Read Ebook: Among the River Pirates: A Skippy Dare Mystery Story by Fitzhugh Percy Keese Fogel Seymour Illustrator

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Ebook has 894 lines and 46007 words, and 18 pages

Toby Dare looked exultantly at his son as the trim green launch chugged off to circle the barge. It was a look of triumph and of high hopes for the future.

"All we need's his O.K., Skippy," he said in soft tones. "It's somethin' ter be able ter face guys like the inspector, specially when I been dodgin' him so long."

"Sure," said Toby, a little abashed. "There ain't many reg'lars in this harbor that the inspector ain't got spotted some time or other. But I should worry now."

"There's more ter this here inspectin' business than what a guy thinks," said Toby simply. "All I know uv boats is this here kicker. I never did more'n load an' unload aboard Ol' Flint's scows."

"The inspector's gettin' back in the launch," said Skippy eagerly. "Now they'll come back an' say it's all right an' then we can go, huh?"

Toby Dare nodded and smilingly waited as the launch chugged back alongside of his kicker.

"What yer think uv my ol' battle-axe, hey, Inspector?" he asked, chuckling.

"Battle-axe is a good word for her, Dare," said the inspector solemnly. "Nothing describes her better."

Toby Dare's generous mouth seemed to tighten at the corners.

"What yer mean, Inspector?"

"How much did you pay for her?"

"Three hunderd--why?" Toby's lips trembled a little and he searched the inspector's face anxiously.

"Who'd you buy her from?" the inspector persisted.

"I thought it must be somebody like him. I hate to spring it on you, Dare, but you've paid three hundred dollars too much. She's not worth a dime."

Toby Dare cleared his throat and a strange look came into his kindly gray eyes.

Toby Dare's tanned, weather-beaten face went suddenly white and he made a funny little clicking noise with his tongue.

Inspector Jones shook his head.

"It'd take more money than what you paid for the old hulk, Dare; more money than you've got, I guess."

"I ain't got a cent, Inspector, that's the truth," Toby said, choking on his words. "Every cent I had I paid Ol' Flint an'--an'...."

Inspector Jones leaned toward the miserable man.

"Don't take on so, Dare. Maybe the thing's not as hopeless as it seems. If Josiah Flint's got a spark of human feeling he'll make good. Perhaps he didn't realize what shape the barge was in when he sold her. He owns so many...."

Skippy's eyes were misty and he looked appealingly at Inspector Jones.

The inspector averted his face from the boy's pleading eyes.

"If you think you can't appeal to Flint personally, Dare," said he, "sue him. A lawyer'll make him kick in."

Inspector Jones motioned his men to start their craft on its way.

"Cheer up," he said, glancing quickly from father to son. "You'll get a break yet. The safest way to get after Flint, Toby, is to sue him. You'd certainly not get anywhere with him the way you feel now. Meanwhile, the safest place for the scow is up at the Basin. She's just not safe even to be towed around the harbor."

Skippy watched the long line of foam that the launch left in its wake. For a long time his misty eyes were fastened on the glistening bubbles dancing atop the water until he could no longer stand his father's silence.

"Pop, Pop," he stammered, "can't we go--go somewhere now?"

"Then all those other barges like ours can never sail the harbor again, huh?" Skippy asked sadly. "They just sorta stay there till they rot an' fall apart, is that it? Like as if they're condemned."

Brown's Basin was off the beaten track, even nautically speaking. One could never have found it except by the merest chance, unless one were fortunate enough to have a companion who was familiar with it. The rivermen knew, perhaps knew too well, as did the police who preferred to get no closer to the colony than the shadowy inlet which sulks silently in the daylight hours and strangely springs to life under cover of the blackest nights.

The Basin, as it is more familiarly known, thrives under the protection of the lofty Palisades. In summer the foliage all but hides it from the shore, and in winter the grim, gray rocks give it ample security from the prying eyes of the world. And the Basin wishes that security, for the character of the residents is such that secrecy and isolation provide the means for their livelihood and their existence.

