The Project Gutenberg eBook, Stormy Voyage, by Robert Leckie

SANDY STEELE ADVENTURES

Black Treasure
Danger at Mormon Crossing
Stormy Voyage
Fire at Red Lake
Secret Mission to Alaska
Troubled Waters

Sandy Steele Adventures
STORMY VOYAGE

BY ROGER BARLOW

SIMON AND SCHUSTER
New York, 1959

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INCLUDING THE RIGHT OF REPRODUCTION
IN WHOLE OR IN PART IN ANY FORM
COPYRIGHT © 1959 BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.
PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER, INC.
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FIRST PRINTING

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MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY H. WOLFF BOOK MFG. CO., INC., NEW YORK

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE 1 [Off to the Mesabi] 11 2 [The Long Boats] 22 3 [Bull’s-Eye] 34 4 [A Plot Discovered] 45 5 [A New Friend] 58 6 [Man Overboard!] 73 7 [In the Locks] 81 8 [Fire!] 93 9 [Charged with Arson] 105 10 [The Unsalted Seas] 116 11 [The Big Blow] 130 12 [A Web of Lies] 142 13 [Cookie to the Rescue] 156 14 [Checkmated] 167 15 [Safe in Port] 178 16 [Summer’s End] 184

CHAPTER ONE
Off to the Mesabi

Jerry James’s foot came down gently on the brake pedal of Old Faithful, his cut-down, open-air jalopy, and as the car slowed, Sandy Steele vaulted lightly over the side onto the pavement. With a wave of his hand and the shout, “See you tonight, Jerry,” Sandy whirled and sprinted up the front walk.

His long, gangling legs gobbled up the distance with astonishing ease and catapulted Sandy up the porch steps three at a time. But then, after the screen door had slammed shut behind him, Sandy Steele came to a sudden halt as though tackled by an entire enemy football team.

“Dad!” he cried. “But I thought you’d be in Alaska by now!”

“Signals off, Sandy,” John Steele said, rising from the porch hammock and laying aside his evening newspaper. He gazed soberly at his tall, blond son. “You know, Sandy,” he went on, “I believe you’ve grown another two inches in the few days I’ve been away.”

“It’s Mom’s cooking,” Sandy said, smiling. He brushed aside the cowlick that had flopped over his eyes as he ran up the walk. His face resumed its normal expression of quiet thoughtfulness, and he said, “What happened, Dad?”

“Change of plans, Sandy. Instead of testing for uranium in Alaska, the government has decided that I’d better spend the summer on the Mesabi Range.”

“Mesabi?” Sandy repeated, frowning. Then, brightening, he exclaimed, “Oh sure. That’s in Minnesota. The ore mines. Mr. Wilson told us all about it in class the other day. Why are you going there instead of to Alaska, Dad?”

John Steele’s face became grave.

“I don’t know how much your teacher told you about the Mesabi iron-ore mines, son. But the truth is that these ore deposits are among our country’s greatest treasures.” His voice turned grim. “And I’m afraid they’re running out.”

Sandy looked perplexed. “But I thought there were whole mountains of ore up there. At least, that’s what Mr. Wilson said.”

“Your teacher’s right, Sandy. But, unfortunately, most of these deposits are of low-grade ore. As the son of a government geologist, you should know what that means.” Sandy nodded soberly and automatically lifted a hand to brush back the cowlick that had fallen forward again. His father continued, “The average iron content of the Mesabi ore has been dropping pretty steadily. If it gets much below 50 per cent, it would be doubtful if it would be worth working. And the Mesabi, son—the Mesabi is the greatest producer of iron ore in the world.”

“Gee,” Sandy said. “That is serious, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t be worse, son. From iron ore comes steel, and steel is the backbone of any modern nation. That’s why it’s important for somebody to uncover some high-grade deposits. And that,” he said, smiling at the expression of deep seriousness on the face of his son, “that explains why John Steele will spend his summer in Minnesota instead of Alaska.”

Suddenly he laughed. Leaning forward, he ruffled Sandy’s hair.

“Come, now. There are other important things in the world. Such as the score of this afternoon’s game between Valley View and Poplar City. You haven’t told me who won yet.”

Sandy grinned jubilantly. “We did,” he said. “Three to nothing.”

“Oh, ho! Shut ’em out, eh? How many strike-outs?”

“Twelve,” Sandy said, blushing. “But you should have seen the homer Jerry hit! Boy! It must have traveled close to four hundred feet in the air. Honestly, Dad, Jerry James could play in the big leagues if he wanted to. Why, he’s got a big-league arm already. Today he caught two men trying to steal second and he picked another man off third.”

Inwardly pleased at his son’s refusal to boast of his shut-out victory, John Steele said, “Well, the pitching helps, too, Sandy.” He turned to lead the way into the dining room of their comfortable home, when he was stopped in his tracks by a cry of dismay from Sandy.

“What’s wrong, son?” he said, turning. “What is it?”

“Alaska!” Sandy burst out. “Don’t you remember, Dad? Jerry and I were going to join you in Alaska this summer! That’s why we’d saved all the money we made at Mr. James’s drugstore.”

Sandy’s father struck his forehead with the flat of his hand. “By George, I’d forgotten all about it,” he said.

“Yes,” Sandy said, dejected. “It looks as if Jerry James and I will be the only ones around Valley View this summer.” His face darkened. “Pepper March is going to South America with his father. Won’t he rub it in when he hears that our Alaska trip is off!” He shook his head. “And Quiz Taylor’s got a job as counselor at a boys’ camp.”

“Oh, come now,” his father said. “It isn’t that bad. Maybe you and Jerry can use all that spare time to sharpen up your forward-passing combination.”

Suddenly, the look of disappointment disappeared from Sandy’s face. In an instant he was his old high-spirited self, and he all but shouted, “Dad! Dad! I’ve got it! Why can’t Jerry and I go to Minnesota?”

“Minnesota! What on earth would you do there?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Of course it isn’t as romantic as Alaska and all that. But still—why, we could even ride cross-country in Old Faithful—you know, Jerry’s jalopy. We’ve got enough money. And, maybe,” he said, growing more excited, “maybe by the time we got there, you could find a job for us in the ore mines!”

