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.