Part 11

When they were moored in the basin off the boat-builder's yard before noon, Rex and Pence went ashore. The two looked over the Boat Club boys' abandoned shell, and Kingdon noted with glee that Horace betrayed interest in, as well as familiarity with, shell construction, which seemed to prove that he had not been foolishly boasting about his prowess as an oarsman. The boat was rubbed a good deal, and somewhat battered; but there was nothing serious the matter with her. When she was lifted into the water she didn't leak enough to keep her "sweet."

"She's an all-right shell," the master boat-builder said. "Only these rich young fellers over to the Boat Club wanted something fancier. Yes, Mr. Yansey was down here this morning, and said I was to let you have her if you showed up.

"By the way," the man pursued, "you're the party that's camping on Storm Island this summer? Well, you've got canoes over there, haven't you? Didn't two of you come over here t'other day?"

Pence was the one to answer in the affirmative this time, and Kingdon saw that his eyes narrowed and he showed sudden curiosity.

"What of it?" Horace interrogated.

"Nothing," returned the boat-builder, "only I saw that canoe run down to the channel just before the blow came up, and I was a little worried. They got to the island all safe?"

"Next morning?" Pence said quickly.

"I mean that night. They ran out through the channel about ha'f after five."

"They made the island all right," Kingdon coolly interposed, and without looking at Pence. "They landed at Clay Head, and spent the night there."

Horace was a good actor. He controlled his surprise and postponed his questions. Kingdon spied a light cedar boat with nice lines, and before he got through he had made a bargain with the boat-builder to hire that craft as well.

"We've got to have something to try them out in singly," he explained to Pence. "Canoes are no good for that. Besides, we fellows have felt the need of a tender to the _Spoondrift_ ever since we reached the island."

When they got under way again the shell was balanced and lashed across the deck of the catboat, while the rowboat bobbed behind, in tow. Red was forward, lying half asleep on the deck, when Horace said in a low tone to Kingdon:

"You knew all the time that Joe and Kirby stayed at Clay Head that night?"

Kingdon nodded. "Thought I saw them making a landing just before sunset. Next morning I went over there and found the place where they spent the night. They must have had a nice dry time of it in that howling rainstorm."

"I did not know it," Pence said simply. "I believed what Harry said about their sleeping in the fish shed."

Kingdon made no rejoinder. After looking at him with apprehensive gaze for a minute, the black-eyed fellow asked: "What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing worth publishing in the newspapers."

"You've got it in your head that they had something to do with shooting that rock down on you fellows?"

"How does it look to you? Somebody had something to do with it, that's sure. They tried to do it before the rain. I found the lever, and saw an attempt had been made to pry loose the bowlder. That's why when I thought I saw those two landing at Clay Head just before nightfall, I had the fellows move the tent."

"Rest of your crowd wise to it, too?" Pence asked.

"Guess not. They think I had a hunch. Call me a wizard." Kingdon chuckled. "I'm not spilling anything to them about it--yet."

"Why not?" Horace's eyes were flashing.

"Because I am not sure who did it--who cut the sapling, dug the hole under the bowlder, and set the other stone there for a fulcrum," Kingdon told him calmly.

"But you believe it was Joe and Kirby?"

"One of them--or both."

"Not both."

"You ought to know about that better than I," Kingdon returned significantly.

"I can't be sure about that Indian," Horace admitted.

"Who ever can be sure about one of those fellows? I have a faint suspicion he's got it in for me. I punched him hard that first night."

"But why should Harry take up with him?" Pence's tone was savage.

"You should know, if Kirby is so thick with the aborigine. Look as though they might be brothers in the same boat, belong to the same lodge, as it were. Kirby may be heap big Injun, too," Kingdon laughed lightly.

"Oh, he's an Indian all right," gloomily agreed Horace Pence, "but not Joe Bootleg's kind. I never knew Harry to do a really mean thing. He's too white a fellow, I believe, to lend himself to a job like that."

Kingdon had it on his tongue to suggest that he did not think Pence the best judge of what was "white" in a chap's character, but he refrained.

"It seems to me," he stated, "that whoever tried to roll the bowlder the first time couldn't make it. One chap wasn't heavy enough on the end of the lever; but two----"

"I won't believe it!" cried Horace suddenly. "I've known Harry Kirby since he was a little shaver."

