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Updated: May 12, 2025
A cautious survey told him they were some distance from the creek mouth, and certainly invisible behind the waterlogged trunk and its load of leaves and other debris. He put his lips to Scotty's ear. "Wonder what happened to Orvil?" "We've got to find out," Scotty whispered back. "Yes, but how?" "We go overland." Of course! They were on the same side as the boat, and not far away.
"Scotty's" eyes rested upon them with justifiable pride. "I think," he announced happily, "that in all my years of racing I have never had so fine a team; so many dogs I can count upon in every way." And then came the expected order, "Baldy in the lead, Matt."
"I still hear the crackling noise," Scotty objected. "Someone's talking in the background, but I can't hear it because of the snapping and popping." Rick swallowed hard. Was something wrong? "Let's see." He borrowed Scotty's earpiece and held it to his own ear. For a second he listened, horrified. It sounded like the Battle of Bull Run! Barby broke in faintly through the noise. "Rick!
Later in the evening father and daughter were alone beside a well-shaded lamp in the cosey sitting-room. Mollie had retired early, complaining of a headache, and carrying with her an air of martyrdom even more pronounced than usual; so noticeable, in fact, that, absently watching the door through which she had left, an expression of positive gloom formed over Scotty's thin face.
Scotty held the runabout wide open, at its top speed of nearly twenty miles an hour. They sped across the Little Choptank River straight for Swamp Creek, with no effort at concealment. Rick saw a low, white boat some distance down the river and grabbed Scotty's arm. "Isn't that Orvil's boat?" Scotty looked for a long moment. "It looks like it. Let's go see."
When it fell to zero, he yelled to Scotty. Scotty lowered the anchor and made it fast, then hurried back to join Rick, who backed off until he felt the anchor dig in. It was silent in the cove with the motors off. "I'll start," Rick offered, and at Scotty's nod he picked up his Scuba and slipped into the harness. His weight belt was next, then his fins.
You spray it on the area that hurts, and it evaporates in seconds. You know what that does." Rick did! And suddenly last night's events were perfectly, transparently clear. "Evaporation cools the surface," Rick said for Scotty's benefit. "The faster the evaporation, the faster the cooling. This methyl chloride must act pretty fast." "It does," the druggist agreed.
Zircon bandaged Scotty's hand with supplies from the first-aid kit while the boys told them what had happened. Tony said, "Very careless, leaving a valve loose like that." Rick told him positively, "It wasn't left unscrewed, Tony. We always use a wrench on those valves because high pressure is so dangerous. And it wasn't like that yesterday. I checked the tanks when we stowed them on the boat."
And there speculation stopped again, the question still unanswered. They dove to the wreck and continued the hard labor of taking the aft end of the ship apart. When they finally got the new area cleared of rotted boards and timbers it was only to find a cabin already filled with sand. Rick borrowed the spear from Scotty's gun and thrust it down into the sand.
He went through his tricks anew, not methodically as before, but furiously, desperately. The sweat churned into foam beneath the saddle and between his legs. He screamed like a demon, until the other broncos retreated in terror, and Scotty's hair fairly lifted on his head. But one idea possessed him to kill this being on his back, this hated thing he could not move or dislodge.
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