“Son,” John Steele said, “it’s an idea.”

“Sure, Dad—it isn’t as though Jerry and I aren’t strong enough to do a man’s work.”

“Well,” his father said with a grin, “I don’t know for sure if you can do a man’s work, yet, son—but I do know you can put away a man’s meal. And unless I miss my guess, that’s fried chicken that I smell cooking in there. So let’s go in and eat, and talk some more about this Minnesota business.”

Jerry James was already behind the soda fountain in his father’s drugstore when Sandy Steele came walking through the door. Sandy put on a long face as he moved around the counter and began winding a white apron around his own slender, hard-muscled waist.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Sandy?” Jerry said. “To look at you, you’d think it was Poplar City that won this afternoon.”

“Bad news, Jerry.”

“What?”

“The Alaska trip’s off.”

“Oh, no!” Jerry groaned. “And after we saved all that money!” He slumped forward on the counter and propped his lean, lantern jaw into his hands. Then he ran his hands back over his close-cropped inky-black hair and said, “I could tear it out by the handful! What happened, Sandy?”

“Dad’s orders were changed,” Sandy replied, carefully making his voice sound glum. Then, unable to contain himself any longer, he let out a whoop and whacked his chum soundly on the back. “But we’re going to Minnesota instead!”

“Minnesota?”

“Sure thing! Dad says he’s pretty sure he can get us jobs in the ore mines. Honest, Jerry, it’ll be great! Maybe it’s a chance we’d never get again ... to go east I mean. The mines are right on the Great Lakes, you know. Who knows? We might even take a trip on the Great Lakes.”

“Sa-ay,” Jerry breathed, his dark eyes gleaming. “That would be something, wouldn’t it? But how will we get there? I mean, would we have enough money for the train fare?”

“Don’t be a chump, Jerry. Have you forgotten Old Faithful?”

Well, Jerry James had forgotten. But the instant he remembered it, his face lighted up with an expression of purest joy.

“What a trip!” he shouted. “Driving Old Faithful all the way from California to Minnesota! Sleeping out at night under the stars! Boy, oh boy, Sandy, I can hardly wait until—”

“I can hardly wait any longer,” an unfriendly voice cut in, and, turning around, both boys looked into the features of Stanley Peperdine March.

“Pepper!” Jerry exclaimed. “Have you been waiting here all this time?”

“I have,” Pepper March said coldly. “I was wondering if you two brave explorers were ever going to stop telling each other fairy stories.”

“I guess we were kind of charged up,” Jerry said sheepishly. “What’ll you have, Pepper?”

“A Coke, please. And please remember not to put cracked ice in it.”

“Why no ice, Pepper?”

“It makes my teeth chatter,” Pepper said, and then, hearing Jerry snicker, he flushed darkly and turned to Sandy to sneer, “So your old man’s going to Minnesota?”

“Do you mean my father?” Sandy said, with a quiet note of warning in his voice.

Sandy’s reply flustered Pepper March. He turned away to sip his drink, pretending not to have heard. Sandy studied his old rival. As usual, Stanley Peperdine March was dressed in the height of fashion. When Pepper March was around, it was never hard to tell which boy came from the wealthiest family in Valley View. In fact, Pepper’s people were among the richest in the state. And he rarely overlooked a chance to let the world know about it.

Sandy Steele moved down behind the counter a bit so as to look Pepper in the eye, and said, “As I said before, Pepper, did you mean my father?”

Pepper looked deliberately at the soda jerk’s cap and white apron that Sandy wore and said, “It seems to me that you’re getting kind of uppity for a hired hand.”

Sandy felt himself flushing. He fought hard to keep control of himself, and he carefully avoided looking into Pepper’s taunting eyes for fear of getting angrier. Then he felt Jerry’s reassuring hand on his arm and heard him say, “Be careful, Pepper, I’m warning you.”

“Oh, you two. Can’t you take a little joke? Of course, I meant his father. What’s the difference, anyway? Father, old man—”

“Careful!” Jerry snapped.

“Oh, all right. All I meant was that I was wondering if Sandy’s old, uh, if Mr. Steele was going to Minnesota to make ore testings. Is he?” Pepper rushed on eagerly, dropping his customary air of superiority.

“Nosy, aren’t you?” Jerry grinned, but Sandy stopped him before he could make further sport of the nettled Pepper.

“Why do you want to know?” Sandy asked evenly.

Pepper shrugged. “Just curious, that’s all.” He finished his Coke and got off his stool with a jaunty air, and just then, Sandy Steele had a sudden inspiration.

“I know why you want to know!” he said triumphantly. “That’s why you’re going to South America with your father, isn’t it? To inspect the South American ore fields!”

Pepper whirled in anger. “Think you’re smart, don’t you?” he snarled, and Sandy smiled and said, “I never said it, Pepper.”

“Oh, yes, you do!” Pepper went on, furious by now. “But let me tell you, Mr. Goody-Goody, maybe we are going to South America to look for ore! And that’s nobody’s business but ours. And furthermore, my old man says that anybody who bothers with the Mesabi mines any more must be crazy! You hear that, Steele? So your old—” he stopped short at a warning glance from Sandy, before racing on—“so your father’s going to Minnesota on a wild-goose chase. He isn’t going to find anything but a lot of dirt! And while you two dopes are sweating away in a worked-out iron mine, I’ll be sailing up the Orinoco River on my father’s yacht.” He smirked, threw a dime on the counter, made a little mocking bow at the door, and went out.

For a moment, there was silence in the drugstore. Then Jerry James picked up Pepper’s glass, rinsed it and dried it off and returned it to the shelf. With a wink, he turned to his friend and said, “That Pepper’s sure a windbag, isn’t he?” Sandy shook his head. His face was sober.

“I wish it was just talk, Jerry,” he said. “But I’m afraid it’s true. Dad said tonight there was a possibility of just that very thing happening. And he said it would be a terrible thing for American industry if we had to start buying our iron ore in South America.”

