FRANK ALLEN AND HIS MOTOR BOAT

OR Racing to Save a Life BY GRAHAM B. FORBES Author of “Frank Allen’s Schooldays,” “Frank Allen—Pitcher,” “Frank Allen at Rockspur Ranch,” etc.

GARDEN CITY NEW YORK

GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING CO., INC.

1926

COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC. MADE IN U. S. A.

[Pg 1]

FRANK ALLEN AND HIS MOTOR BOAT

CHAPTER I

TUNING THE ROCKET

“Cunningham really wants a race, does he? Well, I’m ready after to-day to give him a chance to beat the Rocket; but, Lanky, he’ll have to handle the Speedaway better than he handles himself or he will find himself taking the rough water of this little boat mighty quickly.”

Frank Allen and Lanky Wallace were out on the Harrapin river giving the regular daily try-out to the Rocket. Lanky’s father, after their return from a recent trip to the West, had presented Frank with this neat, little, rakish-modeled motor boat for three reasons: first, because he liked the upstanding leader of the Columbia boys and felt that his own son, Clarence (though Lanky was the name known best)[Pg 2] could be in no better company; second, because he was himself a lover of the great out-of-doors and felt that kinship to Frank which the outdoor life develops in men; and third, he felt that Frank had done him a great turn out at Gold Fork when he had so successfully outwitted those who had tried to rob him of the gold which was rightfully his.

“You know, sweet little Clarinda—” and Frank started “kidding” his pal.

“Listen, boy,” Lanky spoke up quickly, “the Harrapin’s wetter than usual to-day. One of us might get damp.”

“As I was saying,” and Frank’s eyes sparkled, “Clarice,” keeping a watch on Lanky, “you know that a gas engine has fifty-seven varieties of tricks in it, just like a good Missouri mule, and before I get into any contests I am going to learn a few of the tricks this one has.”

At the moment there seemed to be no reason why Frank Allen should doubt the faithfulness of his motor, for it was running smoothly, hitting regularly, and had been responding to-day to its master’s touch. Which very fact was stated by Lanky Wallace.

“That’s all right, Lanky—what you say. But you heard me compare a gas engine to a mule, didn’t you? That is using other words to say that when[Pg 3] you think things are the smoothest is when they are getting ready to be the worst.”

The words had just left Frank’s lips and reached Lanky Wallace’s ears when there was a loud pop and the engine’s explosions ceased.

“Oh, ye prophet!” and Lanky started laughing.

“Here! Grab the wheel, hold her straight ahead, and let me tickle this thing into action,” and Frank let Wallace have his place.

His wrenches in hand, he took out a spark plug and immediately found this particular trouble. Cleaning the plug and respacing the two points across which the spark leaps, he replaced the plug and started the engine. Again it worked smoothly, and he threw it into gear with the propeller shaft.

“I wonder who Cunningham is, really,” he said as he wiped his hands on some waste and stood again alongside Lanky Wallace.

“Beats me. But I don’t like him, no matter who he is nor where he’s from. There’s something about him that isn’t square, Frank. His eyes are shifty and he seems too anxious to be the leader in everything in Columbia. I don’t see what Minnie sees in him——”

The mention of Minnie Cuthbert’s name along with Cunningham’s was not at all pleasing to Frank Allen, and a little frown stole across his face. There was silence between the two boys while the Rocket[Pg 4] continued up the river at a medium pace, taking them on an errand for Frank’s father.

“Well,” Frank broke into the put-put of the exhaust, “I guess it’s just a strange face and new ways and new words and lots of great things he has done, and all of that. They say a woman’s intuition is unerring, but I believe that you and I have better intuition in this case than the girls have. I’m going to venture this: I don’t believe Cunningham is here for any good reason, and I believe that fast motor boat of his is for some other purpose than just to challenge us fellows to a race.”

Silence fell again between the two boys while the Rocket passed one after another of the beautiful, green, wooded islands which dot the Harrapin and make it one of the prettiest water-courses in the country. From among the trees on each of them peeped out pretty houses or cottages or partly built summer homes, the finished houses possessed of neat boat landings where week-end parties often stopped during the solstice days and spent a merry time as guests.

“What a summer!” suddenly exclaimed Lanky.

“How?”

