CHAPTER III
The Redheaded Kelsos
The Spindrift motor launch rolled gently in the offshore swell as theNew Jersey coast slid by off the starboard beam. Behind the wheel,Rick steered easily, following the shore line. In the aft cockpit,Scotty prepared hand lines for the fishing they planned to do to keepup appearances.
Their decision to revisit Smugglers' Reef had been made on the spur ofthe moment. The case of the wrecked trawler was none of theirbusiness, and Rick had learned in the past that it was a good idea tokeep his nose out of things that didn't concern him. But he could nomore resist a mystery than he could resist a piece of Mrs. Brant'sbest chocolate cake. He watched the shore line as the launch spedalong and tried to assure himself that a little look around wasn'treally sticking his nose into the case. After all, it wouldn't hurt tosatisfy his curiosity, would it?
Scotty came forward and joined him. "All set. We ought to find somefish right off the tip of the reef. If you intend to do any fishing,that is."
"Of course we'll fish," Rick said. "What else did we come here for?"
"Nothing," Scotty agreed. "This is a fishing expedition in the truestsense of the word."
Rick looked at his pal suspiciously. "What was behind that remark?"
Scotty chuckled. "Are you fooling yourself? Or are you trying to foolme?"
Rick had to laugh, too. "Okay. Let's admit it. We're so used toexcitement that we have to go fishing for it if none comes our way.But seriously, Scotty, this is none of our business. The localofficials can handle it without any help from us. So let's not get tooinvolved."
Scotty leaned back against the seat and grinned lazily. "Think you cantake your own advice?"
"I think so," Rick said, with his fingers crossed.
Scotty pointed to a low line ahead. "There's the reef. See the lighton the tip?"
"Couldn't very well miss it," Rick said. The light was painted withred and white stripes and it stood out sharply against the sky. Hegave Scotty a side glance. "What did you make out of all that talklast night? Think Captain Tyler ran on the reef purposely?"
Scotty shook his head. "He didn't strike me as a thief, and that'swhat he'd have to be to wreck his trawler on purpose."
"I liked his looks, too. Then Cap'n Mike said he didn't drink, so hisstatement that he was under the influence of liquor wouldn't holdwater, either. What's the answer?"
"If we knew, would we be here?" Scotty waved at the shore. "How fardoes this stuff extend?"
The water ended in an almost solid wall of rushes and salt-marshgrowth that would be far above even a tall man's head if he stood atsea level. Now and then a small inlet appeared where the water flowedtoo rapidly for plant life to grow.
"There's about a mile of the stuff," Rick said. "It stops at the reef.I'm not sure how wide it is, but I'd guess it averages a quarter of amile. It's called Brendan's Marsh, after an old man who got lost in itonce. It was over a week before he was found."
They were approaching the reef at a good clip.
"What do we do first?" Scotty asked.
Rick shrugged. He had no plan of action. "Guess we just sort of wanderaround and wait for a bright idea to hit us."
"Lot of other people with the same idea, I guess." Scotty noddedtoward the reef.
Rick saw a number of figures moving around the wreck of the trawler."Wonder who they are?"
"Probably a lot of folks who are just curious--like two in this boat.And I wouldn't be surprised if the law was doing a little lookingaround by daylight, too."
"We'll soon see." Rick turned the launch inshore as they approachedthe reef. "Let's tie up at the Creek House dock. Then we can walk downthe reef and join the rest."
"Suits me."
Rick rounded the corner of the salt marsh and steered the launch intothe creek, reducing speed as he did so. On their right, the marshstretched inland along the sluggish creek bank. On their left, thehigh old bulk of the Creek House rose from a yard that was strewnwith rubble and years' accumulation of weeds and litter. A hundredyards up the creek was the gray, rickety piling of the hotel dock.
"That's it," Rick said.
Scotty went up to the bow and took the bow line, ready to drop it overa piling.
Rick started a wide turn that would bring him into the dock, then cutthe engine. The launch slowed as it lost momentum and drifted intoplace perfectly.
"Hey! Get out of there!"
Both boys looked up.
Coming from the hotel's side door on a dead run was a stocky youth ofabout their own age. He was between Rick and Scotty in height, and hehad hair the color of a ripe carrot. Swinging from one hand was arifle.
"Is that hair real or has he got a wig on?" Scotty asked.