For another moment, Sandy Steele frowned. He pushed his cowlick back from his eyes and struck the counter top with the flat of his hand. “Boy,” he said grimly, “now I’ve got another good reason for hoping that Dad finds what he’s looking for in Minnesota!”

CHAPTER TWO
The Long Boats

Two weeks later, Old Faithful chugged away from the curb in front of the Steele home with the farewells of Sandy’s mother ringing in the ears of both boys.

“Goodbye, Sandy; goodbye, Jerry,” she had cried, waving one hand with a gaiety that was at odds with the tears forming in her eyes. “Be good boys, both of you. And please be careful! Give my love to your father, Sandy.”

“Okay, Mom,” Sandy had shouted back. “And tell Aunt Netty I’ll send her a postcard.”

Mrs. Steele had nodded and brushed a hand across her eyes. Then she waved again. For fully another minute, she stood on the porch steps watching until the freshly painted jalopy piled high with luggage and other belongings at last disappeared around a corner. Then, with a sigh, she went inside to begin packing for her own visit to a widowed sister who lived in northern California.

In the front seat of Old Faithful, meanwhile, there was anything but tears. Both boys wore wide grins on their faces as they rolled down the main street in Valley View, waving and calling cheerfully to friends that they passed. As they neared the bus terminal, they saw Quiz Taylor herding a group of boys into a big station wagon.

“So long, Quiz,” Sandy called. “See you in September.”

Quiz Taylor looked up and his round, bespectacled face broke into an affectionate grin. “So long, boys,” he yelled. “Hope you have an ore-full time.”

Both Jerry and Sandy made wry faces at Quiz’s terrible pun, but then they burst into good-natured laughter and waved again to their stubby friend as Old Faithful sped on down the street.

“He’s something, that Quiz,” Jerry said.

“He sure is,” Sandy said. “I kind of wish he were coming along.”

“Well,” Jerry said slowly, spinning the wheel to make the turn that would take them through the higher part of town lying between them and the highway, “Quiz would be okay if we were going to write a history about ore mines. But working in one? Nosirree!”

“I guess you’re right, Jerry. Give Quiz a week up there and he’d have the whole history of mining memorized, backward and for—”

“Oh, ho,” Jerry said, interrupting. “Do you see what I see?”

Sandy leaned forward. They were passing along Ridge Road, the finest street in town. A hundred yards ahead of them, in front of the March mansion, a big black Cadillac limousine was drawn up to the curb. A uniformed chauffeur held the rear door open while Mr. March got in. Standing on the curb, awaiting his turn, was Stanley Peperdine March.

“Shall we wave to the stinker?” Jerry asked with a grin.

“Might as well,” Sandy said. “No sense in holding a grudge.”

“Okay,” Jerry said, and as Old Faithful came abreast of the shining, expensive March car, he tooted the horn gaily and called out, “Hi-ya, Pepper, old sport.”

“Hi, Pepper,” Sandy yelled, and lifted his hand to wave. But Pepper March had looked up and stiffened when he heard Jerry’s voice. He stared straight at them both with open dislike, and then, as Sandy Steele raised his hand in greeting, Pepper March raised his to his nose and wiggled his fingers at both of them!

There was a silence in the front seat of Old Faithful. At last, it was broken by Jerry James, saying in disgust, “See what I mean, Sandy? You’re too nice to that stinker.”

“Oh, well,” Sandy said. “At least we can look forward to a whole summer without Pepper.”

Then Jerry slipped his jalopy into second gear as they descended the steep ramp leading down to the highway. In a moment, they had reached the broad cement strip and Jerry carefully forced the speedometer up to a point a few miles below the limit. Then he let out a long exultant yell. “Only two thousand miles to go, Sandy!” he shouted above the roar of Old Faithful’s motor.

“Yep,” Sandy said. “Minnesota, here we come!”

What a trip it was, from inland California east and north to the shores of Lake Superior! The boys alternated at the wheel during those glorious five days. They averaged 400 miles a day. For the first time, they got a notion of the grandeur of their country, as Old Faithful whined patiently up the terrific grades of the Rocky Mountains and the boys could see the gigantic peaks rearing grandly in the air.

Then they were rushing down again into the valley of the Great Salt Lake in Utah and through the clean, neat streets of Salt Lake City. After climbing again into Wyoming, they drove across the Bad Lands of South Dakota into Minnesota. It was wonderful, indeed, driving by day, frequently pausing to take in the sights, and sleeping out under the stars.

One night they chose a farmer’s field to spread their sleeping bags in. In the morning, Sandy awoke suddenly. He had dreamed that his mother had come into his bedroom and was smothering him with kisses. “Aw, Mom,” he protested, “cut the kissing.” When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was really being kissed—by a big brown cow who was busily licking his face.

“I guess the cow didn’t like your sleeping on the best eating-grass,” Jerry laughed as they ran from the field and jumped back into Old Faithful.

That was on the morning of the last day, and by that afternoon, they had driven through Duluth and finally come to the Lake Superior port of Two Harbors—not far from the Mesabi pits inland.

When the two of them got their first glimpse of the lake they couldn’t believe their eyes.

“It’s as big as the ocean,” Sandy said in amazement.

“You can’t even see the sides, let alone the other end,” Jerry said. “It sure is different seeing a thing than reading about it in school.”

But they really boggled when they saw the enormous ore docks built out into the water, with the famous “long boats” of the Great Lakes nestled beneath them. The size of the equipment for loading the boats with precious ore was truly unbelievable.

“They’re like skyscrapers lying on their sides,” Sandy said. “Look, look, Jerry! See all those railroad cars up on top of the docks. There must be hundreds of them.”

“Railroad cars! Is that what they are? They look like Tootsie Toys from here.”

“Yes, but how about those ore boats? I never saw ships so long. Look at that big one over there, will you, Jerry? It must be twice as long as a football field.”

