Water Chase (3 page)

Both boys were too preoccupied to talk much at breakfast, but they managed to down big bowls of porridge and several thick slices of crusty bread and strawberry jam.

As soon as the meal was over and their dishes washed, they checked with the camp director and told him they were going across the bay.

“Camp breaks up today so I’ll be taking boys over to Campbell River about eleven o’clock,” Mr. Baird explained. That meant they could go over with him, or at least that he would look out for the “Chinook” when he went. They nodded, shouted a farewell to the crowd and sped up to the barn for their sleeping bags and the few things they had brought. In a few minutes they were rowing, one oar each, as hard as they could across the bay.

“Whew! It’s going to be hot today!” Peter said, pausing for a moment to rub his arm across a wet forehead.

“It sure is. I wish we could go swimming.” Donald stopped too. “Hey, come on, row! We’ll just go in circles if you don’t.”

“Okay brother, here goes!” Peter gave a strong pull that spun the bow in an arc.

“Not that hard!” Donald laughed.

For the rest of the way they pulled together and straight for the float where small boats could tie up alongside the wharf.

“I’ll tie her up; you go in and ask,” Peter said.

Donald jumped lightly to the float and raced up the ramp. Peter fastened the painter and then walked slowly after him. He watched the white shirted figure disappear around the corner of the house. The echo of Donald’s sharp knock sounded; then there were voices so he started to run.

Rounding the corner of the house Peter saw that Donald was just leaving, with Mrs. Henderson still standing in the doorway and shaking her head.

“Mrs. Henderson says she doesn’t know a thing about what happened to the ‘Chinook’ last night. As far as she knew it was going to stay tied up here all night. Captain Henderson is due back from a towing trip this morning and Dad wanted to see him.”

“It’s hard to figure out what happened,” Peter said, “I guess there’s nothing we can do but wait.”

“I asked Mrs. Henderson about the white launch, but she said there’s so many of them around in the summer. It probably came from Campbell River.” He paused for a moment, still looking worried. “Well, let’s go back to camp and see if Mr. Baird will let us go over there with him.”

“But supposing your Dad should come in the meantime?”

“We won’t be away long. We’d leave a message at camp. Anyway we’d be sure to see him from the ‘Ambassador’ and could signal.”

When they got back to the camp float they found it was loaded with suitcases, boxes, rolls of blankets and sleeping bags.

“What happened? Aren’t you going on your trip up the coast?” Bob Henderson asked.

“Not yet. We don’t know what happened to Dad. He took the ‘Chinook’ out again last night.” Donald thought it better not to say anything about the “Chinook’s” strange disappearance, at least for the present.

Mr. Baird readily agreed to letting the boys accompany him on his trip to Campbell River. The mission boat was heavily loaded with boys and baggage by the time they pulled out of Gowlland Harbor and set out across the choppy Straits. Donald and Peter sprawled on top of the wheelhouse where there was a cool breeze and where they could keep a sharp lookout north and south.

“No sign of her out here,” Donald said when they were half way across.

They slipped between the wharf and the break-water and Mr. Baird edged the “Ambassador” between fishing boats and summer yachts. Donald looked around anxiously.

“No ‘Chinook’ here either! I wonder where Dad can be and what could have happened! He doesn’t do things like this. I’m sure he wouldn’t have changed his plans suddenly without telling us. I wonder …”

“You wonder what?” Peter asked.

Donald lowered his voice so the other boys couldn’t hear. “I keep thinking about the payroll Dad had on board. He planned to get the money at the bank yesterday and take it up north. Did somebody know about it and come after it last night?”

Peter stared. “You, don’t think — you can’t think —”

Donald nodded.

“But your Dad and the rest of the crew? What about them?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. Why didn’t they just take the money and clear out without taking the ‘Chinook’ too? That would be easy to find. And Dad — what could they want with him?”

“It’s no good thinking that way, Don. Surely your Dad had to make a trip he hadn’t planned. Maybe he’ll be back by the time we are.”

“Here we are in Campbell River. Let’s go ashore and see if we can find out anything.” He slipped down from the roof and stuck his head in the wheelhouse window. “How long will we be here, Mr. Baird?”

