey, the two in hiding had again regained the deck, and did not hear the short quarrel that followed.
"Where to now?" asked Mont, "We can't stay here, that's certain."
"There is Meg with the boat!" exclaimed Jack, pointing down the shore. "Wonder if we can get her to come alongside without them finding it out?"
"We can try," replied the young man, and taking out his handkerchief, he waved it vigorously.
In an instant the young girl caught the signal, and came rowing up.
"Where are they?" she asked, anxiously.
"Down below," replied Jack in a whisper. "Don't make a noise or they will hear you."
"All right. Jump in, both of you."
Mont and Jack were not slow in taking her advice. Both scrambled over the rotten rail, and into the boat, which fortunately was rather roomy.
"Shall I take the oars?" asked the young machinist, who, though not an expert, could still handle the oars fairly well.
"Nope. I can row better'n either of you. Off we go!" And with one quick stroke this slender girl sent the craft far out on the water.
Before she had time to take a dozen strokes Max Pooler appeared upon the deck closely followed by Mosey.
The surprise was great on both sides, and for an instant nothing was said or done.
"Come back, Meg!" called out Max Pooler, rushing to the rail as soon as he had recovered from his astonishment. "Come back, or it will be the worse for you!"
"I'm goin' to row 'em over to the shore," replied the young girl. "It's just what I started to do."
The master of the island stamped his foot in rage. "You little good for nothing! Bring that boat back without another word!"
Meg continued to row without replying.
"Do you intend to mind me?" screamed Max Pooler. "If you don't, as sure as I live I'll shoot you!" and he drew up his gun as he spoke.
"Hold up!" shouted Mont, fearful of harm coming to the girl. "We'll come aboard."
"No we won't!" put in Meg, with a strong show of spirit, "I said I'd take you to the mainland, and I'll keep my word, shootin' or no shootin'!"
Max Pooler pulled back the hammer of the gun he carried. Seeing the action Jack jumped up and placed himself directly in front of the girl.
"Thanks," said Meg. "It's mighty good of you to try to save me, but I don't want you to run such a risk. I've got to have it out with him sooner or later, and now is as good a time as any," and she placed herself again in range.
"Did you hear what I said?" called Max Pooler, leaning over to make himself heard: "I'll give you just five seconds to turn that-"
Crack!
As I have stated, the guardrail on the yacht was rotten, and under the unusual weight, it gave way with a crash.
Splash!
The miser of the island had lost his balance, and after vainly clutching the air to save himself, had floundered into the water and mud below!
"Hello!" exclaimed Jack. "There's an accident that's lucky for us."
"He'll have all he can do to take care of himself," remarked Mont.
"Serves him right," put in Meg, with a laugh. She had not taken the whole affair very seriously. "Maybe it'll cool his blood."
The three saw Mosey rush to Max Pooler's assistance, and then, without waiting to see the outcome of the mishap, the girl again bent to the oars, and sent the boat flying onward.
"What do you intend to do?" asked Jack of Meg, as they neared the shore. "You can't very well go back. I'll help you if I can."
"I don't know," replied the young girl, in perplexity. "I've had enough of life over there."
"Suppose you go over to Farmer Farrell's with us, I think he will board you for a few days anyway, and in the meantime you can find out what's best to do."
"I ain't got no money."
"We'll make that all right," replied the young machinist. "But didn't Pooler ever pay you anything?"
"Pay me? Don't catch him giving out a cent if he can help it. All I got was these duds-'em as was left when his wife died."
"Not much, certainly," put in Mont, surveying the tattered and patched dress.
"Other folks earn money, and I guess I can, too, if I try," continued Meg, as she ran the boat up the accustomed beaching place.
"Certainly you can," declared Jack.
"And have a better living than you had at the island," added the young man.
It was growing dusk when they stepped ashore. Meg tied the boat fast and left the oars on the seats, certain that the craft would not remain uncalled for long.
It was but a short walk to Farmer Farrell's place. They found him driving home the cows, and on the doorstep, joined by his wife, the two honest people listened to what Jack and Mont had to say about themselves and Meg.
The girl stood in the background, much of her former shyness having returned. At the conclusion of the tale, Mrs. Farrell took her hand warmly.