Although Sandy was not aware of it, he had come pretty close to hitting a bull’s-eye. Some of the ships, or boats as they call the Great Lakes vessels, actually were 600 feet and more in length, and a football field, as Sandy well knew, is only 300 feet long. Just then, the boys heard a terrific clanking and clanging above them. Looking up, they saw a gigantic crane seize a railroad car as though it truly were a toy, turn it over in the air and let the ore run out of it—like a boy shaking sand from his shoes. The ore dropped down through chutes into the holds of the freighters below.

For a full minute, neither youth could speak. They were too filled with admiration for the vast industry their country had created on the shores of the inland seas, and too full of pride in the achievement.

Then Sandy said, “We’d better go find my father before it gets too dark.”

Jerry nodded and they climbed back into Old Faithful and drove on. At last, when they came to what appeared to be a series of hills filled with puffing and panting steam shovels occupied in slicing deep cuts into the hillside, Jerry stopped the car in front of a sign that said:

Lake Ore Mines, Inc.

“That’s it!” Sandy exclaimed. “That’s where Dad’s doing his testing. Lake Ore Mines. Come on, Jerry, drive through the gate.”

“But, Sandy,” Jerry said in disbelief. “These can’t be mines. I don’t see any mine shafts.”

Sandy grinned. “If you’d paid more attention to Mr. Wilson instead of diagraming football plays you’d know that the Mesabi doesn’t have shafts. There’s so much ore on top of the ground here that they don’t need them. They just skim it off with steam shovels. Strip mining, they call it.” With a sheepish shrug of his broad shoulders, Jerry James let out the clutch and Old Faithful leaped ahead. They drove along a bumpy dirt road, raising clouds of dust. They went for about a mile across a maze of railroad tracks over which the ore cars passed, before they reached a rough wooden shack.

The front door opened and a short, strongly built man stepped out. He had the rolling gait of a sea captain, and from this and the nautical, visored cap that he wore, Sandy guessed that he was a skipper of one of the ore boats. The man stopped and looked at them, and both boys saw that he had a small, flat nose, little brown, close-set eyes and thin, tight lips. He needed a shave, too.

“Pardon me, sir,” Sandy said politely. “But can you direct us to the Government Geologist’s station?”

The man paused and gave them a searching look before he answered. “Back there,” he said, jerking his finger over his shoulder—and walked away.

Jerry and Sandy exchanged glances. Then the shack door opened again. This time, John Steele stepped out—trim and youthful-looking in his leggings and whipcord breeches and open-necked shirt and wearing the campaign hat he’d saved from his days in the U.S. Marines.

“Dad!” Sandy shouted, overjoyed. He almost knocked his friend down in his haste to greet his father.

“Well, well,” John Steele said. “If it isn’t the adventure twins from Valley View, California. How are you, son?” he said, grasping Sandy’s hand. Then he gave Jerry a hearty whack on the arm. “Glad to see you again, Jerry. How was the trip out?”

“Great, sir!” Jerry said with enthusiasm. “I’ll never forget it.”

“That’s the ticket. Do these things while you’re young, boys. Sort of gives you a cushion of memories for your old age.”

John Steele’s face went grave.

“You didn’t get my telegram, did you, Sandy?”

“Telegram, sir?”

“I see you didn’t. Well, boys, buck up—there’s another dose of bad news coming. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get jobs for you.”

“No jobs!” the two youths chorused disbelievingly.

“That’s right. This low-grade ore situation has gotten so bad that ... well, to make a long story short, boys, there’s not as much work around here as there used to be. And that means jobs only for those who really need them.”

Sandy and Jerry stood as though thunderstruck. They felt as though their world had suddenly caved in on them. Neither of them knew what to say, but both felt the same weary, sinking feeling in their stomachs. For a long second, Sandy Steele stared at his father. It had been on the tip of his tongue to argue with him, to say that they could do the job as well as any grown man. But Sandy knew better.

He knew that his father would be angered by any such suggestion. He would remind Sandy that most of the men in the mines were family men with responsibilities. No, Sandy thought, this is just another one of those times where I’ve got to “take it on the chin,” as Dad says.

Taking it on the chin was sort of a Steele family motto. John Steele had no use for whiners or whimperers, boys who complained that their coach didn’t like them or their teacher was unfair. He had always taught his son to be dogged. “It’s the dogged men who get things done, Sandy,” he would say. “Even if most of the world’s applause often goes to the flash-in-the-pan.”

Remembering this, Sandy lifted his chin and tried to grin. “What do we do now, Dad,” he said, “punt?”

Mr. Steele smiled. “That’s the spirit, son,” he said. “Now, listen. The sun will come up tomorrow just as it always does and by then you may be over this little disappointment. So supposing you two walk around the mines a bit while I finish my work, and then we can have dinner and talk things over.”

“Okay, Dad,” Sandy said.

“Sure thing, Mr. Steele,” said Jerry.

Trying to hold their heads higher than they felt like holding them, the two boys turned and strolled off toward the lake shore. As they walked, they hardly heard the rattle-and-bang of the steam shovels digging ever deeper into the hillsides. Nor were they very much aware of the railroad cars that would receive the ore and then go clattering out on the ore docks to fill the holds of the ships. They were too deeply plunged into gloomy thoughts of the long, dull summer that lay ahead of them back home in Valley View.

CHAPTER THREE
Bull’s-Eye

Suddenly, Sandy Steele stiffened. He grabbed his chum by the arm and pointed in horror toward the lake.

There, not a hundred feet away, an elderly, white-haired, finely dressed gentleman stood gazing at one of the loading boats. He was absolutely unaware of the certain death that traveled toward him in the shape of a wildly swinging ore bucket.

“Down!” Sandy shouted. “Down, sir!”

The old man did not hear him. There was too much clamor about him.

Sandy and Jerry both dug their toes into the hard surface of the ground beneath them—like track sprinters ready to go off their mark. But the man was too far away. They could not have covered twenty feet before that horrible bucket would have done its awful work. With dreadful speed, the huge bucket—weighing two tons or more—was swinging closer, ever closer. And still the old man was unconscious of the fact that perhaps only a few seconds lay between his life and his death.