Perhaps half a hundred derelict barges dot the slimy mud banks of the Basin, some of them occupied and some not. But on the whole the combined population of this sordid looking place represents a fair number and on bright, sunlit mornings one can get an occasional glimpse from the steep river road of poorly clad children scrambling from one to the other of the closely packed barges, much the same as they would scramble across city streets.

Large planks connect the sprawling hulks in a sort of interminable chain and the denizens can traverse the entire settlement by this means. More often than not the family laundry waving in the damp river breeze on the forward deck must be dodged by this strolling citizenry, but they are quite used to all forms of adroit evasion, particularly where the law is concerned.

Criticism, both friendly and otherwise, reached Toby Dare's sensitive ears, but he paid little heed, using his own judgment as to a suitable spot in which to rest the ill-fated barge. It was a spot at the very edge of the Basin that he chose and so manifest was its isolation from the rest of the colony that but one inference could be drawn: Toby Dare did not intend his son or himself to be drawn into that maelstrom of dubious citizenry. His grief over the recent misfortune in no way blunted his keen senses and, as always, Skippy's future welfare was uppermost in his mind.

"I see, Pop," said Skippy looking musingly into the rust-colored water. "You know all about 'em, huh?"

Skippy touched his father on the shoulder with a trembling hand.

Toby Dare raised his head.

"Unless what, Pop?" Skippy asked eagerly.

Skippy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"So then will you go to a lawyer like Inspector Jones told you? To please me, Pop, will you?"

"I'm a-goin' nowheres but ter see Ol' Flint," answered Toby hoarsely. "That swell yacht uv his is anchored in the bay an' he's livin' aboard it durin' this hot spell so I know where ter find him after workin' hours. He ain't only ten years older 'n me an' he's in good condition an' jest my size so...."

"I'll forget anythin' 'ceptin' that Ol' Flint's cheated me with a grin on his slick face," said Toby Dare with an ominous softness in his voice. "So I'm a-goin' ter teach him a lesson, Skippy--I'm a-goin' ter teach him that Toby Dare can't be cheated outa everythin' he's hoped fer, fer years, without hittin' back. Yessir, Ol' Flint's gotta learn what it means ter cheat me!"

"Pop--Pop! You ain't goin'--honest?"

"I am. I'm a-goin' sure as guns."

"When--when you goin', Pop?"

His mind, during the preparation of that meal, was not on his father's misfortunes nor on the threatened and ominous visit to the Flint yacht that very evening. Instead he was visualizing what benefits were to be derived from residing in the Basin, chief among these being an uninterrupted summer season of fishing and swimming. That to the heart of a boy of his age compensated fully for the loss of the garbage and ashes contract, yes, even for the loss of the barge's promise of a remunerative future.

It is not to be thought that Skippy did not deeply feel his father's grief, for indeed he had brooded over it for hours. But after they had settled and arranged their few belongings in the meagerly furnished cabin of the barge, he had achieved that blessed miracle of youth and accepted the inevitable without a question. Life stretched out ahead of him as the inlet lay spread under this starlit night, broken now and then by a quiet ripple until it reached the river. What would happen beyond that point he knew he could find out when he came to it.

The boy ran to the door, his tanned face flushed and expectant. He would tell his father how much better he was going to feel out on the river all summer than back in dusty, hot Riverboro where he had spent all his life. He would fish and swim and take lots of deep, lung-developing breaths. He'd probably never have another bad throat....

He inhaled deeply on the strength of this thought and though his lungs filled with a queerly mixed odor of mud, decayed fish and salt, he noticed it not at all. Moreover, the inlet might have been a clear, wind-swept ocean waste, so far above the Basin had his imagination carried him.

A figure stirred in the shadows forward and then he heard the familiar tread of his father. Suddenly on the damp salt breeze they heard the distant sound of chimes and waited silently while the faint notes struck off the hour of ten.

"Pretty late to eat, huh Pop? Everythin's ready, so you better come while it's hot."

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