“Well, first out at Rockspur and Gold Fork, and lots of fun and go almost every minute, and dad’s map being stolen, and the sudden appearance of Lef Seller, and the hot chase we had, and Lef’s getting[Pg 5] away, and your finding all the gold for dad, and his giving you a bunch of it, and now back here—all of it, you know.”

“And don’t forget we’ve got to have a good camp yet before the summer’s gone,” put in Frank. “I’ve been thinking of it all the summer and I don’t want to see the time get away from us before we pull that off.”

“You’re sure right,” agreed Lanky.

For a while they chatted about the pleasant times in store for them on a camping trip, then the conversation again drifted back to their adventures in the West. All the while Frank was listening, even through the spoken words, to the action of the motor, feeling all the time as if something might be wrong with it.

“Something’s out of adjustment,” he said to his companion, breaking suddenly into one of Lanky’s speeches. “This motor is good, a perfect daisy, a four-cycle type that is hardly without equal, and yet it isn’t acting right, Lanky. I’m not so awfully expert that I can figure it all out, but there is a noise here that isn’t right. Listen! Just as I pick her up for some speed, there’s a peculiar sound.”

With this Frank increased the speed of the boat, and in perhaps sixty seconds the Rocket was heading up the Harrapin at a pace which Frank had not previously held it to.

[Pg 6]

“Gee, Frank,” cried Lanky enthusiastically, “what chance has Fred Cunningham with this? This is speed, I’ll say!”

“Righto—it’s speed. Look at her nose! Up and after ’em! Look back of us at the wash. But also listen to that sound. Some of these days when I need speed and think I’m going to get it, I’m going to find myself in trouble if I don’t find the cause for it,” and Frank’s tone was one of extreme worry.

“What’s the use of worrying? I don’t hear anything half as much as I see some speed. This is great!”

Gradually the speed of the Rocket was lessened, for Frank was not inclined to take chances on something which he did not understand.

“How far do we go?” asked Lanky.

“Up to Crescent Island. Father asked me to deliver that message in my coat pocket up to Mr. Sneed on the Island. I guess it must have been important, or he would have sent it by mail.”

Around a long bend of the river they went, past one of the prettiest of the island group, whereon a handsome summer home stood back of the shrubbery.

“I wonder why Mrs. Parsons keeps that big place on the island and also her home on the shore of the river,” idly observed Lanky Wallace, nodding over to the very handsome old home on the shore of the river, standing back on a knoll, protected from the[Pg 7] view of the river boats by great trees and row upon row of shrubs.

“I understand she has become a sort of miser since Mr. Parsons died. I have heard that she keeps lots of her family heirlooms and silver and all that sort of thing up there.

“I’ve heard all sorts of mysterious things about her place, among them that she has secret chambers to keep her money and jewels,” and Lanky looked back at the place. “But, Frank, I don’t believe half of those stories. You know that lots of the small talk we hear in town about many folks isn’t so.”

“That’s true enough,” agreed Frank. “Of course, there is the old saying that where there’s smoke there is also fire, but I can’t help but think that a sensible person who is rich is not going to keep stuff of that sort about the place, exposed to thieves and burglars.”

“I wonder if she’s afraid to stay there unguarded.”

“Then why doesn’t she move into town, where she would be close to neighbors and friends?”

“On advice of counsel, I must refuse to answer,” said Lanky banteringly, striking a mock heroic attitude.

Just at this juncture the expected happened. Frank’s exclamation of “Now! what’s the matter?” showed that his fears were being realized. The[Pg 8] engine stopped dead, and the Rocket was going upstream merely because of its own headway.

Lanky Wallace took the wheel at the suggestion of Frank, so that he himself could get down to tinker with the engine.

Once, twice, three times he tried to get it started, but there was no success.

Without any show of temper, but a determined look of the conqueror, Frank Allen rolled his sleeves back, chose the wrenches he wanted, and started to work.

“While we’re drifting, Lanky, hold her in toward shore, and when we’re close enough you might as well ease her up to some good spot to tie. I’m going to fix this thing if I know how.”

First the plugs were taken out. They showed considerable fouling, but when he had cleaned and replaced them there was no success. What Frank noticed particularly was the resistance which the motor offered to being turned over.