With a cry of despair, Sandy Steele sought to tear his eyes away. But he could not. Sandy was not that sort of youth. In anguish, his eyes roved the surrounding area—hunting for some means to save the old man’s life. Then they fell upon a chunk of ore. It was just a trifle bigger than a baseball.

Without a second’s delay, Sandy Steele pounced upon the piece of ore. He grasped it with his two-fingered, pitcher’s grip and whirled and threw with all his might. Every ounce of strength in Sandy Steele’s lanky, cablelike muscles went into that throw. The ore left his hand and whizzed toward the big bucket with all the speed that had had the Poplar City batters eating out of Sandy’s hand only a few weeks ago.

CLANG!

The ore struck the bucket with a resounding, echoing ring!

Instantly, the old man’s head turned.

He saw death but a few feet from his head.

In the next instant, he dropped to the ground and the bucket passed harmlessly above him.

“Are you all right, sir?” Sandy Steele cried.

Both Sandy and Jerry had charged up to the old man’s assistance immediately after Sandy had made his splendid throw. Now, they helped him regain his feet.

“Why, I guess I am all right, boys,” the man said, giving just the smallest shudder as he dusted himself off. “But one more second, and I guess I wouldn’t be.” He looked sharply at Sandy.

“Was it you who threw that rock?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, son, it must have been a great throw. Worthy of old Christy Mathewson himself. But better than that, boy, you saved my life. And I’m much obliged.” He held out his hand. “What’s your name, son?”

“Steele, sir. Sandy Steele. This is my friend Jerry James.”

“Pleased to meet you, boys. My name is John Kennedy.” He adjusted his coat lapels and turned to look out at the loading docks again. “See that boat out there? That’s one of mine. The James Kennedy. Named after my father, boys. He founded the family shipping line.” A shadow passed over the man’s normally ruddy and pleasant features. “I guess I was too busy watching the James Kennedy loading to notice that confounded bucket was getting set to whack my head off.” Mr. Kennedy shot them a sly look. “Like to go aboard her?”

“Would we!”

“I’ll say!”

Smiling, Mr. Kennedy led the way toward the long narrow ore freighter. Loading operations had been completed by the time they reached the dock, so they were allowed to proceed with little danger. They walked in awe beneath the now silent ore chutes, conscious as never before of their great size. Then, when they had come abreast of the James Kennedy’s wheelhouse and superstructure in the after part of the ship, their host said genially, “All right now, boys—hop to it. Down the ramp there and wait for me.”

As Sandy’s feet struck the slightly grimy steel deck, he noticed that the crewmen were busily covering up the load of ore that had just been deposited in the vessel’s holds. For a moment, he watched them. Then he gave a start.

The man who was directing them was the same short, powerfully built man that they had seen coming out of John Steele’s field-testing shack a little earlier.

“Oh, ho,” said Mr. Kennedy, observing Sandy’s gesture. “So you know Captain West, eh?”

“Not exactly, sir. But I do remember seeing him coming out of my father’s field station only a few minutes ago.”

“Your father’s field sta—” Mr. Kennedy struck his hands together sharply. “Why, of course! How could I have missed the resemblance! You’re John Steele’s son, aren’t you?” Sandy nodded proudly, and Mr. Kennedy rambled on, beaming: “Nothing like having your life saved by your friend’s son. Sort of keeps it in the family. And I certainly must tell John Steele what a fine boy he has! Ah, that’s it—down that ladder there. Smells like we’re just in time, boys.”

Still chuckling, Mr. Kennedy gingerly followed Sandy and Jerry as they clambered down a narrow, steep, iron stairway that led into a cabin fitted with a long table having benches on either side. A few of the crewmen in faded blue shirts and dungarees were already seated, eating. They smiled at the two youths.

“This is the galley, boys,” Mr. Kennedy said. “Ah, here’s Cookie.”

Sandy and Jerry burst out laughing as the little man shuffled into the galley, and then, seeing them, threw up his hands in mock horror and made a dive as though to save the platters of food on the table from destruction.

“S.O.S.,” he wailed, “S.O.S. Save Our Suppers!”

“All right, Cookie,” Mr. Kennedy chuckled. “That’ll be enough. How about rustling up a feed for my two young friends? This lad here,” he started to say, looking at Sandy. But then, seeing Sandy blush, he went on: “This lad here has just done the Kennedy Shipping Line a great favor. Show him how we treat our friends, Cookie.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Cookie said, bobbing his bald head and grinning. He shuffled off, and when he returned, he almost staggered under the burden of the platter he held. Boy, Sandy and Jerry thought, eying the platter hungrily, Mr. Kennedy sure does treat his friends well!

There were thick, juicy steaks and plates of French fried potatoes, pitchers of cold milk and plates of hot rolls and hard, cold butter—and, after dinner, two kinds of pie and plenty of ice cream.

“Boy, oh, boy,” Jerry James said weakly, after he had at last put down his fork. “I’d say that meal was worth the drive from California—even if we didn’t get jobs in the mines.”

“Jobs?” Mr. Kennedy said. “Mines?”

“Yes, sir,” Sandy put in. “You see, Dad thought that he’d be able to land us summer jobs. That’s why Jerry and I drove all the way from Valley View, where we live. But when we got here, Dad told us that work was so slow in the mines there just weren’t any jobs.”

As he spoke, Sandy’s good spirits began to drop a little. So did Jerry’s. For the moment, in the excitement of the events following the incident with the ore bucket, they had forgotten all about their disappointment. But now they realized once more that they were stranded 2,000 miles from home, without a job and just enough money to take them right back where they’d started from.

Mr. Kennedy looked at them soberly. “That is too bad,” he said. “But what your father says about the mines is true, Sandy.” He frowned. “How I wish it were not! Listen, boys, and I’ll let you in on a little business secret.” They leaned toward him, and Mr. Kennedy went on. “This boat, the James Kennedy, is making one of my firm’s last runs down the lakes to Buffalo.” He shook his head. “There’s just nothing to be done about this low-grade-ore situation, and I’ve decided to sell the shipping line.” He grimaced. “In fact, I’m selling out to my worst competitor, not the sort of fellow I’d like to sit down to dinner with, boys. But he’s made me an offer, and I’m taking it.

