When the Cock Crows Part 12

None was so rude as to refer to Ichabod's reformation. But Sarah Porter, whenever she caught his eye, gave him a look that spoke as plainly as words:

"Ichabod Jones, at last I have found you a man, and I am proud of you!"

No doubt she congratulated herself, with justice, on the fact that her talks with him had had much to do with this change. She was the only one in the party of mature age; the others were comparatively young and sprightly maidens. This selection of guests was due to the fine Italian hand of the Doctor. Evidently, he was hard at work on a plan to make Ichabod Jones a provider, rather than trying to find him a place as housekeeper, in accordance with the fisherman's original request.

The hours pa.s.sed delightfully for all--especially for the host whose pleasure was edged by the novelty of the situation in which he found himself. It was not until the moon showed in the east that the visitors made ready for departure. Just before the party embarked, the boldest of the maidens kissed the old man's weather-beaten cheek. There was a burst of laughter from the onlookers. Ichabod could feel himself blushing furiously, but that blush was invisible under the deep tan. Then the others thus saluted him, one by one--all save Sarah Porter.

She bestowed herself in the launch while the kissing was going on, and Ichabod, regarding her furtively with anxious eyes, read in her expression signs of strong disapproval, which disconcerted him hugely, and robbed him in great measure of his just due of enjoyment under the osculatory attack.

Then, it was all over! The old man stood waving his hat mechanically as the launch glided away. Ichabod watched with unseeing eyes. He was in a daze, thinking more in sorrow than in anger of "how fer he had let them minxes go with him--an' Sary a-lookin' on, too!" He shook his head despondently, as he reflected that the closing incident would have been more agreeable if "Sary hadn't been a-lookin' on."

Once more, Ichabod Jones burned midnight oil. In the early evening he brought his easy chair out in front, where he could see the glistening waters and watch the moon climb high. He smoked pipeful after pipeful of his strong tobacco. Again he made rings, and thought, and wondered. It was after ten before he arose and went into the shack, lighted his oil lamp, laid out his paper and pencil, and proceeded to add more to the record that he had started. No doubt, after his long reverie in the moonlight, he had come to the conclusion that the fact of his being kissed by ten young women and having one more making eyes at him in one day, the first of his reformation, was of moment enough to be recorded.

That night, as Ichabod finished his entry in the diary and leaned far back in his chair with chest expanded, his chin with its whift of beard thrown out at an angle of forty-five degrees, he reminded one of a cartoon of Uncle Sam when showing a self-satisfied air. The picture he portrayed at least conveyed the impression that he was monarch of all he surveyed and even dared once again to place his battle flag of conquest on the mainland of Cartaret County.

As he put away his writing materials and prepared to retire to his lonely bunk, he again talked aloud.

"It looks to me, by cracky, as if things was a-movin' jest a leetle too rapid fer a starter. It reminds me right smart o' a hoss race I saw at the fish and oyster fair, at New Bern, a spell back. The animal that I cal'lated would win, he jest started off like a steam engine, an' when he got half way around he was clean ahead o' the bunch. But by the time he reached the home-stretch, he was a swettin' like a mad bull an'

puffin' like a grampus--an' every other hoss got in fust. Here I am now, kissed by ten o' the prettiest gals in Beaufort jest as the sun is a-settin' on my first day o' new manhood. I'm startin' too almighty fast. If I don't tame down I'll lose out on the home-stretch. I opine Sara didn't like the idea o' that kissin' business. I was particular to hold my face straight out where she could see it an' not let my lips tech nary one o' 'em. But I guess it would be safer to go down an' tell Sara how partic'lar I was, an' how I wanted to tell 'em to stop, but didn't dar'st not to be polite."

As Captain Ichabod lay in his bunk before falling asleep, he allowed his mind to dwell upon more serious things. He thought of the wireless message. What had become of the strange man, of the woman, and of his rooster, Shrimp? He wondered that there were no reports of their pa.s.sing other boats. His heart was sore for that poor woman who had lain so long unconscious upon his bed. His interest in her was vital, for he had saved her life. What could the man mean by thus secretly hurrying away?