"Keep your opinion of him, then, till you find out you're wrong," advised Kingdon. "The truth is bound to come to the surface. You can't keep a cork under water. Murder will out, and that came near being murder if the rock was actually started by human means. Now, let's talk about the weather. Do you think it's going to rain or snow?"

His seriousness tossed aside, Rex was his usual sunny, light-hearted self. But Horace remained grim and thoughtful throughout the return trip.

*CHAPTER XXVII.*

*VISITORS.*

Unless one or the other of the two camping parties on Storm Island sailed across to a weir for a mess of fish, they seldom saw a stranger to speak to. Fishermen and others kept away from the island because of the well-known rules of the Manatee Lumber Company against trespassing.

Had the two camping parties not become friendly to a degree, neither would have had so enjoyable an outing. Rex Kingdon, with his never-failing insight and clever ideas, had brought about a situation better than an "armed neutrality." The boys of the two camps met on grounds of common interest at two points, baseball and rowing.

Each forenoon they spent an hour or two practicing on the ball field. Under Kingdon's coaching they began to work together quite smoothly, although they lacked a complete nine to play against. But Yansey had threatened to bring over a nine of Blackport boys who could show them some "real baseball," and the Storm Island lads were hoping he would not forget about it.

Towards evening of each day, as it grew cooler, they began practicing in the eight-oared shell. Meantime Kingdon and Pence were getting the fellows singly into the cedar boat to test their individual rowing.

Not a word had been said about who should be "captain." Pence had once rowed stroke in a freshman eight at Belding. Frequently the chap in that place is captain of the crew, but not always.

"You've got a fat chance to be captain," scoffed Harry Kirby, one evening when he and his three friends were by themselves. Joe Bootleg did not count, for he kept strictly away from the white boys unless he was told to do something by Ben, to whom he looked for his wages. "A fat chance," repeated Kirby in the most irritating tone he could command. "Kingdon kid hogs everything. He doesn't give anybody else a bite."

"Talking about biting, you can growl, can't you?" said Horace, placidly.

"Oh," returned the other, "I don't care about myself. I don't care where I row--or if I row at all. I'm only doing it, anyway, to keep peace in the family."

"Peace is sometimes hard to come by, isn't it?" murmured Pence, with his cap over his eyes and an air of exaggerated carelessness that was bound to irritate a fellow as much worked up as Kirby was just then.

"You can make believe you don't care----"

"Certainly I care! I've gone into this for one thing--just one thing," Pence declared with sudden sharpness.

"I'd like to know what it is. We'll bust up in a row with those fellows. I come near licking that redheaded guy to-day."

"You'd have a nice time doing it, Kirby," put in Ben Comas, delighted to see his two comrades on the verge of a scrap. "Phillips could eat you up. I saw him boxing with Kingdon the other morning, and, take it from me, he has a punch. King had hard work to keep away from it."

"King!" snarled Kirby, like an angry dog. "You've got the disease, too, Comas!"

"What disease is that?" asked the lazy one, startled.

"Calling that curly-haired pet King. He's a fine king! If it wasn't for his name, he wouldn't be leading that bunch. He's got 'em under his thumb, and now he's starting in on you fellows."

"Hear him rave," grunted Pudge MacComber, widely agrin. "Never did hear Harry take on so."

"The whole thing will end up in a fight," insisted Kirby, subsiding.

"That'll be nice," chuckled Pudge.

"You won't be in it, if you see it coming," drawled Pence. "We may be sure it suits Kingdon. He says he loves to fuss with us."

"I'd like to give him all he's looking for," mumbled Kirby.

"Don't try it, old chap," advised Pence. "I've had the gloves on with Rex Kingdon myself. Phillips may have a punch, but Kingdon has a whole flock of them hidden in his sleeves."

Kirby fell silent, feeling that they were all against him. Nevertheless, he stopped quarreling about Kingdon--for the time being, at least.

To the casual observer it would have seemed that Horace Pence worked with Kingdon in perfect harmony as they began to whip the crew into shape.

"Horrors knows a thing or two about rowing," Rex said to his friends, "and there's no reason he shouldn't put it into practice."

