The Project Gutenberg eBook, Stormy Voyage, by Robert Leckie This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Stormy Voyage Sandy Steele Adventures #3 Author: Robert Leckie Release Date: October 17, 2015 [eBook #50238] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORMY VOYAGE*** E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) Stormy Voyage 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 CHAPTER 1 Off to the Mesabi 2 The Long Boats 3 Bull’s-Eye 4 A Plot Discovered 5 A New Friend 6 Man Overboard! 7 In the Locks 8 Fire! 9 Charged with Arson 10 The Unsalted Seas 11 The Big Blow 12 A Web of Lies 13 Cookie to the Rescue 14 Checkmated 15 Safe in Port 16 Summer’s End 11 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. ROCKEFELLER CENTER, 630 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK 20, N. Y. FIRST PRINTING LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 59-13882 MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY H. WOLFF BOOK MFG. CO., INC., NEW YORK CONTENTS PAGE 11 22 34 45 58 73 81 93 105 116 130 142 156 167 178 184 The GREAT LAKES CHAPTER ONE 12 13 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. 14 15 16 “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. 17 18 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 19 20 21 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. 22 23 24 “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?” 25 26 27 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. 28 29 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. 30 31 32 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 33 34 35 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. 36 37 38 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 39 40 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 41 42 43 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.