Ichabod had asked himself this question many times. Now he knew beyond peradventure of doubt that the fellow was a criminal, a refugee from justice, with a young woman of gentle birth in his power.

Ichabod's conscience smote him. He was ashamed that he had not inst.i.tuted a search immediately after the fellow's disappearance from the Island. He had had the right to call on the Sheriff of the county for aid. There had been plain theft. A pair of blankets had been stolen from him--as also his chanticleer.

The monetary loss from this robbery meant nothing to the fisherman, but it would have served as an excuse for arresting the man, and thus rescuing his girl victim.... Ichabod remembered the man chained to the engine in the sunken yacht. It was doubtless this murderer who now had the girl in his power. Should it suit his ends, would that desperate man hesitate to murder even the girl herself--the girl he had saved from drowning? Ichabod decided that he would fulfill a belated duty by going to town next day, there to swear out a warrant of arrest against the abductor of the girl, that thus the Sheriff should have reason to search the waters of the Sound in the hope of arresting the guilty man and rescuing his victim....

Despite the thrilling experiences of a day so unaccustomedly feminine, the st.u.r.dy old fisherman, when he was done with his meditations, slept soundly throughout the night. He was up at c.o.c.k-crow--though there was no clarion call from Shrimp to awaken.

It was while he was busy over the preparation of a modest breakfast that there came the wailing cry of a yacht's siren. It sounded from the northward, evidently not far away from the Island. Captain Icky shut the drafts on the stove, pushed the coffee-pot back to a position where it would keep hot without boiling. Then he stepped outside the shack to watch the incoming vessel pa.s.s over the bar into the waters of the Inlet. He was impressed at first glance by the beautiful lines of the little vessel, which was evidently of light draft so she might cruise safely in shallow waters, while capable of weathering a storm-tossed sea.

It was a new thing that a yacht of such size should come to anchor off the Island. Ichabod watched curiously as the vessel slackened heavily and then let a light anchor drop from the starboard side of the bow.

Presently, he saw a small boat put off from the yacht, rowed by two sailors, and carrying two pa.s.sengers in the stern. When he made sure that a landing was intended, Ichabod went down to the point to greet the unexpected visitors.

As the boat touched the landing, the two men stepped ash.o.r.e and advanced toward Ichabod, who greeted them hospitably.

"Howdy, men! Ye are welcome to Ichabod's Island. But it's a leetle unusual to have a call from boats o' your cla.s.s.... Jones is my name--Captain Ichabod Jones, at your service!"

The shorter man stepped forward, and introduced himself as Jack Scott.

He presented his companion as his friend, Roy Morton.

"Captain Jones," the stranger began, "we are now, I take it, just at the entrance to the Beaufort Inlet."

"Yes, yender is the Inlet," Ichabod replied.

The other spoke with curt incisiveness.

"We're in a hurry. We'd like to ask you a few questions. It's plain no craft of any size could pa.s.s your Island without attracting notice.

We're looking for a yacht stolen from her anchorage in the North River.

She has now been missing for several days. The last report we've been able to get is that she was seen pa.s.sing out of Pamlico into Core Sound.

Do you know the whereabouts of any such boat? Her name was _The Isabel_."

"_The Isabel!_" Ichabod answered. "Thar she lays!"

The two men followed the direction of the h.o.r.n.y hand--and saw! Roy Morton felt a sick dizziness crash upon him. In that moment of agony, he believed that the girl he loved was forever lost.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE CALL OF THE DARK

A few handfuls of sea water dashed into Roy's face by Ichabod, together with a rough ma.s.sage by Van Dusen, soon brought the young man around again.

"I must have the truth," he declared, "no matter how terrible. Was the young woman lost?"

"Why, no, young man," the fisherman answered; "least-wise, not in the wreck. I took her out o' the water myself. She was plumb full o'

swallered brine, but I had that out o' her in a jiffy. I took her into my shack an' got her all right exceptin' her haid. Poor thing never did speak to me but once."

"Then she died!" Roy cried, in a tone of anguish.

But Ichabod shook his head emphatically.