“That’s business, boys. So, you young fellows have the rather doubtful honor of sitting in the galley of the last of the Kennedy boats to—”

Mr. Kennedy’s mouth came open and he brought his clenched hand down on the table with a crash that startled Sandy and Jerry.

“Why not?” he said, smiling at them.

“Why not what, sir?” Sandy asked in polite puzzlement.

“Why not sign on a pair of young huskies from California as a sort of small reward for saving this leathery old skin of mine—that’s what!”

Sandy Steele drew a sharp breath of joy and Jerry James had to keep from jumping on the mess table to dance a jig.

“You don’t mean it, sir!” Sandy gasped.

“Certainly, I mean it. Why, wouldn’t you boys rather see the Great Lakes from the decks of a long boat than from the bottom of some dusty old ore digging?”

“Would we!” Jerry shouted. “Just ask us, that’s all—just ask us!”

“I already have,” Mr. Kennedy said, chuckling. He was obviously enjoying the sensation his offer had created.

“Well, then, we accept,” Sandy Steele said quickly. “When do we start?”

“You can come aboard tonight, if you like. In fact, you probably should. The James Kennedy is shoving off in the morning. You’d better not take any chances on missing her.”

“Right,” Sandy said, grinning in delight at his friend Jerry. Then, his face fell and he exclaimed, “Dad! We promised Dad we’d have dinner with him!”

Mr. Kennedy glanced at his watch. “Why, it’s only six o’clock,” he said. “If I know John Steele, he’ll be working well past that.” Looking up, he said, “Don’t tell me two deck hands like yourselves are going to object to eating a second dinner?”

Jerry James grinned sheepishly. “Well, sir, if you put it that way—I guess not. In fact,” he said, rubbing his stomach gently, “I’m not quite as full as I thought I was.”

“I thought so,” Mr. Kennedy said, getting to his feet and leading the way out of the galley. “Now,” he continued, puffing at the exertion of climbing the ladder topside, “you boys had better get your things together and report back here to Captain West. He’ll be notified that you’re shipping aboard. Captain West’s one of the finest skippers on the Kennedy Line.”

They walked together to the lake shore. At the end of the dock, Sandy could see a handsome, well-kept limousine—not flashy and loaded with chrome, like Pepper March’s.

“I’m driving back to Buffalo, boys,” Mr. Kennedy told them. “Getting too old to weather those Great Lakes storms, I guess. I’ve sailed the Kennedy boats since I was fifteen, but now....” His voice trailed off and his kindly face saddened. “Well, now, I guess things are changing. The Kennedy boats will soon be the Chadwick boats. By the time I get home, I suppose Paul Chadwick will have the whole deal drawn up and waiting for my signature.”

He held out his hand. “Goodbye, boys. Have a happy voyage—and remember to give your father my best, Sandy.” He turned and walked slowly to the car and the chauffeur who held a rear door open for him. He was a mournful figure as he got in the back and drove off in silence.

Sandy and Jerry waved as the car departed, and then Sandy said through clenched teeth, “Oh, how I hope Dad can locate some high-grade ore deposits!”

“Me, too!” Jerry James exclaimed. “I’d hate to see a fine old gentleman like Mr. Kennedy forced to sell his shipping line.”

“And to someone he doesn’t trust!” Sandy added, his face serious and his voice grim. “Come on, Jerry, we’d better hurry if we want to get to Dad’s place before dark.”

CHAPTER FOUR
A Plot Discovered

“Now, supposing I tell you my good news?”

The speaker was John Steele. He asked his question as he and Sandy and Jerry carried their loaded trays from the cafeteria-style mess hall to their table on a terrace outdoors overlooking the lake.

Ever since the two youths had rejoined Sandy’s father—almost bumping into Captain West as he came out of the field shack for the second time that day—they had been eagerly recounting their good fortune. Sandy’s father had been delighted to hear that his old friend John Kennedy had signed on his son and Jerry for the Duluth-to-Buffalo run. At one point, when he asked Sandy how they had met Mr. Kennedy, Sandy flushed and looked away.

Jerry James had proudly jumped into the breach. “Sandy saved Mr. Kennedy’s life, Mr. Steele,” Jerry had said.

Then, of course, nothing would do but that Jerry should relate the entire episode while John Steele listened with shining eyes. At last, Mr. Steele had proposed dinner. Now, as he said, “Supposing I tell you my good news?” Sandy was glad to have someone change the subject.

“Sure, Dad,” he said. “Fire away.”

John Steele drew a deep breath. “I’ve discovered some high-grade ore deposits,” he said.

For the second time that day, Sandy and Jerry felt a wild thrill of joy. For a day that had started out so badly, things were indeed looking up!

“Wonderful, Dad, wonderful! Where?”

“Not too far from Lake Superior. Of course, they’ll have to run the railroad spur a bit farther inland, but that’s really no problem.” John Steele’s voice took on a note of pride. “Matter of fact, these deposits are rather rich. Sixty per cent iron content, I’d say—maybe even more.”

“What a day, huh, Jerry? Just think, this means that Mr. Kennedy may not have to sell his lake boats, after all.”

“That’s right, son. If this vein is as rich as I think it is, he may even have to build a few more boats—to take care of the load.”

Sandy Steele’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Dad,” he burst out, “I’ve got a great idea!”

“What’s that, Sandy?”

“Where can I get in touch with Mr. Kennedy? He was leaving for Buffalo.”

“Why, I would say he’s heading for Minneapolis first. He won’t be there until quite late. Why, Sandy—what do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to put in a long-distance call and tell him the good news! After all, he’s been pretty good to Jerry and me. This is the least we can do for him.”

“I’d say you’ve been pretty helpful already, Sandy,” Mr. Steele drawled. Then, smiling, he went on, “But you don’t need to worry. That’s all been taken care of. Captain West has been informed, and he will tell Mr. Kennedy.”

“Oh,” Sandy said, a note of doubt mingling with the disappointment in his voice.

