The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (254 page)

“Now I’ll take the kicker motor,” the widow ordered, paying no heed to his words.

“Not my motor!” Joe exclaimed defiantly. “I paid sixty dollars fer it secondhand and I hain’t lettin’ no female ruin it.”

“Ye can’t expect me to blister my hands rowin’ all day,” the widow replied. “We aim to make a quick trip.”

“Ye can’t use the motor in all them hyacinths!”

“Maybe not, but it’ll take us through the open spots a heap faster. The motor, Joe.”

Grumbling loudly, the guide went to the house once more. He came back with the motor which he attached and started for the widow.

“Thank ye kindly, Joe,” she grinned at him as the boat pulled away from the dock. “I’ll make ye one of my apple pies when I git back.”

“
If ye get back
,” the guide corrected morosely.

Propelled by the motor, the skiff sped steadily through the channel and came presently to the Hawkins’farm. The popping of the engine, which could be heard some distance, drew Mrs. Hawkins to the dock.

She signaled the boat as it drew near.

“Howdy,” the Widow Jones greeted her politely though with no warmth. She throttled down the engine and drifted in toward shore.

“Goin’ in fer a little fishin’, I take it,” Mrs. Hawkins observed by way of inquiry. “But where’s yer fishin’poles?”

“Left ’em ter home,” the widow replied.

“Then you hain’t fishin’.”

“’Pears like yer right smart at usein’ yer eyes,” the widow agreed dryly.

A slight frown which did not escape Penny, puckered the farm woman’s forehead. She seemed on the verge of speaking, then appeared to change her mind. As the boat drifted on, she watched stolidly.

“Never did like that woman,” Mrs. Jones commented when the skiff had rounded a bend. “She’s got sharp eyes, and she don’t approve ’cause we’re goin’ inter the swamp together.”

“Why should she care?” Penny asked.

“I wonder myself.”

“I’ve noticed that she always seems to be watching the entrance channel into the swamp,” Penny said thoughtfully. “Perhaps she is the one who taps out those signals!”

“Signals? What do you mean, young’un?”

Penny told of the strange pounding noises she had heard during her previous trip through the swamp.

“I could almost wager Mrs. Hawkins will wait until we’re a safe distance away, and then signal!” the girl went on. “Don’t I wish I could catch her though!”

“Maybe ye kin. We could shut off the motor and drift back and watch.”

Penny’s eyes began to sparkle with excitement. “I’d love to do it. But won’t she be listening for the sound of our motor as we go deeper into the swamp? If she doesn’t hear it, she’s apt to suspect something.”

“Ye’ve got a real head on yer shoulders,” said the widow approvingly. “By the way, I don’t like to keep callin’ ye young’un now we’re good friends. What’s yer name?”

“I thought you knew. I’m sorry. It’s Penny Parker.”

“Penny! I never did hear o’ a girl named after money.”

“I wasn’t exactly,” Penny smiled. “My real name is Penelope, but no one ever liked it. So I’m called Penny.”

“Penelope, hain’t sich a bad name. That’s what I’ll call ye.”

“About Mrs. Hawkins—” the girl reminded her.

“Oh, yes, now if ye was a mind to find out about her, it wouldn’t be so hard.”

“How?”

“We hain’t gone fur into the swamp yet. I could let ye out here on the bank and ye could slip back afoot to the bend in the channel.”

“Where I’d be able to watch the house!”

“Ye got the idea, Penelope. All the while, I would keep goin’ on in the boat until the sound o’ the motor jest naturally died out. Then I could row back here and pick ye up agin.”

“Mrs. Jones, you’re the one who has a head on your shoulders!” Penny cried. “Let’s do it!”

The widow brought the skiff alongside the bank, steadying it as the girl stepped ashore.

“Ye got a watch?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll meet ye right here in ’bout three-quarters of an hour. I kin keep track o’ the time by lookin’ at the sun.”

“That may not give me enough time,” Penny said anxiously.

“If yer late, I’ll wait fer ye,” the widow promised. “But try to be here. If ye hain’t we may havter give up the trip, ’cause it hain’t sensible startin’ in late in the day.”

“I’ll be here,” Penny assured her. “If nothing happens in three-quarters of an hour, I’ll just give it up.”

The boat, it’s motor popping steadily, slipped away. Penny scrambled up the muddy bank, and finding a well-trod path, walked rapidly toward the Hawkins’ place.

Soon she came to the bend in the creek, and there paused. From afar, she could hear the retreating sound of the skiff’s motor.

Through a break in the bushes, the girl peered toward the distant farmhouse. To her disappointment, the yard was now deserted, and Mrs. Hawkins was nowhere in sight.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Penny thought. “I’d hate to waste all this valuable time.”

For a half hour she waited. Twice Mrs. Hawkins came out of the house, once to gather in clothes from the line and the second time to obtain a pail of water.

“I guess my hunch was crazy,” Penny told herself. “I’ll have to be starting back to meet Mrs. Jones.”

The sound of the motorboat now had died out completely, so the girl knew the widow already was on her way to their appointed meeting place.

Turning away from the bushes, Penny paused for one last glance at the farmhouse. The yard remained deserted. But as she sighed in disappointment, the kitchen door again flew open.

