CHAPTER 8 _THE STORM CAVE_
"Well, Penny," remarked Mr. Parker casually at the breakfast table. "Ifinally bought the cottage."
Penny closed her history book with a loud snap, favoring her father withcomplete attention. "You bought a cottage?" she echoed. "Where? When?Why?"
"I've talked about it for the past week, but you were so busy stealingthe _Star's_ advertisers that you never listened."
"I'm all ears now, Dad," Penny assured him, absently reaching for a pieceof toast. "Tell me all about it."
"The cottage is located on the Big Bear River. Four rooms and aboathouse. Incidentally, I've hired a man to look after the place andkeep the boat in shape. He calls himself Anchor Joe."
"Are we going to live at the cottage this summer?" Penny inquired.
"No, I merely bought it for week-end trips. I plan on a bit of fishingnow and then. You may enjoy going with me."
"Oh, Dad," groaned Penny, "how can I? These days I don't even have timeto wash my neck. Running a newspaper is more work than I figured."
"I'll give you the address of the cottage, at least," smiled Mr. Parker."If you have any spare time during the next three months drive out andlook over the place."
"I'll get there somehow," Penny promised, pocketing the card. Her handencountered a typed, folded sheet of paper which she immediately placedin front of her father. "Oh, by the way, sign this for me, will you?"
"No more cheques."
"This is only an order for a ton-roll of paper. I'm trying to store up afew supplies so that eventually I can publish the _Weekly_ in my ownplant."
Mr. Parker signed the order, inquiring teasingly: "Have you engaged yourpressman yet? Their wages come rather high you know."
"It takes everything the _Weekly_ makes to meet its current bills,"sighed Penny. "But one of these days I'll get the paper out in my ownplant. Just wait and see!"
"I'll wait," chuckled Mr. Parker. "My hope is that you don't fail in yourstudies before that happy day arrives."
On her way to school, Penny studied the card given her by her father, andnoticed that the new cottage was situated not far from The Willows. Oftenshe and Louise had talked of calling upon Peter Fenestra, but both hadbeen kept busy at the _Times_ office. Now that a linotype operator hadbeen hired to set type, they had a little more free time.
"If Louise will accompany me, I'll visit both places tonight," decidedPenny.
Four-thirty found the two girls walking through a dense maple and oakwoods which rimmed the Big Bear River. A breeze stirred the tree leaves,but even so the day was hot and sultry.
"I wish it would rain," remarked Louise, trudging wearily beside hercompanion. "I never knew it to be so warm at this time of year."
"Maybe we can cool off by taking a boat ride when we get to the cottage,"encouraged Penny. "I think I see the place through the trees."
Directly ahead, in a tiny clearing, stood a freshly painted whitecottage. Quickening their steps, the girls soon arrived at the frontdoor. No one seemed to be within call, so they pushed it open.
A long living room with a cobblestone fireplace met their gaze. Beyondwas the kitchen, a dining alcove, and two bedrooms.
As they went outside again, they saw a short, wiry man coming toward thecottage from the river.
"You're Miss Parker?" he asked, looking at Louise.
"No, _I_ am," corrected Penny. "And you must be Anchor Joe." Her eyesfastened for an instant upon the tattoo of a four-masted sailing shipimprinted on his arm.
"That's me," agreed the man. "Go ahead an' look around all you like."
Penny and Louise wandered about the grounds, then returned to find AnchorJoe giving the motor boat, which was upturned on the grass, a coat ofvarnish.
"We thought you might take us for a ride," remarked Penny. "It must becool on the water."
"I sure would like to, Miss Parker," said Anchor Joe regretfully. "But Idasn't get 'er wet now. Not until this varnish dries."
Penny nodded, and then asked: "You're a sailor, aren't you? Where haveyou sailed?"
"The Atlantic, the Great Lakes, the Gulf o' Mexico. Oh, I beeneverywhere."
Penny and Louise chatted with Anchor Joe for a time but, although theyasked any number of questions, they gained very little definiteinformation. The sailor seemed unwilling to tell anything about himself,save in generalities.
"We may as well go on to Peter Fenestra's place," Penny presentlyremarked. "It's getting late."
Anchor Joe's varnish brush became motionless. He glanced up with suddeninterest.
"I wouldn't go there if I was you gals," he said.
"Why not?" questioned Penny in astonishment.
"The weather don't look so good. She might blow up a gale beforesundown."
"Oh, we're not afraid of a little wind or rain," answered Pennycarelessly. "Come along, Lou."
Anchor Joe said nothing more, but his sober gaze followed the girls asthey walked away.
Keeping close to the river, Penny and Louise trod a path which they knewwould lead to the main road and Peter Fenestra's farm.
"Queer sort, wasn't he?" Penny remarked thoughtfully.
"Anchor Joe?"
"Yes, I wonder where Dad found him? He certainly didn't tell us muchabout himself."
Crossing the river by means of a swaying, suspension bridge, the girlscame out from beneath the solid canopy of trees. Penny paused to stare upat the sky.
"Aren't those clouds odd?" she observed. "Just watch them boil!"
"They must be filled with wind," declared Louise uneasily. "Anchor Joesaid he thought a storm would blow up."
"It's not far away either. Unless we step right along, we'll surely getcaught in it."
"Perhaps we should forget The Willows and start home."
"We never could get there now," responded Penny. "If we hurry we mayreach Fenestra's place before the storm breaks."
Walking even faster, the girls hastened along the winding path. The airremained sultry and very still. The sky, Penny noted, had changed to apeculiar yellowish color.
Then, as she watched with increasing alarm, a writhing, twisting,funnel-shaped arm reached down from the boiling clouds, anchoring them toearth. For a moment the entire mass seemed to settle and flatten out.
"Listen!" commanded Penny.
Plainly they both could hear a sullen, deep-throated roar as the stormmoved forward.
"A tornado!" gasped Louise. "It's coming this way!"
"Run!" urged Penny, seizing her hand. "We still have a chance to makeFenestra's place."
In a clearing beyond a weed-grown field stood a white farmhouse, a redbarn and a silo. One side of the property was bounded by thewillow-rimmed river, the other by the road.
Crawling beneath a barbed-wire fence, the girls cut across the field. Thesky was darker now, the roar of the wind ominous. They could see the tailof the funnel whipping along the ground, veering to the south, thencoming toward them again.
"We'll never make the house," Louise cried fearfully.
"Yes, we will," encouraged Penny.
She raised another wire strand for Louise to roll beneath. Her ownsweater caught on the sharp barbs, tearing a large hole as she jerkedfree.
Dust had begun to blow. Trees and bushes bowed before the first gusts ofwind.
Glancing frantically about for a place of refuge, Penny saw a low,circular cement hump rising from the ground not many yards distant.Instantly she recognized it as an old fashioned storm cellar.
"We'll get in there, Lou!" she shouted. "Come on!"
Running across the yard, they reached the cave. Entrance was guarded by adoor built in the side of the cement dome. A brass padlock hung unsnappedin the hasp.
"Thank goodness, we can get in," gasped Louise. "Hurry!"
Penny tugged at the heavy door. It would not raise, and then it gave sosuddenly that she nearly tumbled backwards.
The door clattered back ag
ainst the cement dome. Through the rectangularopening protruded the head and shoulders of Peter Fenestra. His face wasconvulsed with rage.
"What are you trying to do?" he demanded harshly. "Speak up!"