“Sandy!” John Steele’s voice was sharp. “What did you mean by that ‘Oh’? You make it sound as though Captain West is not to be trusted.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Sandy rushed on, embarrassed. “Nothing of the kind. I don’t even know him, Dad—except by sight. And I’ve heard Mr. Kennedy himself say that Captain West was a very fine skipper.”

“He is that,” Sandy’s father said, relaxing. “I guess I misunderstood you, son.”

“Anyway,” Jerry James put in, “it will all be in the newspapers, won’t it, Mr. Steele?”

“Not exactly, Jerry. You see, these things take weeks, even after you’ve made your initial discovery. Not that I’m not certain of these deposits. Far from it! I’ve never been more so. But there is always a certain amount of time before a report is properly nailed down—firmly enough for the newspapers to print it, that is.”

“But what you’ve discovered today, Dad—that’s enough to make Mr. Kennedy change his mind about selling?”

“It certainly is!”

“Good,” Sandy said. Then, laying down his knife and fork, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He brushed back his cowlick and looked sorrowfully at the slice of roast beef remaining on his plate.

“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve got room for another single ounce.”

“Well, well,” Jerry James said, apologetically, as he reached over and speared the morsel with his fork. “I think that I just might be able to handle it.”

The unbelievably long silhouette of the James Kennedy lay long and dark like a great sea serpent against the looming bulk of the ore dock as Sandy Steele and Jerry James returned to the lake shore. They carried suitcases in which they had hurriedly stuffed the few things they’d be needing for shipboard life. Each had put in soap and comb and toothpaste and toothbrushes and two sets of dungarees for working hours, plus a good pair of slacks and a sport shirt for those days when they hoped to go ashore in Great Lakes ports like Detroit or Cleveland.

They had disposed of Old Faithful easily enough. Sandy’s father had been pleased to take charge of Jerry’s jalopy while they were gone. It was just what he needed for the short trips between his field shack and the ore borings.

As the two friends walked up the James Kennedy’s ramp, their feet were dragging just a trifle. They had had a long and eventful day, and they were tired. When they stepped on deck, Jerry lost his balance and stumbled. Sandy had to shoot out an arm to keep him from falling. Suddenly, out of the dark, a voice growled, “Late, ain’cha?”

Sandy stopped dead, his hand still grasping Jerry’s arm. He heard a low snicker, and then the voice said, “Jumpy, too, ain’cha?”

“Well, no,” Sandy Steele said slowly, his eyes searching the darkness. “Where are you?”

“Over here.”

As their eyes became accustomed to the darkness, the two youths made out the figure of a tall man seated on a canvas chair. He leaned back against the bulkhead and stared at them from unfriendly eyes.

“I guess you two are Ma Kennedy’s little chicks,” he sneered. “That right?”

Sandy Steele felt a quick rush of anger. But he controlled himself and said, “We’re the men Mr. Kennedy signed on, if that’s what you mean.” “Men!” The tall man slapped his feet on the deck and cackled. “‘Men,’ he says! Ain’t that a hot one?” He glared at them. “Which one of you’s named Steele?”

“I am,” Sandy said.

“Go down below and report to the skipper. He’s waiting for you. First deck down, first cabin to starboard.”

“To starboard?” Sandy repeated, and then, remembering that he was aboard ship, he blushed in the dark. The tall man’s cackle of derision didn’t help his self-control any. But Sandy resolved to ignore the man. With a reassuring squeeze of Jerry’s arm, he left his friend and clambered below.

Going down the ladder, Sandy Steele hoped the unfriendly tall man would not make Jerry a target for his ridicule. Jerry James was good-natured enough, but he did have a hair-trigger temper.

When Sandy reached Captain West’s cabin, he stopped and knocked.

“Come in,” a gruff voice called, and Sandy pulled the heavy bulkhead open and stepped inside a small, dimly lighted room. Captain West was seated at a desk. He had his back to the door, but he swung around when Sandy entered. Sandy noticed that he still hadn’t shaved. Apparently he had been writing a letter, for he laid down a fountain pen with the air of a man who has been interrupted.

“Who are you?” Captain West growled, even though Sandy was sure that he had recognized him.

“Sandy Steele is my name, sir.”

“Oh, you’re one of the two kids old man Kennedy—” Captain West stopped and ran a thick stubby hand across his lips. “How well do you know Kennedy?” he snapped.

Sandy was taken aback. “I don’t understand you, sir.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Steele. You know what I mean. Are you a relative of his, or something? A nephew, maybe?”

“No, sir. I met him today for the first time.”

Captain West showed his disbelief. His thin lips parted and he started to laugh. It wasn’t a friendly laugh. Listening to it made Sandy feel anything but good-humored.

“C’mon, kid.” Captain West stared. “Let’s have the truth. What’s your connection with Old Man Kennedy?”

Sandy Steele was furious inwardly. He hadn’t liked the way the tall man topside had referred to Mr. Kennedy, but to hear Captain West—the valued skipper of the Kennedy Shipping Line—going on in the same disrespectful tone, well, that was going too far.

“I am telling the truth, Captain,” Sandy said coldly. “I only met Mr. Kennedy today, and that was by accident.” Captain West raised his thick, dark eyebrows quizzically, and Sandy, with great reluctance, launched into the tale of the ore bucket.

When he had finished, he found, to his amazement, that Captain West was regarding him with what could only be disgust!

“So that’s the answer,” Captain West muttered. With a sort of displeasure, he swung around and began writing again.

“All right, Steele,” he said over his shoulder. “Mr. Briggs will show you and the other boy to your quarters. And you can report to Cookie in the morning.”

“Cookie!”

Sandy Steele couldn’t believe his ears. Before he could stop himself, he had taken two quick steps around to the side of Captain West’s desk. With swift, reddening anger, Captain West threw down his fountain pen and slapped two hairy paws over the letter he’d been writing.

“Are you insubordinate already?” he shouted. “Who do you think you are, questioning a skipper’s orders like that? D’ya think I’m going to let a pair of punk kids the likes of you work topside where the men are? Not on your life! You’ll report to the galley where you belong, and leave the men’s work to the men. Now, get out of my sight!”