A half-hour of drifting passed away, Lanky in charge of the wheel, and then a slight bump told the boys that he had brought the Rocket’s nose up against a soft place in the bank. Lanky leaped off with a line and ran to a low-bending tree, a very convenient willow, and tied.

[Pg 9]

They had drifted back to a point just upstream from the Parsons house.

Several boats out in midstream passed them, but the two boys, busy in the cockpit, paid no heed to those who were going their own ways. The afternoon was wearing on.

The first thing Frank had discovered was that two of the valve springs were weak, or appeared to be so, and he placed the only spare ones he had—two new ones from the tool kit—where they belonged, then had Lanky try the engine by slowly turning it over to note the effect.

Next came his examination of the carburetor, where so much of the trouble of a gas engine lies, and found that the needle valve was dirty. This being cleaned, an examination of the float having been made, and all parts then carefully put together, Lanky grabbed the flywheel and gave it a spin. Away it went with a whir!

“Now, which of three things was wrong?” laughed Frank, as the motor spit and sputtered and then went to running evenly.

“All three!” exclaimed Lanky. “It’s not for me to choose the right one—so I’ll just play safe and say it was all of them at the same time.”

The two boys washed their hands, Lanky loosened the fastening to the tree, gave a huge shove[Pg 10] to the boat to cast it far off shore, leaped on it as it moved away, and grabbed an oar to propel it further from shore, paddle-like, so that the propeller would not foul.

Then, its nose slowly turned upstream, the engine running smoothly, the Rocket picked up speed under the hand of Frank, and out to midstream they went, toward the Parsons Island.

“There’s Cunningham right now!” exclaimed Wallace, pointing to a rapidly moving boat which was rounding the upper side of the narrow island.

It was a trim craft, the Speedaway, and worth watching as it skimmed around the island and made its way toward the same side of the river as was the Rocket.

“What’s the fool mean? Look at him! Heading straight at us!” cried Frank, throwing his wheel over to get passing space and blowing his whistle.

“Drat his hide!” muttered the other. “Turning directly at us and not slowing down.”

Once again Frank eased the Rocket to the port. At once the Speedaway’s direction was changed, the boat answering quickly to the wheel, as its speed was kept.

A long slim V of water washing behind as its bow cut the river with its burst of speed, the Cunningham craft was bearing directly at the Rocket, a deliberate attempt to run it down!

[Pg 11]

CHAPTER II

THE SCREAM IN THE DARK

Lanky Wallace looked aghast as the Speedaway bore squarely at them, aimed at tearing the Rocket in two.

Frank Allen, realizing what a dastardly attempt was being made to disable the boat and probably to injure Lanky and himself, knowing that only the coolest maneuvering would save them, was as steady as a post.

With one swing of his arm to the motor he increased speed and with the coolest deliberation turned the nose of the Rocket squarely for the Speedaway. His hope was two-fold: that he would scare off the other men and that he might be in a better position to throw his own craft hard over to one side at the last moment before any impact.

His movement was entirely successful in at least one respect—that he got into position quickly for his own next move.

In a flash of time the two boats were almost touching noses. Then came the necessary alertness[Pg 12] and deftness of movement. With a hard tug at his wheel Frank threw the Rocket to one side.

Crunch! The sides of the two boats rubbed each other all the way from stem to stern. As quickly as this happened Frank threw the wheel hard in the opposite direction, with the effect that it threw the Speedaway around, and did so with such a jerk that a large box fell overboard on the other side.

“Hey, you blame fool! What do you mean trying to run me down? What kind of dirty tricks are you up to?” yelled Fred Cunningham as they passed.

Frank, hearing the splash and not knowing that it was not a man overboard, for he had seen two other men beside Cunningham in the boat, immediately cut off speed and continued the long turning movement started when he so quickly gave the push to the stern of the Speedaway.

Her nose now downstream, Frank and Lanky saw that the Speedaway had also made a wide turn and was coming back toward a box which was floating in the river. The speed of the Rocket lessened as it neared the other motor boat.

The two men in the Speedaway were busily engaged in reaching for the floating box, which appeared to be an empty one, and were thus averting their faces. His quick eyes taking in the scene, however, Frank got enough of a glimpse of the men to be able to recognize them again if he should ever see them.

[Pg 13]

“Say, what kind of business is this? Do you know that you could have swamped this boat and put us all into the river?” called Cunningham.

