The at the Seashore Part 7 (1/2)

”The way he acted makes it look as if that was just why he was here, too,” said Dolly. ”He was sneaking around, and he certainly didn't seem very pleased when Bessie found him.”

”He did his best to squirm away,” said Bessie. ”If Zara hadn't been so nervous while we were eating supper I would never have thought of going after him, either. But she seems to be able to see things and hear things, in some queer fas.h.i.+on, when no one else can.”

”That's a good thing for the rest of us,” said Trenwith with a smile. ”She's a useful person to have around at a time like this. I'm going to have a couple of my men--detectives--stay around here to-night to keep an eye on things. It's likely, of course, that there's nothing to be afraid of, but just the same, we don't want to take any chances.”

”I'm glad you've done that,” said Eleanor. ”I don't think I'm the ordinary type of timid woman, but I must confess that all these things worry me, and I'll feel a lot safer if I know that we are not entirely at the mercy of any trick they try to play on us to-night. They seem to be getting bolder all the time.”

”Well, after all you know, that's one of the most hopeful things about the whole business. It means that they're getting desperate--that their time is getting short. They feel that if they don't succeed soon they never will, because it will be too late. All we've got to do is to stand them off a little longer, and the whole business will be settled and done with.

”I've got to get back to Bay City to-night. If anything happens, don't hesitate to call me up, no matter what time it is. If I'm out at any time you do have to call me, I'll leave word where I'm going, so that if you tell them at my house who you are, they'll find me. Good-night!”

Neither Dolly nor Bessie slept well that night. Jake's appearance had been disturbing; it seemed to both of them much more likely that his coming heralded some new attempt by Holmes, rather than a desire on his part to confess. But the night pa.s.sed without anything to rouse them, and in the morning their fears seemed rather foolish, as fears are apt to do when they are examined in the sunlight of a new day.

”I don't see what they can do, after all,” said Dolly. ”There aren't any woods around here as there were at Long Lake. We're all in sight of the camp and of one another all the time, and they certainly won't be able to work that trick of setting the tents on fire again.”

”I guess you're right,” said Bessie. ”It seems different this morning, somehow. I was worried enough last night but I feel a whole lot better now. I'm glad it's such a beautiful day. The weather makes a lot of difference in the way you feel. It always does with me, I know.”

”I'm going out in the sloop after breakfast,” said Dolly. ”That is, if Miss Eleanor says it's all right. There's a lot more wind than there was yesterday, and we can have some good fun.”

”Can I go, too?” asked Bessie. ”You were quite right when you told me I'd love the seash.o.r.e, Dolly. Do you remember how I said I was sorry we were leaving the mountains?”

”Oh, I knew it would fascinate you, just as it does me. So you've given up your love for the mountains?”

”Not a bit of it! I love them as much as ever, but I've found out that the seash.o.r.e has attractive things about it, too. And I think sailing, the way we did yesterday, is about the nicest of all.”

”Then you just wait until we get out there to-day, with a real breeze, and a good sea running. That's going to be something you've never even dreamed of.”

They had hearty appet.i.tes for breakfast in spite of their restless and disturbed sleep, for the bracing effects of their swim, taken before the meal, more than made up for the lack of proper rest. And after breakfast Dolly asked permission to go out in the sloop, since one of the very few rules of the Camp Fire, and one strictly enforced, had to do with water sports.

None of the girls were ever allowed to go in swimming unless the Guardian was present, and the same rules applied to boating and sailing--with the added restriction that no girl who did not know how to swim well enough to pa.s.s certain tests was allowed to go in a boat at all. Moreover, bathing suits had always to be worn when in a boat.

”Indeed you may,” said Eleanor, when Dolly asked her question. ”And will you take me with you? I'd like to be out on that sea to-day. It looks glorious.”

”We'll love to have you along,” said Dolly. ”How soon may we start?”

”It's eight o'clock,” said Eleanor, looking at her watch. ”We can start at ten. That will allow plenty of time after eating. Of course, we don't intend to go in the water, but you never can tell--it's squally to-day, and we might be upset. And that's one thing I don't believe in taking chances with. A cramp will make the best swimmer in the world perfectly helpless in the water, and about every case of cramps I ever heard of came from going in the water too soon after a meal.”

When they were aboard the Eleanor and scooting through the opening in the bar, Bessie found that the conditions were indeed very different from those of the previous afternoon. The wind had changed and become much heavier, and as the Eleanor went along, she dipped her bow continually, so that the spray rose and drenched all on board. But there was something splendidly exciting and invigorating about it, and she loved every new sensation that came to her.

”Here's the Defiance coming out,” said Eleanor, after they had been enjoying the sport for half an hour. ”Gladys must like this sort of a breeze, too.”

”She does, but she's never had as much of it as I have,” said Dolly. ”I hope she understands it well enough not to make any mistakes. A boat like this takes a good deal of handling in a heavy breeze, and it seems to me that she's carrying a good deal of sail.”

”She seems to be getting along all right, though,” said Eleanor, after watching the Defiance for a few minutes. ”Why, Dolly, I wonder what she's doing now.”

The maneuvres of the Defiance seemed strange enough to prompt Eleanor's question, for, no matter how Dolly tacked, the Defiance followed her, drawing nearer all the time. Since Dolly had no sort of definite purpose in mind, it was plain that Gladys was simply following her. And soon the reason was apparent.

