The Black Dog Mystery (13 page)

Swimming under water, he opened his eyes and saw the shadowy shape of his overturned boat floating a few feet away. Mr. Morrison was floundering helplessly between him and the boat. Djuna dived deeper, passed the kicking legs and clutching hands, and came up to the surface with a rush, on the other side of the boat. Pushing the boat toward Mr. Morrison, he shouted to him to grab it.

When he saw that Mr. Morrison had managed to get a grip on the bow of the boat, Djuna struck out again to rescue Champ. By this time the little black dog had reached the other boat, and was making frantic efforts to keep his nose above water. Djuna’s shirt, knickers and sneakers were heavy with water, but he fought on, each stroke almost lifting him out of the water. “I’m coming, Champ!” he shouted. Foot by foot he battled on, swimming with every ounce of his strength, and at last, almost exhausted, he reached the boat. Clinging to the side with one hand, with the other he gripped Champ’s collar and with a final desperate heave lifted him into the boat.

After a moment’s rest, to catch his breath, he managed to scramble into the boat, picked up the oars, and began to row back to the other boat. Mr. Morrison was still clinging to it, and was calling feebly for help.

When Djuna had got close to the other boat, he turned his boat around and brought the stern within reach of Mr. Morrison. “Don’t try to climb in over the side,” he warned Morrison, “or you’ll upset it. Climb in over the stern.”

Morrison did as Djuna suggested, but he was so weak from his struggles in the water that he barely succeeded in crawling on board, and immediately slumped down in the bottom of the boat. He was gasping for breath, and looked pale and frightened. Water ran out of his clothes and oozed from his shoes.

“I’d have drowned, sure, if it hadn’t been for you,” he gasped, as soon as he was able to speak. “It was all my fault, too! Why, we might have both drowned!”

Djuna was still breathing hard from his exertions, but he managed a grin. “Not me,” he laughed. “I’ve got hollow bones, I guess—I
can’t
sink!”

“I’ll say you can’t!” said Morrison, admiringly. “I never saw such a swimmer! But, say, what are we going to do about
your
boat? Can we tow it to shore?”

“Oh, I can get it all right,” said Djuna. “I’ll row you ashore first. You’d better go and change your clothes, I guess. You might catch cold if you don’t.”

“Well, you’re just as wet as I am,” said Morrison feebly. “Aren’t you afraid of catching cold?”

Djuna merely shook his head, for he was devoting all his attention to rowing to shore as fast as he could. There was a little wooden pier at the end of the pond nearest Les’ Sedd’s shack in the woods, and Djuna reached it in five minutes. Champ jumped out as soon as the boat touched the dock, and ran off, shaking the water off of himself. As Mr. Morrison climbed out on the pier, Djuna was struck by a sudden thought.

“Oh, gee!” he exclaimed. “We never stopped to pick up your fishing-rod! Well, I’ll get it for you when I row back. Maybe the fish is still hooked!”

Mr. Morrison looked at him gloomily. “I don’t think it will be any use,” he said. “That was a steel rod, and it would sink. Don’t bother to look for it. I don’t care if I never see it again. I’ve had enough fishing to last me the rest of my life!”

“Well, I’ll look around for it, anyway,” Djuna promised, as he pushed away from the pier again. “It was a dandy rod.”

“You’re coming back here, aren’t you?” called Mr. Morrison after him, as he watched Djuna row away. “I’ll be back here in five minutes. We’ll talk over that business some more, shall we?”

“Okay!” shouted Djuna cheerfully. “I’ll be here!”

Mr. Morrison nodded, and started off down the path through the woods, to Les’ Sedd’s shack. The water squished out of his shoes at every step.

As Djuna neared Mr. Boots’s boat, which was still floating upside down, he picked up the two oars, which had floated some distance away from it, and then, with a cry of joy, he rescued his hickory pole, which was floating nearer the other boat. His two cans of bait had, of course, sunk to the bottom, and he thought ruefully that he would not be able to do any more fishing that morning.

Reaching Mr. Boots’s boat, he leaned over and fastened a short rope from a ring in the stern of his boat to the bow of the upturned boat, and then took up the oars again. It was hard to tow the overturned boat, and he had to stop and rest frequently. He took off his wet shirt, squeezed the water out of it, and spread it on the stern seat to dry. The sun felt good on his back. He could hear Champ thrashing around in the bushes on shore, and wondered if he was chasing another rabbit.

Soon he heard a shout from Mr. Morrison and, turning around, saw him standing on the little pier. He had changed his clothes, and had brought back with him a long coil of rope, which he held up to show to Djuna.