"He'll do something to queer the whole business," predicted Midkiff. "He's too erratic."

"Erratic fiddlesticks!" returned his roommate in Old Hall. "He's got grit and some foresight. I notice that his judgment in anything but pitching is fine."

Red laughed. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'd be dead sore. But he's improving at pitching, even, Rex."

"Seems to be improving in general, if you'll pardon me for saying so," Kingdon said. "He's doing his bit. It isn't for Walcott Hall exactly. So, if we come a cropper over this rowing business, why shed tears?"

Red Phillips' sturdy back and his rowing ability made him the choice of both Kingdon and Pence for bow oar. Number Two fell to Ben Comas. The latter stirred himself sufficiently to be valuable as an oarsman because he chanced to be very fond of the sport. Pudge MacComber fell heir to Number Three, because it seemed that he balanced the boat better in that place, Midkiff's bulk occupying the next seat, Number Four.

Cloudman splashed a good deal in the beginning, and the fellows behind him kicked about it; nevertheless they made him Number Five. "Unless you want to give him your seat, Midget," Kingdon chuckled, "and try to row against Kirby, here, at Six."

"If I couldn't do better than Applejack, I'd eat my oar," Peewee maintained with his usual modesty.

"Just fancy yourself on a wild bronc, little one," Phillips told the perky coxswain, "and think of what kind of a show you'd make beside Applejack's performance. He's at home on a bronc."

"And Peewee would be at home in a peanut shell," chuckled Cloudman.

"If I wasn't more at home in this shell than you seem to be, Applejack," scoffed Hicks, "I'd write a letter of introduction for myself before I tried to climb aboard."

Cloudman really intended to learn to row. He was a determined fellow--nor could he be deterred by trifles from any point he wished to gain. He splashed less as time passed, and as Number Four, began to pull a strong oar. He possessed good muscle, did that Western boy!

Kirby was the best of all Pence's band; Rex had seen that from the start. Short of Horace himself he pulled the strongest oar. They tried him in almost all the positions in the shell and he made good wherever he was placed. Kingdon saw, however, that Kirby seemed much more silent and sullen than he at first had been. He came to the ball-field and to rowing practice with a somber face; Horace was talkative as compared with Harry.

At other times Kingdon often saw the latter wandering about alone, or lying by himself under the trees and taking no part in the general activities or conversation of his comrades. He seemed to have nothing to do with Joe Bootleg. Indeed, the Indian was treated like a servant by the other members of Pence's crowd. Joe kept strictly to himself, too. He did not even come down to the waterside to watch the rowing practice.

For a full week Kingdon and Pence were busy getting the boys properly disposed of in the shell. Then it seemed to come about naturally that Kingdon was put in as Number Seven and Pence took Number Eight oar.

"Set the pace, Horrors," said Rex. "You've got to stroke us. Let's see if we can't work up speed enough to make those Blackport fellows hustle a little, at least."

"Think I'm the best candidate for crew captain?" Pence asked almost in a whisper. "Really mean it?"

"I'd take it myself in a minute if I didn't think you know more about the game than I do," answered Kingdon frankly. "For the good of the crew, old boy!"

Horace Pence stared at him for several seconds. "I'm willing to try it because you say so, Kingdon," he muttered presently in a queer voice.

"'Nuff said. Now we'll do our prettiest to work up a little surprise for our Blackport friends."

Following Kingdon's advice, they declined to show off in the shell when the _Nothing To It_ was loafing about in the sound, and did most of their rowing toward evening; for at that time it was less likely that any of the Blackport crowd would be in sight.

When Yansey brought over his nine of ball players one Saturday afternoon, however, the Storm Island boys were more than ready to play them.

"Give your eyes a treat," urged Peewee to Kingdon and Pence, before the game. "Those huskies they've brought from the sawmill and the shipyard ought to be in the big league. Methinks they've played as far south as Providence. Look at that feller warming up over there. He ought to be pitching for McGraw."

"Get a foot warmer," chuckled Rex. "Don't let the size of 'em scare you, my child. We will protect you."

"How kind of you!" murmured Hicks. "I hope Middy bounces a fast one off his dome, just the same. He acts like he owned the earth and was just whitewashing the fence around it."

"Let's take care he doesn't whitewash us," said Kingdon.