“About an hour I reckon. See any signs of your father’s ship?”

“No. We’re going out to ask the people.”

“Good idea; I’ll do the same thing.”

The boys raced up the slipway and then from the wharf stood looking out over the water. Donald shook his head.

“She’s not here. Now where do we start? I know the bank manager, and Bill Mitchell who works the fuel pump on the big wharf. Let’s go!”

The bank manager said that Mr. Harris had been in the previous day but he hadn’t seen him since. Bill Mitchell told the same story. When they asked about a white launch Mitchell frowned, rubbing his chin with a grimy thumb and forefinger, and said he did remember a couple of rough characters that had stopped for gas and water late the previous night. He didn’t think anything had happened to Donald’s father though, said he’d
probably taken the “Chinook” to visit friends.

“It was awfully late for a visit,” Donald said.

The two boys walked slowly back to the wharf, stopping at a lunch counter for hamburgers on the way. They found Mr. Baird waiting for them.

“Any luck?” he asked. “Nobody here seems to know anything.”

The boys shook their heads. “Bill Mitchell seems to think Dad went to visit friends, but I don’t know about that,” Donald said.

They went back to camp with the “Ambassador” and spent the rest of the day wandering restlessly about, climbing vantage points now and then to look across the harbor to the Hendersons, or out across the Straits toward Campbell River. But nothing that looked at all like the “Chinook” came into view.

T
HE HENDERSON BOYS came over to the camp in the afternoon, but neither Donald nor Peter felt like swimming or playing games. They were too worried about the disappearance of the “Chinook.”

“I’m sure Dad wouldn’t visit friends and stay this long without telling me,’” Donald said, and Mr. Baird agreed. They could see he was worried too, and late that afternoon he took them out in the “Ambassador” again, down to Quathiaski Cove and Cape Mudge where they could see far to the south, and then several miles to the north, but there was no sign of the missing boat.

That evening all the camp workers gathered with the boys for a special time of prayer for the safety of Donald’s father, his ship and crew. The boys unrolled their sleeping bags, this time in one of the empty cabins, where one of the counselors joined them.

Peter was first to awaken the next morning, and for a moment or two he lay there wondering where he was. Then he remembered that they were still at camp and more than twenty-four hours had elapsed since the “Chinook” and the three men aboard her had disappeared.

The camp was quiet enough that morning but
the two boys got up early and hurried up the hill. There was still no sign of the “Chinook” at Henderson’s wharf or in the quiet waters of the bay; nor was she to be seen in the Straits. It was cool and cloudy, with a threat of rain.

“If only we knew where Dad was, and why!” Donald said. Mr. Baird had joined them and he put a big arm around Donald’s shoulders.

“I’m afraid something unusual has happened,” he said, “although when I was talking to an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police yesterday he didn’t seem to think there was any cause for worry. If we don’t hear anything by noon, we’ll take another trip over to Campbell River. I think we should tell the police about the payroll. There are air taxis over there, too, and we could ask one of the pilots to keep his eyes open for signs of the ship; in fact we could alert all of them. Most of the pilots know the ‘Chinook’ when they see it.”

The boys felt better when they knew that something definite was going to be done, but still the morning dragged. They made countless trips to lookout points, only to be disappointed.

Just before lunch Donald suddenly put his head to one side, listening.

“I heard something!”

“The boat?”

“No, it sounds more like a plane.”

“There are lots of planes around!” Peter said.

“This one is coming here. Look, there it is!”

He was right. A seaplane circled over the trees and dipped quickly to the quiet water in the sheltered bay. Then it taxied to the Henderson wharf.

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a pair of glasses!” Peter said.

Then they caught side of Mr. Baird below them, beckoning to them. Together they raced pell-mell down the hill.

“Just a chance there may be some news,” Mr. Baird said. “We could get over there in a few minutes. Come on.”

They hurried down to the dinghy and Mr. Baird slid an Evinrude motor into place at the stern. He gave a quick snap with the cord and there was a loud whirr as the engine started. Seconds later they were skimming across the bay toward the plane.