“If you’ll come in and get this and fasten it to the boat,” he shouted, “I can help you pull it in!”

“Never mind!” Djuna shouted back. “I can do it; just give me time!”

He had rowed a few strokes more, when he heard another shout. It came from the woods, in the opposite direction. “Hey, Djuna!” the voice shouted. “Where are you?”

It was Tommy Williams’s voice. “Hey, Tommy!” Djuna shouted back. “Here I am!”

He stopped rowing, and waited. He could hear Tommy pushing his way through the bushes and heard Champ give a welcoming bark. Soon they both appeared, at the edge of the pond.

“For Pete’s sake!” shouted Tommy, as soon as he saw the overturned boat. “What’s happened?”

“Oh, nothing!” shouted Djuna. “I’m going to row over to the pier! Come around there and help me!”

“What’s the use of going all that way?” Tommy yelled back. “Come over here; it’s much nearer!”

Djuna looked around and saw that Tommy was right. “We’ll fix it over here!” he shouted to Mr. Morrison. “It isn’t so far to row!”

Mr. Morrison didn’t answer, but stood looking helplessly across the water. He seemed uncertain what to do next. Djuna began rowing toward Tommy. Mr. Morrison watched him for a minute, and finally started away from the pier. Djuna thought he was going to come around the end of the pond, to help them, but to his surprise Mr. Morrison turned off through the woods in the direction of Les’ Sedd’s shack.

“Gee, Mr. Morrison nearly got drowned!” Djuna exclaimed, as soon as he got close to shore. “I guess he’s gone to get Mr. Sedd to help us, but we don’t have to wait. Get your shoes and stockings off, and let’s get this boat right side up.”

“Gosh, what happened?” asked Tommy excitedly, as they set to work. Djuna told him the whole story, little by little, while they tugged and pushed and pulled at Mr. Boots’s boat until they got it up on edge in shallow water and let the water run out. Then they each got into a boat and rowed side by side over to the deserted pier, where Djuna tied Les’ Sedd’s boat fast.

“Gee, I don’t see why Mr. Morrison doesn’t come back,” said Djuna. “I wanted to talk to him some more.”

“Well, what’s the use of waiting?” said Tommy. “I’m awful hungry, and my mother said to come right back as soon as I found you. We’ll be late for lunch if we wait any longer. Come on, let’s go!”

“Well, all right,” said Djuna reluctantly.

He got into Mr. Boots’s boat with Tommy, made Champ jump in with them, and they started back, taking turns at rowing. By the time they got to the end of the pond and put Mr. Boots’s boat back where it belonged, Djuna’s shirt had dried out completely, and his pants and sneakers were almost dry. They took the oars along with them, each carrying one.

“I’m going to leave my fishing-rod here,” said Djuna, putting it down beside the boat. “No use carrying it back and forth. Oh, gollies, that reminds me! We never stopped to see if we could find Mr. Morrison’s rod! He says he doesn’t want it any more, and maybe he’d give it to us if we found it! Gee, it’s got a reel, and everything!”

Tommy hesitated. “Well, let’s not go back now,” he said. “Let’s go home and get lunch first. Then we can come back this afternoon.”

“Well, all right,” said Djuna. “That will give us more time to hunt for it.”

But the trouble was that by the time Djuna had changed his clothes and had finished lunch, it had started to rain hard. Champ picked out a nice cushion for himself on the sofa and curled up for a nap.

“I never
saw
such weather!” grumbled Djuna. “You can’t do a thing!”

“Why don’t you go over to see Mr. Boots?” suggested Miss Annie. “Perhaps he’d be glad to have some company.”

Djuna put on his rubbers and his raincoat and started off, taking the oars with him. “If he’s busy, I’ll go over to Tommy’s,” he said.

But something happened at Mr. Boots’s that made him wish he had never gone there.

Tramping through the rain, Djuna knocked at the door of Mr. Boots’s shop. For a long time there was no answer to his knock, although he could hear Mr. Boots moving around inside. The rain sluiced down the weather-beaten front of the little building, the rain spattered on the shoulders of his slicker; and after waiting a while Djuna decided that Mr. Boots had not heard his knock. He pounded on the door again.

This time, he heard the old man’s footsteps coming slowly toward the door. The door swung open and Mr. Boots’s worried face peered out.

“Oh, hello, Djuna!” he exclaimed, his worried expression softening. “Come in out o’ th’ wet! Here, lemme take those oars. You wa’n’t out on th’ pond in all this rain, I hope! Come in, come in, an’ set awhile. ‘Tain’t no weather for anybody to be outside, ’ceptin’ a duck.”