The visitors won the toss and chose the field. The Storm Island boys did get whitewashed the first inning, while the Blackport players began to hit Midkiff rather freely. Nevertheless, they pushed only one man around to the scoring station, although it was more by good luck than good management that the island nine held them down so well.

Kirby started grumbling when the islanders were back under the trees for the first half of the second inning. "I thought you Walcott Hallers could play ball," he said. "What kind of a pitcher is that Midkiff, Kingdon? I call him a frost."

Midkiff was batting at that moment, but Kirby had not tried to keep his voice down, and John's face seemed to indicate that he had heard. The situation was tense at the start of the game, and there was danger that trouble would be hatched in the ranks of the home nine. If Kirby's critical attitude was going to become general, Rex knew the Blackport nine would not have much trouble in winning.

*CHAPTER XXVIII.*

*HORACE PROVES HIMSELF.*

Midkiff swung at the first pitched ball, and popped a little fly into the hands of the third baseman. That surprised individual muffed it, which enabled Midkiff to reach first. The Blackport fellows laughed. Kirby sneered at the batter's luck: "He's carrying a rabbit's foot. Swings like a garden gate, and shuts his eyes. I've seen his sort before."

Rex felt like punching the fellow, but he wanted to play the game, and so he ignored Kirby, urging Cloudman to hammer Midkiff along.

Cloudman struck out. In the meantime, however, Midkiff stole second very neatly.

Pence was the next one to bat. He cast one of his sneering smiles at his chum, and got into position. Before going out he had whispered a word or two in Kingdon's ear, and the backstop had nodded.

"Kirby next," Rex reminded the grouchy one mildly.

Horace swung at the first ball, and missed. The visitors had brought an umpire, and he grinned as he called the strike.

"Oh, Horrors!" groaned Kirby, picking himself up to look for a bat he liked.

A moment later Horace surprised nearly everybody by laying down a pretty bunt, and beating the throw to first. At the same time, having caught a signal from Rex, Midkiff scampered safely to third. This was like real baseball, and the Blackporters did not laugh.

"Now, Mr. Kirby," said Rex, "you have a lovely opportunity to show us that your middle name is Home Run. Rise to the occasion, and we'll have a nice little lead."

Kirby glanced at Midkiff and scowled. Then his gaze sought Horace. He knew very well the black-eyed chap's style of base-running. Already Horace was bothering the big pitcher for the visiting nine by taking a lead toward second. To "play the game," it devolved on Kirby to give Pence a chance to steal. Instead of that, however, he swung at the first ball pitched to him, and hit it hard and fair.

"A bird!" yelled Peewee from the coaching line.

"Some crack, but poor baseball," muttered Rex.

Kirby couldn't make the plate, but he reached third, and the Storm Island nine was one run to the good.

Now Kirby would have been reprimanded by most coachers for failing to give the runner on first a chance to try a steal, but Kingdon remained silent.

Hicks chattered like a monkey, telling Kirby he was a wonder or else the pitcher was easy.

Either Kirby's long slam or the joshing of Peewee disturbed the big pitcher from Blackport, for he walked Phillips. Then Comas rapped out a scratch hit, scoring Kirby. Phillips raced onward to third, and made it by sliding.

Kingdon went to bat, and waited while two strikes were called on him. On the second one Comas went to second. Rex had demonstrated to Kirby by example what the batter should do with runners on first and third. Then he smashed the next ball that came over, hitting for three sacks.

Phillips and Comas cantered in, and the Storm Islanders were four tallies in the lead.

The streak ended there, however, for Hicks and the next men fanned.

"Nice little bunt, Pence," said Rex to Horace as the nines changed positions. "It cut the ice, Midkiff was waiting for it."

"Oh, I know a little something about real base ball," returned Pence somewhat loftily.

"But Kirby wants to be the whole team," laughed Kingdon.

In the next inning, Midkiff held the visitors down to two hits, neither of which counted. Neither side had scored again when the fifth inning came round.

At that point, however, Kingdon saw that Midkiff was beginning to show weariness. This was true also of the Blackport pitcher, and the captains of both teams decided to make a change. Yansey himself went in for his club.

Yansey put more on the ball from the start than the deposed pitcher had possessed, beginning by striking out the home team in one, two, three order.