Sandy Steele felt himself going hot and cold by turns. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he stood there, looking down into the little piggish eyes of Captain West. They seemed to gleam wickedly in the reflected light of the desk lamp. Finally, with a low, mumbled “Aye, aye, sir,” Sandy Steele turned slowly around and left.

Abovedeck, he found Mr. Briggs. Apparently, he had not bothered to make game of Jerry, for the two of them stood against the rail gazing out at the moon that had just begun to rise over Lake Superior. In the light of the moonlight shimmering on the water, Mr. Briggs got a look at Sandy’s whitened face.

“Ho, ho,” he cackled. “Skipper gave you the rough side of his tongue, eh? Well, you’ll get used to it. Here, let me show you two below.”

They went down, down and down, to the lowest hold, and as they descended the ladder, Sandy Steele wondered to himself if he could ever possibly get used to an insulting man like Captain West. He was thinking the same thing as he and Jerry tumbled wearily into the bunks which occupied almost all the space in their tiny cabin. Jerry slept below, and Sandy above.

The more Sandy thought of Captain West, the more convinced he became that he and Jerry should leave the ship before the James Kennedy cast off her moorings and got under way. But, no, he thought again, that would be too much like quitting. Still, what were they to do? For some unexplained reason, Captain West despised them and was determined to make their voyage as unpleasant as he could. But why? Sandy could not understand it. He forced his tired brain to go over all the events of the day. He could recall seeing Captain West twice at his father’s field station. Then, he had seen him again when Mr. Kennedy brought them aboard ship. Apart from that, he had never seen the man before.

Suddenly, in a tiny corner of Sandy Steele’s brain, a light flashed. Astounded, unable to believe what he remembered seeing, Sandy shot erect. His head struck the overhead a painful blow, and below him Jerry James sputtered out of a sound sleep.

“Sandy! Sandy, what happened?”

“I just hit my head, but never mind that, Jerry,” Sandy whispered. “Listen, remember when Mr. Kennedy was saying so sadly that the Kennedy boats would have another name soon?”

“Yes?”

“Can you remember the other name?”

“Sure. It was Chadwick. He said he was completing a deal with Paul Chadwick.”

Jerry James heard a sharp hiss above him, and then the rustling of bedclothes. Then, to his surprise, a pair of long, lean-muscled legs dropped down in front of his eyes. In the next instant, Sandy Steele was crouching in his underwear alongside Jerry’s bunk, whispering excitedly.

“Chadwick! That’s it! Listen, Jerry, when I came in to Captain West’s cabin tonight, I interrupted him as he was writing a letter. I didn’t mean to see who it was addressed to, but I did.” Sandy paused dramatically. “It was addressed to Mr. Paul Chadwick!”

For a long second, there was a silence in the little cabin, a silence broken only by the heavy breathing of the two youths. Then, as Jerry James scrambled quickly from his bunk, Sandy whispered, “We’ve got to get out of here and warn Mr. Kennedy, Jerry. I’m positive that Captain West is working for the Chadwick shipping interests, and against Mr. Kennedy. He’ll never tell Mr. Kennedy about the deposits Dad discovered! And Mr. Kennedy will go right ahead and sell his boats for practically nothing!”

“You’re right, Sandy,” Jerry whispered, hastily pulling on his dungaree pants. “Good thing you found out about Captain West before it was too late. Our ship doesn’t sail until to—”

Jerry James cut short his sentence with a groan. In their mad rush to get dressed, Sandy and Jerry had not noticed the steady shuddering of the James Kennedy’s sides. They had paid no heed to the regular throbbing of her motors.

The James Kennedy had put out on Lake Superior ten minutes ago.

CHAPTER FIVE
A New Friend

In the morning, there was no time to make further plans, as the two friends had promised each other before they finally dropped off to sleep. They were awakened by the sound of Cookie’s voice as the little man leaned in the door of their cabin and cried, “Up and at ’em, boys, up and at ’em! It’s five o’clock, and that’s the time to rise and shine!”

Still sleepy-eyed, Sandy and Jerry tumbled out of their bunks and stood looking at Cookie with blank expressions on their faces. Cookie returned their stare with a toothless grin.

“Don’t rightly know where you are, hey, boys? Well, you’re aboard the James Kennedy and right now we’re out in the middle of Lake Superior.” He cocked a twinkling eye at them and flashed another one of his smiles, and the youths were heartened to find someone, at least, who seemed to want to be friendly with them.

“Go ahead and wash up,” Cookie said. “Be in the galley in fifteen minutes and I’ll have your breakfasts ready. In fact, you might just have the time to go topside and see the sun come up.”

Then he was gone.

Sandy and Jerry obediently headed for the washroom. There, they sloshed cold water on their faces and brushed their teeth. That made them feel better. By the time they had grasped the handrail of the ladder leading abovedeck, they had recovered their normal high spirits.

“Shucks,” Jerry said. “I don’t see what we got so riled up about last night. We’ll be in Buffalo in plenty of time to warn Mr. Kennedy.”

“You’re right, Jerry,” Sandy said. “That’s what I was thinking, too. Funny how you forget that a boat can make good time because it’s moving in a straight line. Driving in an automobile, Mr. Kennedy will have to go through six or seven states.”

“Sure. And don’t forget that a boat keeps moving all the time, like a railroad train. In a car, you have to stop to get some sleep or eat.”

It was still dark as they came out on deck. Far out in front of them, they could see the bulk of the forward superstructure—the navigation bridge and the deck gang’s quarters—rearing out of the black. Beneath their feet they felt the steady throbbing of the James Kennedy’s engines. All around them, for miles and miles, stretched the flat, black surface of Lake Superior. Ahead of them, for they were sailing due east, there was a light rosy glow that heralded the rising of the sun. Even then, as they looked, a line of horizon was beginning to take shape.

“Isn’t it something?” Sandy whispered. “Here we are, thousands of miles inland. Yet, it’s just like sailing on an ocean.” Sandy Steele stretched his neck and stood on his tiptoes and turned slowly around. “You can’t see anything but water,” he said.

“Boy, what a country!” Jerry James breathed.