as the moments wore on, skippy felt meaner than ever. he tried to force himself to accept big joe’s point of view, but it was difficult and more than once he wished he had not encouraged his good friend in this dubious enterprise.

they chugged into the bay and out of the awakening river traffic. dawn had broken through and glimmerings of dancing light peeped over the horizon. an hour more and they would be in sight of watson’s channel.

“we’ll not be goin’ straight for the channel, we’ll not,” called big joe as if anticipating skippy’s fears. “we’ll be layin’ quite like below here a ways ’till the minnehaha gets in the channel. ’tis a funny name, hey kid?”

“mm,” skippy answered. “it’s a indian name, big joe—i think it means sumpin’ like laughing—laughing sumpin’.”

big joe’s mirth knew no bounds.

140

“sure and just about now minnie ain’t laughin’, she ain’t,” he said. “’tis us.”

“not me,” skippy said gloomily. “i won’t laugh ... not till after.”

an hour later they were chugging noisily toward watson’s channel. the sun was glorious and the water glistened under its warm spring rays. gulls frolicked about in the foaming spray and skippy tried hard to believe there was nothing but peace in his busy mind.

after a time they heard a distant sound, faint at first but growing louder within a few minutes. tully grinned at skippy’s questioning face and nodded as the piercing note of a siren cut the silent sunlit air.

“sure, and i wonder what that might be?” he said with mock-seriousness. “sounds like distress i’d be sayin’, i would.”

“stop kiddin’, big joe,” skippy pleaded. “you mean you think it’s them?”

“well now i wouldn’ be s’prised,” the big fellow answered. then seriously, he said: “we’ll be gettin’ there, kid! don’t be lookin’ as if they was drownin’ or somethin’. sure they could keep afloat for hours so they could, and look at the tide besides.”

141

skippy glanced at the quietly rolling swell and felt somewhat reassured. but the voice of the siren jarred him and he was glad to see that big joe looked serious and determined. he hadn’t liked that note of raillery in his friend’s voice.

but despite skippy’s fears tully answered the siren call with all the haste of a good samaritan. one might have supposed that he gloried in the duties of heroic service. and when he reached the channel and they sighted the distressed launch, he opened wide his throttle until the old hull shook to the vibrations of the engine.

skippy clenched his slim, brown fingers and sat tense in his seat while a spray rained into the boat. big joe coughed significantly and drove his ramshackle craft straight for the disabled cruiser.

“now ain’t she the sweet lookin’ baby,” he observed as if he had never seen the launch before.

skippy said nothing but grimly watched the three men who awaited their coming. crosley he recognized at once, but the man standing alongside of him was a stranger. the third occupant of the minnehaha was marty skinner. skippy remembered him from his father’s trial and from the night skinner had ordered him off the apollyon without a hearing.

142

“you see him?” he asked big joe between clenched teeth.

“’tis all the better,” big joe seemed to say in his bland smile.

he brought the kicker up alongside the minnehaha and laid a life preserver over the coaming of his boat to prevent its scratching the gleaming hull of the launch. skippy scrambled to the rescue and held the kicker as the ill-assorted pair rocked and rubbed in the heavy swell.

“sure i don’t want to be scratchin’ her,” said tully with a fine assumption of humble respect for the launch. “i was tellin’ the kid here, she’s some baby, hey? what’s bein’ the matter; power give out did she? ’tis too bad, so ’tis.”

skippy kept his eyes on space, but he had the feeling that big joe and he were being scrutinized with unfriendly stares.

crosley sniffed the air contemptuously before he spoke.

“she’s pumping oil to beat the band,” he said. “we don’t seem to be getting any compression either. we can’t get a kick out of her. been flopping around for an hour.”

“sure maybe ye be needin’ new rings,” said tully. “guess ye been pushin’ her too hard, hey?”

143

he glanced into the cockpit and with a fine show of rueful astonishment, beheld the disastrous results of his own handiwork. she was indeed pumping oil. the engine head was covered with it, and it was streaming down the side over the carburetor. three or four spark plugs had been taken out and lay on a locker in little puddles of oozy muck.

