Rick Brant - Smugglers' Reef Part 12

The boys shook hands with Captain Lake again, then followed their guide to the pier once more. Cap'n Mike waited until a scoopful of menhaden had pa.s.sed overhead then led the way down the pier.

"I wonder if Captain Killian got set off course by that current," Rick mused. "I'd like to talk to him."

Cap'n Mike shot a glance at him. "Might be interesting at that. You thinking the same as I am?"

"We all are," Scotty replied. "That business about losing the light and having the current set him off course sounded kind of strange."

"Is he a good guy?" Rick queried.

"Best there is. If he says it, it happened. But it's mighty funny just the same. Reckon we'll have to find Jim Killian."

They pa.s.sed three trawlers, all unloading, and Rick recognized names that Scotty had read aloud during their brief flight over the fleet.

Many of the men they pa.s.sed hailed Cap'n Mike. Evidently he was well known to the fisherman and pier workers.

Suddenly the old man stopped. "There's Brad Marbek's craft."

The next trawler in line was the _Albatross_.

Rick looked it over critically. It was indistinguishable from the others. There was the same cabin, set well forward, the same large working s.p.a.ce aft, the same net booms. It was no dirtier nor cleaner than the others. Evidently it was filled with fish, because only the top Plimsoll number was showing. But the skipper was far from average.

Brad Marbek, as Rick saw him on the deck overhead, was a bull of a man. He was about six feet tall, but his width made him look shorter.

His shoulder span would have done credit to a Percheron horse, and from his shoulders his torso dropped in almost a straight line. His waist lacked only an inch or two of being as wide as his shoulders.

His legs were short and thick and planted wide on the deck. His head was ma.s.sive and set squarely on his shoulders with hardly any neck. He was hatless and his coa.r.s.e black hair, cropped short, stood straight up like a vegetable brush. His face was weathered to a dark mahogany color.

"Not very pretty, is he?" Scotty whispered.

That, Rick thought, was a masterpiece of understatement. He started to tell Scotty that compared with Brad Marbek a Hereford bull was downright winsome, but at that moment Cap'n Mike hailed the _Albatross_.

"Howdy, Brad. How's fish?"

The skipper's reply was cordial enough. "Howdy, Cap'n Mike. Took another good haul today. Just startin' to unload." Marbek's black eyes surveyed the two boys briefly, then evidently dismissed them as of no importance. "Come on aboard."

"Thanks. We will." Cap'n Mike motioned to the two boys and led the way up the gangplank just as a scoop full of menhaden rose from the hold and pa.s.sed overhead.

On deck, the captain introduced the boys to Marbek. Rick found his hand imprisoned in a h.o.r.n.y ma.s.s that appeared to be controlled by steel cables instead of tendons. He tried not to wince.

"Best season I've seen in years," Marbek told Cap'n Mike. His voice was ridiculously high and soft, out of keeping with his physique.

"That's what everyone's saying," Cap'n Mike acknowledged. "Why, only two days ago, I heard ..."

Scotty nudged Rick with a sharp elbow. He was looking at the pier.

Rick turned and followed his pal's glance, then as he saw what Scotty was looking at, he inhaled sharply. Carrots Kelso was leaning against a pillar, watching them.

"Wonder what's on his mind?" Rick asked.

Brad Marbek saw the direction of their glance. "You kids know Jimmy?

He's my nephew."

The pause before Cap'n Mike spoke was proof of his surprise. "You don't say!" He changed the subject abruptly. "Say, Brad, I've been meaning to ask you. Did you notice any peculiar current offsh.o.r.e last night?"

"Current? Can't say I did. Why?"

"Bill Lake claims a strong current set him off course just as he picked up Smugglers' Light, about the time Tom Tyler ran aground."

Rick thought that Brad Marbek hesitated slightly and searched for the right answer.

"Now that you mention it, I did notice a little shift." A scoop whirred out of the hold, crossed the pier, dumped its load and started the return. "Let me know if you find out any more about it," Marbek said. "Right now I guess I better attend to my unloadin'."

"Sure, Brad," Cap'n Mike said. "We'll be getting on. By the way, happen to know where Jim Killian is tied up?"

"I think he's on the other side of the pier. Cross over and duck under the belts. He should be right abeam of us."

"Thanks. Let's go, boys."

Cap'n Mike led the way down the gangplank with Rick and Scotty following. Rick felt Brad Marbek's eyes on them. He had sensed tension under the fisherman's surface cordiality, and he was interested in the quick way Marbek had remembered the strange current when Cap'n Mike quoted Bill Lake.

At the foot of the gangplank, Cap'n Mike paused. "Let's find Jim. I'm getting real curious about that current Bill mentioned. What say?"

"We're right with you," Scotty replied.

Rick watched the big scoop vanish into the _Albatross'_ hold, then looked for Carrots Kelso. He was no longer in sight. "Wonder where Carrots went to?" he said to Scotty.

"Probably running to tell his father we're prowling around the pier."

Cap'n Mike led the way into the pier shed. He turned to look over his shoulder at the boys. "What'd you think of Marbek claiming young Kelso as a nephew?"

"Don't you think he really is?" Rick asked. He had to raise his voice above the noise of the scoop as it lifted from the trawler's hold.

"Surprise to me. I've known Marbek fifteen years and never heard of any family. Why--"

"Look out!"

On the heels of Scotty's cry, Rick caught a glimpse of his pal hurling Cap'n Mike headlong. He jumped forward, glancing up, just as the great fish scoop opened over his head. He put all of his energy in a forward leap to safety, but too late!

Cascading thousands of menhaden crushed him violently to the floor.

CHAPTER VII

Search for a Clue

As Rick fell to the floor, he twisted sideways and managed to bring up one arm to protect his head. In an instant he was buried in a great, heavy, slippery ma.s.s of fish. His nostrils filled with the oily stench, and when he opened his mouth to breathe, he closed it again on a fish tail. He spat it out, and then, furious, he struggled against the slimy weight, got his hands and feet under him and heaved. Fish cascaded from his arched back and he broke clear just as Scotty reached for him.

"You all right?" Scotty gasped.

"Yes."