"Poor child! you've had a hard time of it, truly!" she said, "But you sha'n't have any more trouble-at least, not for the present, eh, father?"
"No, we can keep her easily enough," replied her husband. "You want help, Martha, summer coming on, with all the extra work."
"And we'll pay you, too," continued Mrs. Farrell.
"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Meg. "You 're real kind. Maybe I can't do things just right, but I guess I can learn, and you needn't give me a cent till I do."
"Then, that's settled," said Jack, somewhat pleased at having the matter so easily arranged.
"If only Pooler don't make me go back."
"You say you're no relation of his?" asked Mont.
"Not's I know. He always called me a picked-up."
"Then just let him try it," put in Farmer Farrell, grimly. "I know the man well. He pretends to own Blackbird Island, but he hain't got no more title 'n I have."
"And maybe I can get you a few dresses from my sister, and-" began Jack.
"Well, there, by Jinks!" exclaimed Farmer Farrell, jumping up from the step upon which he had been sitting. "I almost forgot it, being so interested in your story. Your sister was here looking for you."
"Deb!" Jack was indeed astonished, and so was Mont. "What did she want here? Looking for me?"
"Yes; she's had a terrible time. Your model's stolen, and she's been put out of the house for not paying the rent."
The news startled the young machinist. In the excitement he had forgotten all about Mr. Hammerby and the quit notice.
"Did she say where she had moved to?" he asked anxiously.
"No, she was in too much of a hurry. She was frightened half to death on account of your being missing."
"No doubt of it. Poor Deb! Her troubles are as bad as ours," remarked Mont.
"Which way did she go?" was the young machinist's question.
"Toward home again," said Farrell; "I wanted her to stay the worst way when I found out who she was, but she wouldn't think of it."
"Maybe we can overtake her," suggested Mont.
"We'll try, anyway," returned Jack.
He was much worried over the fact that Deb had been compelled to vacate the old home; and then he suddenly remembered that all of his money had been stolen by Corrigan.
"Without a home and without money," he thought dismally. "Well, thank God, my life has been spared, and, as Deb said, 'maybe it will all come out right in the end.'"
Yet his heart was by no means light, as Mont and he set out for Corney.
CHAPTER XVIII
DEB AT THE MILL
The apartments which the kind-hearted Miss Parks allowed Deb to have were small but pleasant, and the bright sunshine that strolled in the back windows did much toward brightening up Deb's naturally lively disposition.
By the aid of the energetic elderly maiden the furniture from the former Willington rooms was quickly set to rights, a good part of it being stored in the garret until-when?
Deb asked herself that question many times as she sat on the edge of the bed, after Miss Parks had gone below.
"If Jack was only here," she sighed. "Where can he have gone? I will never, never believe he has run away, no matter what Mr. Benton or the others say. Something has surely happened to him."
It was not long before she decided to start on a regular search for her brother, and going down stairs she told Miss Parks of her intention.
"Well, dear, do just as you think best," was that lady's reply. "Where do you intend to go?"
"I shall visit that farmer's place first," replied the girl. "Perhaps they can give me some information."
"I hope so. But have a cup of tea before you leave?"
"Thank you; I really don't care for it."
"Oh, but you must," insisted the good lady. "It will do you a heap of good. Just the thing to quiet your nerves."
Rather than displease her friend, Deb finally consented; and spent ten minutes in the back parlor, sipping the elderly maiden's favorite Young Hyson.
The girl was soon on her way. Farmer Farrell was well known throughout the district, and it did not take her long to reach his place.
She was thoroughly dismayed to learn that Jack had started for home at sundown the day before.
Not knowing where to go or what to do next, she retraced her steps toward Corney. She was in no hurry, and wandered in deep and painful contemplation, to one side of the road.
Near the old mill she stumbled over a bundle that lay in the grass near a tree. Without thinking, she was about to step over it, when something about the cloth covering attracted her attention, and picking it up, she was amazed to find that it was Jack's kit, wrapped in his overalls!
"How in the world did that get here!" she exclaimed, and then turned deathly white, as a horrible suspicion crossed her mind: "Oh, it could never be! no, no, no, no!"