"It's real," Rick returned. His forehead creased. The dock had neverbeen considered private property--at least not since the hotel wasabandoned. He waited to see what the redhead wanted.
The boy ran down the loose wooden surface toward them, his face redand angry. "Get that boat out of here!"
Rick looked into a pair of furious eyes the color of seaweed, setabove a wide nose and thin mouth.
"Why?" he asked.
"This is private property. Cast off."
"Where's your sign?" Scotty asked.
The boy grinned unpleasantly. "Don't need a sign." He patted the stockof his rifle. "Got this."
"Plan to use it?" Scotty asked calmly.
"If I have to. Now cast off those lines and get out."
Rick's temper began to fray a little. "You're using the wrong tone ofvoice," he said gently. "You should say 'I'm terribly sorry, fellows,but this is private property. Do you mind tying up somewhere else?'Ask us nicely like that and we'll do it."
The redhead half lifted the rifle. "Wise guy, huh? I warned you. Nowcast off those lines and get out." He dropped his hand to the lever ofthe rifle as though to pump a cartridge into place.
Scotty tensed. He said softly, "Get gay with that rifle and I'll climbup there and feed it to you breech first."
Rick saw the color rise to the boy's face and the muscles in histhroat tighten. "Easy, Scotty," he said warningly. He knew, as Scottydid, that no normal person would wave a rifle at anyone for meredaytime accidental trespassing, but he had a hunch the youngcarrot-top would not react normally.
"Jimmy!"
The three of them looked to the hotel as the hail came. A big man withred hair several shades darker than the boy's was waving from the sidedoor of the Creek House. He walked toward them rapidly.
"Okay, Pop," Carrottop called. "I told 'em to get out."
As the man approached, Rick saw that there was a strong resemblancebetween the man and the boy. Evidently they were father and son. Theman had the same thin lips, the same seaweed-green eyes. His face wasalmost square. It was a tough face, Rick thought.
The newcomer looked at his son and jerked his thumb toward the hotel."Okay, Jimmy, get into the house."
The boy turned and walked off without a word.
The man surveyed Rick and Scotty briefly. "Don't mind Jimmy. He wasprobably rude, and I'm sorry for it. But this is private property andI can't allow you to tie up here." He motioned to the high board fencealong the front of the hotel. The fence ran down to the edge of thecreek. "Anywhere this side of the fence is private."
Rick nodded. "It didn't use to be. That's why we tied up here. I'msorry, Mr...."
"Kelso. I rented the place a few weeks ago. Haven't had time to getsigns up yet."
"We'll shove off right away, Mr. Kelso. Sorry we intruded."
"Okay."
Rick started the engine, threw the launch into reverse, and backedout.
Scotty sat down beside him. "How about that?"
"Funny," Rick said. "Didn't Cap'n Mike say a family named Kelso hadtaken the hotel because their little boy was sick and needed freshair?"
"That's what he said," Scotty affirmed. "Do you suppose that was thesick little boy?"
"If he's sick," Rick said grimly, "it's trigger fever. I thin
k he'dlike to take a shot at someone."
"It would sure be an effective way of discouraging trespassers. Why doyou suppose they crave privacy so much?"
"Beats me," Rick said. "We'll have to ask Cap'n Mike."
The launch passed the edge of the Creek House fence and came to astrip of sandy beach. The road ended a few feet from the beach. Anumber of cars were parked in the area, and along Smugglers' Reef werethe occupants, most of them standing around the wreck.
"I'll run the launch in as far as I can," Risk directed, "then youjump ashore with the anchor."
"Okay." Scotty went forward and took the small anchor from itslashings, making sure he had plenty of line. As Rick pushed the bow ofthe launch into shallow water until it grated on the sand, Scottyjumped across the six feet of open water to the beach.
Rick took the keys from the ignition and joined him. Together theypulled the launch in a foot or two more, then dug the anchor into thesand. It would hold until the tide changed.
"Let's go look at the wreck," Scotty said.
Rick nodded. "Afterward, I think we'd better go look up Cap'n Mike. Ihave some questions I want to ask him."
"About what?"
"Something he said last night. And about the Kelsos."
They reached the old light tower and paused to examine it. Salt airhad etched the steel of the frame badly. The tower was almost fortyfeet high, about twice as tall as the present light. At its top hadbeen a wooden platform where the lightkeeper had once stood to carefor the light. A rusty metal ladder led up one side of the tower towhere the platform had been.