Djuna was relieved to find the old man apparently in a better frame of mind, and as he slipped off his raincoat he began excitedly to tell Mr. Boots about the unexpected mishap which had put an end to his fishing that morning. The smile faded from the old man’s face as he listened to Djuna’s account of the way in which the boat was upset.

“You were mighty lucky, Djuna,” he said solemnly. “That was turrible!”

“I was afraid for a minute that I’d wrecked your boat,” said Djuna, contritely. “But it’s all right now, Mr. Boots; honest it is! Tommy and I pulled it up on shore, just where you left it before, and cleaned all the mud out of it, and it isn’t hurt a bit; honest it isn’t!”

“Oh, shucks, th’ boat don’t matter,” said the old man. “Ye can’t hurt that boat; she’s a good stout boat. What I mean is, you might have got tangled up in th’ line, or in them weeds—there hain’t no tellin’
what
might have happened! I jest don’t like to think about it. Next time, mebbe, you’d better wait till I c’n go along with ye.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have upset at all,” insisted Djuna, “if Mr. Morrison hadn’t stepped on the side of the boat. He just got sort of rattled for a minute.”

“Rattled!” exclaimed Mr. Boots wrathfully. “I should think so! Why, he might have drowned both of ye! He’s a city feller, and I never see one of ’em yit that knowed how to act sensible in a boat. Best thing you c’n do is to stay away from ’em, Djuna.”

“Oh, but I think he’s awful nice!” exclaimed Djuna. “He promised to help me—”

He stopped short, remembering that Mr. Boots had advised him not to spend any more time in trying to solve the bank robbery.

“Help ye do
wha
t
?” said Mr. Boots suspiciously. “What are ye up to now?”

Djuna flushed. “Oh, nothing,” he mumbled. “Say, Mr. Boots, are you very busy this afternoon? Do you think we could paint Champ’s house, maybe?”

Mr. Boots hesitated, rubbing his white-whiskered chin. “Well, now, I’m afraid not,” he said slowly. “I’ve got one or two things to do, Djuna, that I had ought to get finished up fust. ’Sides that, it’s rainin’, an’ I told ye before it ain’t a good time to paint, when it’s rainin’. No, I reckon we’ll have to put that job off a leetle longer. You don’t mind, do ye?”

“Oh, sure, that’s all right,” said Djuna. “I don’t mind.”

But he looked so disappointed that Mr. Boots relented a little.

“Well, there’s one thing we might do,” he said kindly. “We might as well take a look at what paint I’ve got, an’ see if there’s enough of what we need. Let’s see, we was goin’ to paint it white, wa’n’t we, with a green roof? We’ll take a look an’ see.”

He led the way over to the long shelves on which he kept all his cans of paint, and Djuna followed. The old man walked slowly along the line of cans, peering at them.

“H-m-m, that’s funny,” he muttered perplexedly. “What’s become o’ that white? Don’t see it nowhere! Hain’t any green here, either, daggon it! Djuna, you take a look here; see if your eyes ain’t better ’n mine! Just as sure as I’m a-standin’ here, I had some o’ both! Half-empty cans, they was—a big can o’ white, an’ a quart can o’ green, both of ’em half empty! But I don’t see ’em anywhere now!”

Djuna looked along the shelf, but he, too, was unable to find either the green or the white paint. But he gave a sudden exclamation as he bent closer.

“Look, Mr. Boots!” he exclaimed. “They
were
here before! See, there’s the rings in the dust on the shelf, and there’s the spots of paint!”

Mr. Boots looked at the telltale rings and scratched his head.

“That’s where they were,” he said wonderingly, “but what’s become of ’em? I’ll be bound I never used either of ’em! I’ve had no call to use ’em on any job. Beats all!”

But Djuna had been looking farther along the shelf, and he now turned excitedly.

“Didn’t you have a lot of cans of paint here before?” he exclaimed. “I remember you had almost the whole shelf full! Remember when we looked at them, the day you were building Champ’s house? They aren’t here now!”

Mr. Boots hastily looked where Djuna pointed, and his puzzled expression increased to a look of blank astonishment.

“Why, you’re right!” he exclaimed. “By jiminy, th’ whole shelf-full is gone, mighty nigh!”

Bending over the low shelf, he excitedly counted the round spots, ringed around with dust, which showed where the cans had been standing. “Seven … eight … nine … why, plague on it, they’s nigh on to a dozen cans gone!” he stuttered. “
I
never teched ’em! What’s become of ’em?”

He faced around in a high state of excitement, looking at Djuna in bewilderment.