Read Ebook: Rex Kingdon on Storm Island by Braddock Gordon Wrenn Charles L Charles Lewis Illustrator

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Ebook has 1900 lines and 55590 words, and 38 pages

"Enos Quibb," Kirby said, chuckling. "He's one sure enough farmer--that's right."

"Just the same," said the fat boy, wagging his head, "I wish he'd keep away from here--and so does Ben."

"Poof!" scoffed Kirby. "If Ben expressed a dislike for the sunshine or the sweet air, you'd keep in the shade and put on an overcoat, Pudge. What Ben says is law and gospel for you."

"We-ell," drawled Pudge MacComber frankly. "You know I wouldn't be up here if it wasn't for Cousin Ben. He paid my way."

"Yes," muttered Kirby to the taller fellow, "and I know Ben didn't give Pudge any return ticket, either. Keeps Pudge in leash better if he has no money in his jeans."

The fat youth did not hear this aside. He was saying: "We shouldn't have camped down there so near the shore. It's too exposed. Ben said that in the first place."

"Aw--Ben!" scoffed Kirby, while the tall chap smiled quizzically at the fat boy.

"He was right just the same. Here comes Enos Quibb, and we're going to get the boot, sure. We haven't permission from the Manatee Lumber Company to camp here, and you fellows know it. We'll have to sing 'It's Moving Day,' all right-o--and just as we got comfortably settled, too," finished Pudge with a groan.

"Come on," said Kirby. "Don't stand there weeping over it."

Already their leader was striding into the wood, and Kirby hastened to catch up with him. Pudge MacComber plodded on behind. It was a hot day, and he suffered from his exertions.

"What'll we do?" asked Kirby, at the tall fellow's elbow.

"About what?" countered the other, with a lift of his eyebrows and a tantalizing smile that seemed an index of his character. "What's fussing you up, Harry?"

"I don't feel any different from usual," said Kirby, rubbing his head and grinning. "If there's an idea milling around in there I don't sense it."

"But I do. Leave it to me." His friend started onward again, leading the procession to the encampment.

It was a beautiful spot they had selected in which to set up their tents--an open grove sloping easily to the edge of Manatee Sound which lay, on this particular June day, as smooth as a millpond between the island and Manatee Head, five miles away.

Ben Comas, much excited, hurried toward them. "Whatchu goin' to do about this, Horrors? See that fellow? He's mad's a hatter."

"He'll have a stroke--I shouldn't wonder," drawled the tall lad. "Too hot a day to let one's dander rise."

"You can joke," snapped Ben. "But he means business."

The launch was now close to the shore, and the exhaust ceased popping. Enos Quibb, the Blackport constable, stood in the bow boathook in hand, scowling threateningly at the group above him.

"My, my!" murmured the only member of the camping party who seemed to take the visit of the constable with any degree of composure. "He seems savage enough to eat nails."

"Now, don't, Horrors!" begged Ben Comas. "Don't make it worse!"

"Better be smooth with him, old man," urged Kirby.

"See if you can pacify him," groaned Pudge. "I worked like a dog helping Joe get this camp fixed."

Their leader chuckled as he walked down to the natural dock where the two canoes, in which the party had reached Storm Island, were moored. The view of the sound, the rugged, well-wooded and scantily-inhabited mainland in the distance, expanded before his gaze. For several miles in either direction this mainland, as well as Storm Island itself, was either owned or leased by the Manatee Lumber Company. On the mainland the timber was properly policed by the company's guards; but Storm Island, far off shore, was considered secure from invasion by irresponsible fishing parties and the like, by the trespass signs posted upon its beaches. Blackport, the nearest town, ten miles from the western point of the island, was hidden from it by the wooded and rocky "crabclaw" sheltering Blackport Cove.

There was scarcely a habitation to be seen from the spot where the boys' camp had been established. There were fish-weirs visible at several points along the shore; but the catches gathered from these traps were, as a usual thing, taken to Blackport to be cleaned and iced, and then shipped to Portland or Boston by train. The locality was, therefore, as deserted as any spot along the entire stretch of the Maine coast.

Enos Quibb caught his boathook in the exposed root of one of the two great trees at the landing, drew the launch closer, and moored it. Then he sprang ashore. He was not a very big man save in his sense of importance. Being of a sandy complexion, his innumerable freckles were painfully yellow and prominent. His large, high-bridged nose was of a cold blue color even on this hot summer's day.

"Say, you boys!" he began. "Can't ye read them signs?"

"What signs, kind sir?" asked Horrors, languidly. Ben Comas, at his elbow, nudged the taller lad and whispered:

"Don't make it worse! Don't nag him!"

"Them 'No Trespass' signs," said the constable. "You know well enough they was put up to warn such chaps as you be off the island."

"But suppose we don't believe in signs? You know, I never was superstitious myself; I'd just as soon walk under a ladder--or take a bath on a Friday--as not."

Pudge began to chuckle, and the wrath of the constable was flagged in his thin cheeks by a rising flush.

"Stop it! Stop it!" ejaculated Ben Comas, under his breath. "We're in a bad enough scrape as it is."

The other gave no heed. He showed his even teeth in a sudden smile, that was all. Enos Quibb said, harshly:

"You're one smart boy, I don't dispute; but if you and your friends don't pack up and git off of this island shortly, you'll be smarter. Don't you know I can arrest you for trespass?"

"No," was the quiet reply. "I don't know that."

"Why--we--well, say! The company did give a permit to one party for this summer."

"Well?" was the suave query.

He drew out a letter. Ben Comas groaned. Kirby whispered emphatically: "Good-night! It's all off!" The constable unfolded the letter, and then quickly glanced up again at the quartette.

"This permit's issued to 'Rexford Kingdon and friends.'" Again he addressed the tall lad. "Does your name happen to be Kingdon?"

"Now you've said a mouthful," returned the leader of the camping party airily.

"Well! Well!" ejaculated the constable. "Why didn't you say so before?"

"You didn't ask me," the other returned, shrugging his shoulders, while his mates behind him stood in speechless amazement.

"Well! Well!" Enos Quibb exclaimed again, his watery eyes blinking. "If you air the right party I ain't got nothin' more to say. Only ye might have told me over to the port yesterday who ye was. I'd ha' been saved this trip, an' gas is mighty expensive." He seemed aggrieved.

The tall lad, who had dominated the situation so easily, may have considered the part of the pacifist just then a wise move.

"You didn't ask me who we were, my friend. You bawled us out over there at Blackport--told us we were blocking the sidewalk with our canoes, and drove us into the gutter. I suppose you had to do something like that," he added, gently, "or we might have overlooked the fact that there was a constable around."

Quibb flushed again at this last suggestion, but made no reply. He stepped into the launch, seized the boathook, and shoved off.

Kirby grabbed at his friend's arm. "He's never going to go without asking to see the permit?" he whispered.

But that is exactly what Quibb did. He spun the flywheel, and the exhaust began to spit.

"Dear me!" sighed Horrors. "And he's going without even bidding us good-by."

"Great Peter's uncle!" exploded Kirby. "The nerve of you, Horrors!"

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