“That’s about what you had coming to you,” called Frank. Since Cunningham was playing this kind of trick and since there was nothing to be gained by having any argument about the guilt of one or the other, Frank merely showed his contempt for the other.

By this time the two other men had rescued the box and had placed it on the deck forward.

“Do you think that raft of yours has any speed in it?” asked Cunningham sneeringly. “If you think so, I’ll give you a race any time you want it.”

“That’s exactly what I’ll be glad to do. Any time you say and where you say we’ll show you what a regular boat can do that doesn’t spend its time running other people down,” called Frank quite coolly.

“What’s that?” called Cunningham threateningly, getting out from the cockpit as the two boats lay alongside each other.

Frank was equally ready, and saw that a lack of movement on his part might be misinterpreted. Out he stepped from the cockpit of the Rocket and started toward the side.

“I said this boat was ready for a race any time, and I said it was not in the nasty habit of trying to[Pg 14] run into other people. Did you get me plainly?”

“Race you any time you say, then. Better put two or three more engines into your rowboat,” again sneered Cunningham, as he stepped back into the cockpit of the Speedaway.

With that he threw the motor into gear and moved away from the Rocket, which now slowly turned its nose upstream.

Frank and Lanky were both quiet. Wallace wanted to talk, but he knew Frank well enough to know that the young captain of the Rocket did not wish to say anything. Under such conditions Frank Allen was always most quiet.

The afternoon sun was slanting its way down into the west and the cooler breezes of the river were flitting past their tousled heads, cooling them off a bit after the rather exciting moments they had had.

It was just at dusk that the boys came to Northeast Bend in the Harrapin and saw the island for which they were headed.

As quickly as it was possible to do, without taking too many chances on injuring the craft, Frank brought it up to the landing with the engine dead. Lanky leaped ashore and tied to the landing post, while Frank made sure he had the note in his pocket before stepping off.

“Well, we’re going to have a moonlight ride on[Pg 15] the Harrapin to-night—provided there’s a moon,” laughed Frank, as he came hurrying back to the Rocket and found Lanky stretched out astern, viewing the sky.

“Good enough, only it’s going to cost someone something to eat when we get back to town, for I’m as hungry as one of those bears they talk about.”

“I think father ought to be the one to buy it. What do you say if you come on to the house and we’ll have a snack laid out for us that will improve conditions in the department of the interior.”

“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said since we started—so far as I can recall.”

In the meanwhile Lanky pulled his frame up from the stern seat, stretched, jumped to the landing, cast off, and the Rocket was ready to go. The stream slowly turned the boat’s nose downward as Frank threw the wheel over. A moment later the motor was going, the gear shifted, and the Rocket started on its homeward journey.

“Better get the lights going, Lanky. And while you’re at it, get the searchlight uncovered and start it. Might as well have all the light we need. This is the first time we’ve navigated at night, and there are about two hours of it to do.”

Lanky took up his task, whistling the while, but suddenly ceased the music and cried:

[Pg 16]

“Say, Frank, there’s not a bit of juice. What’s the big idea? Can’t light one of them.”

“Throw the main switch on.”

“I have, but not a bit comes through. The line’s dead.”

Here was something more to concern them. Frank Allen knew he did not dare go far down the river without lights, for the many islands in the river and the tortuous path it followed at times would put their own safety at risk, while anything that might be floating in the stream would be an additional risk. On top of all would be the risk to themselves and to others should they meet a motor boat or a rowboat coming upstream.

“Here, take the wheel and hold her in the middle of the river,” he directed Lanky, as he threw the engine out of gear with the drive and started to seek for the trouble.

Fifteen minutes passed without any degree of success, and actual darkness was on them.

“Put her nose over to shore, Lanky. No use taking any chances. We’ve got to find the trouble.”

Whereupon Lanky did his duty, and the Rocket was soon tied to the bank, the engine was stopped, and the two boys began their search for the trouble. They started at the battery end to trace out the wiring.

Doing the work carefully, not dodging about after[Pg 17] one connection or another, working methodically, as was Frank’s wont in all things, they came across a grounded connection which was causing the trouble.

“What has always got me,” said Lanky, as Frank declared it was a ground, “is that you call that kind of a connection a ground, or you say the current is grounded, when there’s no ground near the boat.”