As they drew near the Henderson wharf a man came out of the house and hurried along the wharf.

“It’s Dad! It’s Dad!” Donald almost fell out of the boat in his excitement. “Hey, Dad!” His voice was shrill, and Peter could see there were tears in his eyes.

The man stopped and looked toward them.

“Donald! Peter!”

The moment they were alongside they scrambled out of the boat and hurtled up the slipway. Donald threw himself at his father.

“Why did you go away?” he almost sobbed. “Where were you? What happened?”

Standing beside them, Peter had a chance to look at Mr. Harris. He could see his face was unshaven and scratched, his clothing torn. Mr. Baird came up and joined them and the two men shook hands.

“I can’t stay long,” Donald’s father said, “but
I’ll tell you what happened. We got held up — right here in quiet Gowlland Harbor! They came aboard in the dead of night when we were asleep and before we knew what was happening they had us gagged and tied up. Then they took over the ‘Chinook.’ After we’d traveled for a couple of hours or so, they put us into their boat. We were blind-folded and still tied. When we managed to get free we found they left us with neither oars nor motor. And there was no sign of the ‘Chinook.’”

Peter and Donald were looking at him with wide eyes.

“How did you get away?” Peter asked.

“We didn’t. I figured we were somewhere around Powell River by the shore lights but drifting north with the tide and that wind which blew in the night. As the day began to dawn we could see land and tried paddling with our hands. I was afraid the outgoing tide would take us right away again but we finally made it. We were feeling pretty weak and didn’t really know where we were but I figured it must be Savary. We rested and tried to hike across the island but didn’t make it before nightfall. Early this morning we set out again, reached a cove where there was a fishing boat and got the captain to take us across to Lund. From there he took us to Powell River to get in touch with the police.”

“And the payroll?” Donald asked.

“They must have known about that, but I’m not sure. It’s in the safe — or was. But if they just wanted money, why did they make off with the ‘Chinook’? That’s what puzzles me. They could
have gotten away more easily without her; she’s a giveaway.”

“What are you going to do?” Mr. Baird asked.

Mr. Harris jerked a thumb toward the plane. “I’ve hired this fellow for today. We’re going to look for that boat before it gets too far away. Of course the R.C.M.P. are searching, too.”

“Dad, can we go with you?”

“No, there’s not enough room. You’ll have to stay with Mrs. Henderson, or at camp with Mr. Baird if he’ll have you.”

“I’ll be glad to take them, Harris. And I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Aren’t you tied up with camps?”

“No, I have a couple of weeks free. But I have to make a trip up to Sointula and I could look out for the ‘Chinook.’ I know her pretty well.”

Peter looked at Donald. Apparently they were both thinking the same thing.

“I’ll take the boys,” Mr. Baird said. “It would be better for them to have something to do while they’re waiting for you.” He brought his hands down on two shoulders.

“Thanks, sir!” they said, both at once.

W
HEN DONALD’S FATHER left in the plane to begin search for the missing “Chinook” the boys went back to camp with Mr. Baird and were soon busy with preparations for their trip north. Extra food and their bedrolls were taken aboard. One of the camp workers, John Duncanson, was going to make the trip with them but the others stayed on to prepare for the next camp. As soon as lunch was over the crew of the “Ambassador” — the two men and Peter and Donald — gathered in the wheelhouse of the ship.

“There’s not much chance that we will spot the ‘Chinook.’ The planes will be sure to find it first,” Mr. Baird said. “But just the same, we should keep our eyes open.” He took out a big map of the inside passage between Vancouver Island and the mainland of British Columbia.

“We’re going north about a hundred miles. See, here is Sointula.” He pointed to a harbor on a small island in the Queen Charlotte Straits.

“Oh, how many islands!” Peter said. “Look at all those inlets and bays! A boat could hide just about any place.”

“Yes, there are hundreds of little islands, and long inlets with mountains that seem to march
right into the sea. There are many places where a boat would be safe.”

“I wonder what they’re planning to do,’” Donald said. “I still can’t figure out why they didn’t just take the money and clear out in their launch. The ‘Chinook’ is so much harder to hide.”