Rick wondered why the authorities had abandoned the tower in favor ofthe smaller light at the very tip of the reef and decided it probablywas because having the warning signal at the very point was morepractical. That way, a ship needed only to clear the light withoutworrying about how far away from the light it had to pass.
"Let's go," Scotty said. "Nothing interesting about this relic."
They joined the group of men at the wreck of the _Sea Belle_ and sawthat the wreck was being inspected, probably by the insurance people.A question to one of the watchers affirmed the guess. Rick asked,"What do they expect to find?"
"Search me."
Scotty nudged Rick. "We won't have to look far for Cap'n Mike. Therehe is."
The old man was seated on a rock, whittling at a twig. Seemingly, hepaid no attention to anything going on. Now and then he looked out tosea, but mostly he paid attention to his whittling.
Rick walked over, Scotty behind him. "Good morning, Cap'n Mike."
"'Morning, boys."
"Remember us?"
"Sure do. Where's the reporter?"
"He's not with us. We came down to do a little fishing."
Bright eyes twinkled at them. "Fishing, eh? What kind?"
"We thought we might get some blackfish at the end of the reef,"Scotty replied.
"You might at that," Cap'n Mike said. "You might gets crabs off theend of the Creek House pier, too, if Red Kelso would let you try. Didyou ask him?"
Rick grinned. Cap'n Mike might not seem to be paying attention, butevidently he didn't miss much.
"We didn't ask him," he said. "Maybe we didn't even see him." He knewCap'n Mike could have seen the boat vanish upcreek and return, but hewouldn't have been able to see past the fence.
"Maybe you didn't," the old captain conceded. "But you sure sawsomebody, and it had to be Kelso or that boy of his."
"Why do they want so much privacy?" Scotty demanded.
Cap'n Mike ignored the question. "You really got any fishing gear inthat launch?"
"Hand lines," Rick said.
"That's good as anything. Now, I always say a man can't think properin a mob like this. Too distracting. So let's go fishing and do somethinking. What say?"
Rick's glance met Scotty's. Cap'n Mike had his own way of doingthings. They had nothing to lose by humoring him.
"Let's go," Scotty said.
As they passed the wreck, Rick stopped for a moment to look at itagain. The air was even heavier than the night before with the reek ofdead fish. They were scattered along the reef in shoals ten feet wide.By daylight he could see that the trawler was finished. She had brokenher back and torn out a good part of her bottom. She must have beenreally making knots to hit like that.
"Cap'n, exactly what was the weather like when Tom Tyler hit?" Rickasked.
"Not bad. Visibility might have been less than real perfect, but itwouldn't have interfered with him seeing the light."
"Would it have interfered with him seeing the reef if the light hadbeen out?"
"I reckon it would. Until he was right on it, anyway."
Rick turned the information over in his mind. "Were any other trawlersout last night?"
"Plenty. The _Sea Belle_ was first in, but the rest were right behind.The light was burning, all right. I thought of that, too, son."
"My name is Rick Brant. This is Don Scott. We call him Scotty."
"Knew you both," Cap'n Mike said. "I subscribe to the paper yourfriend writes for. Seen your pictures couple of times. Didn't you justget back from somewhere?"
"The South Pacific," Scotty said.
"Used to sail those waters. Reckon things have changed some."
"The war changed the islands," Scotty told him. "Especially...." hestopped suddenly and took Rick's arm. "Look."
The elder Kelso was standing in front of the launch.
"What do you suppose he's after?" Rick asked.
Before Scotty or Cap'n Mike could think up an answer, Kelso turned andwalked back along the beach. There was a foot or two of space betweenthe water of the creek and the hotel fence. The redheaded man slippedthrough it and vanished from sight.
"I'll bet he came out just to look the boat over," Scotty guessed,"and there's only one reason I can think of why he'd do that. Hewanted to see if he could find out more about us."
"Unless he admired the launch and wanted a closer look at it," Rickadded.
Cap'n Mike snorted. "Red Kelso's got no eye for beauty, in boats,anyway."
"Then my guess must have been right," Scotty said.
"Right or wrong," Cap'n Mike retorted, "I can't say's I like it. Iwish you boys had talked to me before you decided to invade SaltCreek!"