She dropped the bundle and ran down to the water's edge. The spot was just below the mill, and in a little cove, where the river was comparatively quiet.
Nothing was to be seen-nothing but the sparkle of the sun, and the waving shadows cast by the trees overhead.
"It's awfully lonely here," she said to herself. "If Jack came here-"
She was startled to see the shadow of a man close beside her. Looking up she gave a slight scream as she recognized the tall form of Corrigan.
She did not know that the man had been watching her for some time, revolving in his mind what he should say about Jack if asked any questions.
He advanced to her with a smiling face, ignoring entirely the way he had treated her the previous evening.
"Got tired of waiting for Jack to get back?" he asked.
Deb was too much alarmed to offer a reply at once.
"Yes-I am," she stammered.
"Thought you would be. He ought to have sent you word," continued Corrigan. "He sold the model I took, just as I told you he would," he added.
"Where is he?" asked the girl, thrown off her guard by the villain's cool manner.
"Around here somewhere. He's been here and over to Redrock twice since yesterday. He got the contract to fix up the machinery in this old mill. The man who bought it wants the job done as soon as possible, so he went right to work. I'm helping him on the drawing. I'm a draughtsman, you know."
Deb did not know, nor was she aware that Corrigan's statement was purely fictitious.
"Where is Jack now?" she asked, turning over the plausibility of the story in her mind.
"Just went up the stream a ways, to catch the true drift of the tide," replied Corrigan. "He thinks they will get more power if the wheel is shifted around. Better come in the place and wait for him."
Deb hesitated. In spite of all the man was saying, she hated to trust him. Yet, if he was speaking the truth, certainly her treatment of him the previous evening had not been right at all.
"There are some benches inside," continued the fellow; "you are tired, I can see, and the rest will do you good. Jack will land at the bottom room."
Rather reluctantly Deb followed the man into the building.
"Here you are," he said, pulling a bench from the wall, and motioning her to a seat. "You mustn't think I bear you a grudge for what you did last night," he continued, pleasantly.
The girl sat down without replying. The spot was near an open window, and she strained her eyes to catch sight of any craft that might be coming toward the mill.
"Perhaps after all, it's all right, and I'm a silly goose to be so worried," she thought; "it's just like Jack to take hold of the first job that comes to hand. For all I know his silence may be caused by his good luck."
Yet when she remembered about being locked in and, later, turned out of their home, she concluded it was a serious matter, and wondered what her brother would say to that.
It was fast turning to twilight, and the evening sun cast long flickering rays across the rapid stream. Had her mind been tranquil, Deb would have enjoyed the scene greatly, but now her one thought was upon the boat she hoped would speedily appear.
"Object to smoking?" asked Corrigan, after a brief spell of silence.
"Oh, no, smoke as much as you please," replied the girl.
Corrigan filled his pipe, and lighting it, sat down. He was by no means a dull man, and to carry out his hastily formed deception, he began making a few apparent calculations on a bit of paper which he held upon his knee.
He was waiting for Mosey to return from Blackbird Island. He expected that his brother-in-law would see Max Pooler, and transact some private business that interested the three, and from which he expected to receive a neat sum of money. Several times Deb turned to watch Corrigan.
"He seems sincere enough," she kept saying to herself, yet at the bottom of her heart her uneasiness increased. The man hardly knew what to do. On the impulse of the moment he had detained Deb, thinking that he might in some way make her shield him from the punishment he knew he richly deserved, yet now he was not sure he could manage her.
A quarter of an hour, a very long quarter to Deb, passed.
"My brother ought to be in sight," she said. "He ought to stop working. It is getting late."
"Maybe he's struck a new idea," replied Corrigan. "You know he hates to give up unless a point is settled."
Deb knew that this was true of Jack. But might not her brother go straight home, without returning to the mill?
"I guess I'll go up the road to meet him," she said, rising.
Corrigan stepped over to the door. "No, you must stay here," he replied, decidedly.
"Why-why, what do you mean!" exclaimed Deb, turning pale.
"I mean just this," replied Corrigan, catching her by the arm, "you are my prisoner, and must do as I say."