”She's trying to race; she wants to show that she can beat us to-day when there's plenty of wind,” said Dolly. ”If she wanted to race, why didn't she say so?”

”Well, give her her way, Dolly,” said Eleanor. ”Keep straight on now for a little while and see if she can beat you. We're just about on even terms now.”

And on even terms they stayed. Sometimes one, sometimes the other seemed to gain a little advantage, but it was plain that the boats, as well as the skippers, were very evenly matched. Since there was no agreement to race, Dolly had the choice of courses, and in a spirit of mischief she came about frequently. And every time she changed her course Gladys followed suit.

Although the boats were often within easy hailing distance, Gladys avoided Dolly's eyes, and nothing was said by those on either sloop. They were satisfied with the fun of this impromptu racing. But at last, when they were perhaps a mile from the opening in the bar, and very close together, Eleanor, looking at her watch, saw that it was nearly time for lunch.

”You'd better turn for home now, Dolly,” she said. ”Suppose I give Gladys a hail and suggest a race to the bar?”

”All right,” agreed Dolly.

”Gladys!” Eleanor sent her clear voice across the water, and Gladys answered with a wave of her hands. She seemed in better humor than she had been the day before.

”We're going in now. Want to race to the bar?”

”All right!” called Gladys, in answer, and came about smartly. She had been quick, but Dolly was just as quick, and they were on the most even terms imaginable as the race began.

But Dolly and the Eleanor had one advantage that Gladys was not slow to recognize. The Eleanor had the inside course. In a close finish that would be very likely to spell the difference between victory and defeat, since, to reach the opening, Gladys would either have to get far enough ahead to cross the Eleanor's bows or else to cross behind her, which would entail so much loss of time that Dolly would be certain to bring her craft home a winner. But since the previous racing had shown the Defiance to be just a trifle swifter before the wind, that advantage seemed to be one that Gladys could easily overcome.

Now that she was racing, however, Dolly changed her tactics. Fresh as the wind was, she shook out a reef in her mainsail, and as they neared the bar the Eleanor actually carried more canvas than Gladys dared to keep on the Defiance. Being less used to heavy going than Dolly, she was not so sure of the strength of her sticks, and reckless though she was, she was too wise to be willing to take a chance of being dismasted.

And so the advantage that Gladys had to gain to be able to cross the Eleanor's bows seemed to be impossible for her to attain. The Eleanor did not go ahead, but she held her own, and she had the right of way.

”You're going to beat her again, and fair and square this time,” said Eleanor, excitedly. ”She won't be able to say a word to this!”

”Look!” said Dolly, suddenly. ”She's going to cross me--and she's got no right to do it!” She shouted loudly. ”Gladys! Gladys! I'll run you down! Don't do that! I've got the right of way!”

But Gladys kept on with a mocking laugh. Furious at the trick, Dolly put her helm hard over, and the Eleanor came up in the wind.

”That's a mean trick, if you like!” cried Dolly, indignantly. ”In a regular race, if she did a thing like that, the other boat would run her down, and would win on a foul. But she knew very well I'd give up the position rather than cause an accident!”

The check to the Eleanor was only for a moment, but it was enough to throw her off her course and make it certain that the Defiance would reach the bar first.

”Never mind, Dolly. You did the right thing,” said Eleanor, quietly. ”I think she's quite welcome to the race, if she cares enough about winning it to play a trick like that!”

Bessie was up in the bow, looking intently at the Defiance. And now as Gladys came up to get the straight course again, something went wrong. By some mistaken handling of her helm she had lost her proper direction, and to her amazement Bessie saw the boom come over sharply. She saw it, too, strike Gladys on the head--and the next moment the Defiance gybed helplessly, while Gladys was swept overboard.

Bessie did not hesitate a moment. She had seen that blow struck by the boom, and with a cry of warning she plunged overboard as they swept by the helpless Defiance, and with powerful strokes made for the place where Gladys had gone overboard. Gladys had gone straight down, but Bessie had marked the spot, and she dived as she reached it, and met her coming up. She clutched her in a moment, and was on the surface almost at once, holding Gladys, and looking for Dolly and the Eleanor. Dolly would return for her at once, she knew, if she had seen Gladys go over. But, to her amazement the sloop was heading for the bar, sailing away from her fast! Dolly had not seen her and, for a moment, Bessie was badly scared.

CHAPTER XI.

THE RESCUE.

In a moment, however, she realized that she could not be left alone for long. Her absence from the Eleanor would be noticed, even if no one had seen her leap overboard; and, moreover, the strange behavior of the Defiance was sure to attract Dolly's attention, for, without Gladys to direct her, the Defiance was in a bad way. She had heeled over sharply, and seemed now to be sailing in circles, following the errant impulses of the wind, which caught first one sail, then another.

Although she was quite near the Defiance, Bessie looked for no help from her. To swim toward her, with Gladys as a burden, seemed hopeless. The boat was not staying in one position. And moreover, Marcia Bates and the other girl on board of her seemed almost entirely ignorant of what to do. They would have quite enough on their hands in trying to get her headed for the opening in the bar.

And suddenly a new danger was added to the others. For Gladys, it seemed, was recovering her senses--or, rather, she was no longer unconscious. To her horror, Bessie found, as Gladys opened her eyes, that she was delirious. That, of course, was the effect of the blow on her head from the boom, but its effect, no matter what the cause, was what worried Bessie.