“if ’t was only one cylinder now, i’d be sayin’ ye had a busted ring, or even a cracked piston,” tully said blandly. “but shiverin’ swordfish if it don’t look like the whole six o’ thim, don’t it? ye can’t do nothin’ here. looks like ye was racin’ her a lot.” his detestable device had worked so well that he seemed moved to offer gratuitous suggestions. “i knowed a guy was stuck on the bar over by inland beach and he kept racin’ his motor, and somehow—i dunno just how—she sucked in a lot o’ beach sand and it sanded down his cylinder wall good an’ plenty, so it did.”

skinner’s lips were drawn in a thin line above his pointed chin.

“does that mean we’ll have to be towed back, crosley?” he asked his host petulantly.

“afraid so, marty,” answered crosley. “i can’t imagine how a fine engine like mine could break down so soon.”

144

“sure and if that ain’t just like some guys,” said tully glibly. “they’re fine’s a fiddle one day and the next—they’re done for, ain’t it so?”

crosley nodded indifferently.

“could you tow us in?” he asked as if the question were distasteful. his aversion to the uncouth, but amiable river man was too obvious to escape skippy’s sensitive eyes.

if tully was aware of it too, he did not betray it. his face looked grave and thoughtful.

“trouble is i’m due at the hook,” he said hesitantly. “have an all day’s job towin’ a barge. i’m late as ’tis. and if i ain’t there in twinty minutes i lose the job, so i do. ’tis the first good payin’ job i’ve had in a long....”

crosley waved his hand in entreaty.

“we’ll see that you’re paid for the loss of your day’s job, man. how much would you get for it, eh?”

tully moved his large head and shrugged his powerful shoulders. “seventy-five bucks is what they’re goin’ to pay me,” he said modestly.

crosley gasped audibly.

“that’s a lot of money, but....”

“it’s a hold up!” snapped skinner between his tightly drawn lips.

145

“sure and it’s what they’re payin’ me, boss,” said big joe with a look of hurt pride. “i ain’t askin’ ye’ for a cent, i’m not considerin’ i may lose my customer for future jobs. ’tis not only i’m losin’ that seventy-five bucks, ’tis....”

“all right,” crosley sniffed angrily. “you’re taking advantage of us. i don’t believe you can earn seventy-five dollars for a day’s work. but you have us at a disadvantage—the lord knows who else we could get to our rescue in this unfrequented channel.”

“so and that’s all the thanks i get,” said tully. “comin’ way out o’ me way....”

“all right,” skinner interposed. “give it to him, crosley. i know who this fellow is. we’re at his mercy. but i’ll remember this, tully—you’re occupying the mud banks at brown’s basin. you and this boy, dare, may want some consideration when you people have to get out of the basin. and i’ll remember who’s living on the minnie m. baxter!”

“you oughta!” skippy shouted angrily, rising to his feet. “your cheatin’ boss what’s dead put it there, that’s what, an’ my father’ll never see the sun on the river again on account of it too! so try an’ take it away.”

146

skinner’s cold dignity seemed unruffled. he averted his gaze while crosley counted out seventy-five dollars to big joe tully. skippy stood by, his heart full of hate, and at that moment he thought that he could cheerfully see the minnehaha sink to the bottom of the channel while skinner begged to be saved.

while leisurely chugging back toward the basin that afternoon he and tully talked it over seriously.

“well, and we got seventy-five bucks aisy money out o’ the tightwads,” tully chuckled in conclusion.

“seventy-five bucks an’ the promise of trouble from skinner, big joe,” skippy reminded him with a note of apprehension in his voice.

tully’s face darkened.

“i hate skinner for sayin’ what he did, so i do,” he said ominously. “sufferin’ swordfish if he do be makin’ ye scared and drivin’ ye outa the only home ye got—well, he better be lettin’ ye ’lone. me, i don’t care much where i live, but you ... i’ll be fixin’ him if he....”

“don’t say it, big joe!” skippy pleaded earnestly. “it scares me, ’cause that’s just what pop said the night he went to see old mr. flint on the apollyon! it’s sorta——”

147

“and ’tis all right, kid, so ’tis.” tully smiled. “now ye be forgettin’ it.”

skippy tried to; certainly he had forgotten that he himself had wished marty skinner a like fate only that morning.