"Not as I knows on," he declared; "unless that nervous-actin' skunk has killed her since he took her away in the small boat. Had I knowed what I l'arned yesterday at the wireless station, I'd 'a' held on to the gal. I saw she was pretty bad, not bein' able to talk, an' so I told the man I took off o' the wreck that what she needed was an M.D. Leavin' him in charge, fer he seemed to know a heap about medicine himself, I put the rag on the skiff, an' sailed to town for the Doctor. When I got back, I found that the thievin' rascal had stole my pet rooster, a pair o'

blankets--an' the woman, an' had gone off in the gasoline tender what come ash.o.r.e from the wreck. O' course, they went up the Sound--to G.o.d knows whar! The woman ain't safe with no sich critter as that feller. If the gal is much to you, which I 'lows she is from your tantrums, ye had best make all haste to git her. I was jest a-fixin' to go to Beaufort an' take out a warrant fer the feller fer murder, an' charter a gasoline boat, prepared to go through h.e.l.l if need be to save that gal an' put the sallow-skinned varmint, what took her, behind the bars o' the county jail."

"Warrant for murder?" Van Dusen demanded, suddenly alert, "What do you mean, Captain Jones? Has this man killed some one?"

"Wall, I reckin!" Ichabod answered grimly. "Thar was a feller a-sailin'

around the wreck o' _The Isabel_, which, as ye see, is all busted to pieces by an explosion after she struck an' the beatin' on her of the big storm waves. When this feller looked down by the engine, he saw a dead man a-lookin' back up at him. He looked closter before he hurried away, an' saw that the poor devil was chained to the wreck. Now, that bein' the case, an' this feller that's got the gal bein' the man in charge o' the yacht, then why _ain't_ he wanted for murder?"

Van Dusen nodded his head understandingly.

"This clears up part of the mystery," he said to Roy. "Now, if we can only catch Garnet and save Miss Marion, the case will be happily ended.

The whole thing is clear in my mind, but we have still to find the proof."

"Them's the names the feller give me," the fisherman vouchsafed, "when he introduced himself to me. I 'lowed he was 'most crazy from his scare.

Say, men! Do you know I think that feller was a-takin' dope, an', furthermore, since I've had time to think it over, I'm almost certain I saw him puttin' some under the gal's skin. As folks around here only use Baitman Drops or swallers pills, I took a spot on the gal's arm fer a skeeter b.u.mp. I didn't know what the shiny thing was that he slipped in his pocket when he saw me a-lookin'. Since then the Doctor has told me he 'lowed it was a hypodermic. First he called it a gun, but when he discovered that I thought he meant a shootin' iron, because I said it was too small fer that, why, then he give me the other name. O' course, I had heard that other name afore."

"This whole business is goin' to turn out just as I outlined it to you, Roy," Van Dusen a.s.serted. "These things are unusual, but I don't think you need have any fears for Miss Marion, provided she doesn't starve, or meet with some accident through the foolhardiness of this crazy Garnet.

The thing I suggest is to solicit the aid of Captain Jones, and have him act as our pilot. We should also charter several small gasoline boats and go through the waters of this shallow Sound and its tributaries like a fine-toothed comb. It's haste now that is important. We'll probably find the fellow hidden away in some remote fisherman's home where he can administer to the wants of his patient, while avoiding capture. I believe that he is, even though deranged, terrorized at the thought of arrest, so that he will not dare come out into the open. That's the reason he left the comfortable quarters of the Island."

Roy was all eagerness to begin the work forthwith, and Ichabod proffered all the a.s.sistance in his power.

"Jest a minute, men," he said, "till I swaller my coffee an' put out the fire, then Ichabod Jones will be ready to show ye every nook an' corner o' these-here waters; an' if that skunk ain't got out of 'em or gone to the bottom, we'll git him--an' git him right!"

After leaving Norfolk, _The Hialdo_ had covered many miles. Arthur Van Dusen when he acted, moved with deliberation as well as speed. Already, on the way down, every avenue of escape had been blocked. It would have been impossible for _The Isabel_ to escape over the route by which the pursuers had come. She would have been seized the moment she showed at any port. The thoroughness of these precautionary measures was the reason why it was not until now that _The Hialdo_ had dropped anchor at Beaufort Inlet.