"Pence," Kingdon found time to say while the slaughter was proceeding, "do you think you can hold your own out there on the mound for five innings?"

"Give me a chance to try," requested the black-eyed chap.

"Will you work with me, and follow my signals?"

"If I cross you on signals, you can drop me."

"Good! No flashy stuff. Use all your speed only when you have to. A change of pace bothers most batters. I can send Applejack in, but----"

"Try me!" begged Horace, his eyes flashing.

"Be it so," Kingdon agreed with mock solemnity. "This day, then, shalt thou be tried."

He sent Horace off to one side to warm up with Kirby. The latter brightened at once.

"Is that yellow-haired chap going to put you where you belong?" Harry cried. "Well, there's hopes for him yet!"

"But how about me?" drawled Horace.

"Why, Horrors! You know you've got these would-be pitchers distanced. Just show 'em that fast one of yours, and those Blackport fellows will shut their eyes."

"Haven't a bit of confidence in me, old man, have you?" chuckled Pence. "But I'm under Kingdon's orders. Don't expect too much."

"Oh, bother him!" ejaculated Kirby. "Once you're in the box, you can do as you please."

But Horace had given his word to Rex, and he meant to keep it. For the first time in his life, he was willing to follow the lead of another man. A change was coming over him.

By this time Yansey had fanned the third man, and the Storm Island boys took the field. Horace got into position, and threw a few balls to Rex to get the range. Then he nodded that he was ready.

The big fellow who had first pitched for the visitors was up. He swung a stick almost as long as a wagon-tongue, and Kingdon signaled to keep the ball close. Pence used a shoot, and the big batsman caught the ball near his knuckles. The ball popped almost directly up into the air, but was a fair hit. Rex was under it when it returned toward mother earth, and the first man to face Horace had been far too easy.

"Wasn't that a shame!" chuckled the backstop, tossing the ball to Pence.

Such luck wasn't to continue. Though Horace started by putting a strike over for the next man, he followed with three balls, seeming unable to locate the plate.

The batsman grinned. "Oh, you squawpaw!" he called at Horace. "Just gimme one--only one, so I can lean up against it!"

Rex knew that Horace longed to send in one of his fast ones. He rubbed his palm in the dirt. A smoker came over. "Strike two!" barked the umpire, dodging involuntarily.

Kirby was delighted. Only for a moment, however. Horace followed with another swift one that made Kingdon stretch himself in order to stop it with one hand. The batter was sent to first.

"There it goes!" ejaculated Kirby wildly. "I knew how it would be. If Kingdon would give old Horrors his head, he'd win the game for us; but he puts him in a hole before turning him loose, and then it's too late."

But Pence was not blaming Kingdon. Seeming to read his mind, Rex had given him a chance to show what he could do with speed. The backstop was willing to be convinced that Horace's fast one was effective, if the pitcher could convince him. He had even admitted that it would be very effective when the time came that Pence could control it finely. Until that time, however, it could be used with safety only to dazzle batter and keep him in a state of uncertainty.

Having reached this conclusion, Horace gave close attention to Rex's signals for the remainder of the inning, and the visitors failed to score.

"That southpaw looks like a pitcher, Kingdon," said Yansey generously, as they changed positions. "But I thought for a moment he was going up in the air."

"My dear fellow," returned Rex, loudly enough for Pence to hear, "he couldn't be lifted off his feet with a derrick."

Horace grew better with each inning. The Storm Island nine could make only one run off Yansey, and the visitors crept up until the score was 5 to 4 in favor of Storm Island when the latter came to bat in the ninth. Yansey held them down to a goose-egg.

"Now go in and do likewise, Horrors," Kingdon urged. "Your control has improved steadily, and I'm going to let you try speed again. Want to?"

"I'd like to," answered Pence. "But if I get wild----"

"I'll stop you, leave it to me."

In spite of speed, the first batter hit the ball, but he merely popped a fly into Pudge MacComber's hands, and the fat youth held it. Up came Yansey, with a quizzical smile. He, at least, had been hitting Pence, and he still hoped to tie the score, at least.

The first ball that came his way made the skipper of the _Nothing To It_ gasp. He stepped back, gripped his club tighter and--the umpire declared the second strike!