Mrs. Hawkins came outside and walked rapidly to the shed. She listened attentively for a moment. Then from a peg on the outside wall, she took down a big tin dishpan and a huge wooden mixing spoon.

Penny watched with mounting excitement. This was the moment for which she had waited!

Carefully, the farm woman looked about to be certain no one was nearby. Then with firm precision, she beat out a tattoo on the dishpan.

“It’s a signal to someone in the swamp!” guessed Penny. “In code she is tapping out that Mrs. Jones and I are on our way into the interior!”

CHAPTER 20

TRAILING HOD HAWKINS

After Mrs. Hawkins had pounded out the signal, she hung the dishpan on its peg once more, and went to the door of the shed. Without opening it, she spoke to someone inside the building. Penny was too far away to hear what she said.

In a minute, the woman turned away and vanished into the house.

Penny waited a little while to be certain Mrs. Hawkins did not intend to come outside again. Then, with an uneasy glance at her wrist watch, she stole away to rejoin Mrs. Jones.

The skiff was drawn up to shore by the time she reached the appointed meeting place.

“I was jest about to give you up,” the widow remarked as the girl scrambled into the boat. “Did ye learn what ye wanted to know?”

Penny told her what she had seen.

“’Pears you may be right about it bein’ a signal,” the widow agreed thoughtfully. “We may be able to learn more too, ’cause whoever had his’n ears tuned to Ma Hawkins’ signal may figure we’re deep in the swamp by this time.”

“Let’s keep on the alert as we near Lookout Point,”Penny urged.

Mrs. Jones nodded and silently dipped the paddle.

Soon they came within view of the point. Passing beneath an overhanging tree branch, the widow grasped it with one hand, causing the skiff to swing sideways into a shelter of leaves.

“See anyone, Penelope?” she whispered.

“Not a soul.”

“Then maybe we was wrong about Ma Hawkins signalling anyone.”

“But I do see a boat beached on the point!” Penny added. “And see! Someone is coming out of the bush now!”

“Hod Hawkins!”

Keeping quiet, the pair in the skiff waited to see what would happen.

Hod came down to the water’s edge, peering with a puzzled expression along the waterway. He did not see the skiff, shielded by leaves and dense shade.

“Hit’s all-fired queer,” they heard him mutter. “I shore didn’t see no boat pass here this mawnin’. But Maw musta seen one go by or she wouldn’t heve pounded the pan.”

Hod sat down on a log, watching the channel. Penny and Mrs. Jones remained where they were. Once the current, sluggish as it was, swung the skiff against a projecting tree root. The resulting jar and scraping sound seemed very loud to their ears. But the Hawkins youth did not hear.

Penny and the widow were becoming weary of sitting in such cramped positions under the tree branch. To their relief, Hod arose after a few minutes. Reaching into the hollow log, he removed a tin pan somewhat smaller than the dishpan Mrs. Hawkins had used a few minutes earlier.

“He’s going to signal!” Penny whispered excitedly. “Either to his mother, or someone deeper in the swamp!”

Already Hod was beating out a pattern on the pan, very similar to the one the girl had heard before.

After a few minutes, the swamper thrust the pan back into its hiding place. He hesitated, and then to the surprise of Penny and Mrs. Jones, stepped into his boat.

“If he comes this way, he’s certain to see us!” Penny thought uneasily.

With never a glance toward the leafy hideout, Hod shoved off, rowing deeper into the swamp.

“Dare we follow him?” whispered Penny.

“That’s what I aim to do,” the Widow Jones rejoined grimly. “I hain’t afeared o’ the likes o’ Hod Hawkins! Moreover, fer a long time, I been calculatin’to find out what takes him and Coon so offen into the swamp.”

“You mean recently don’t you, Mrs. Jones. Just since Danny Deevers escaped from prison?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about Danny Deevers,” the widow replied as she picked up the paddle again. “I do know that the Hawkins’ been up to mischief fer more’n a year.”

“Then you must have an idea what that city truck was doing on the swamp road the other night.”

“An idear—yes,” agreed Mrs. Jones. “But I hain’t sure, and until I am, I hain’t makin’ no accusations.”

Now that Hod’s boat was well away, the widow noiselessly sent the skiff forward.

“We kin follow close enough to jest about keep him in sight if we don’t make no noise,” she warned. “But we gotta be keerful.”

Penny nodded and became silent.

Soon the channel was no more than a path through high water-grass and floating hyacinths. Hod propelled his boat with powerful muscles, alternating with forked pole and paddle. At times, when Penny took over to give the Widow Jones a “breather,” she was hard pressed not to lose the trail.

“We’re headin’ straight fer Black Island, hit ’pears to me,” Mrs. Jones whispered once. “The channel don’t look the same though as when I was through here last. But I reckon if we git lost we kin find our way out somehow.”

Soon the skiff was inching through a labyrinth of floating hyacinths; there were few stretches of open water. Shallow channels to confuse the unwary, radiated out in a dozen directions, many of them with no outlets.

Always, however, before the hyacinths closed in, the Widow Jones was able to pick up the path through which Hod had passed.

“From the way he’s racin’ along, he’s been this way plenty o’ times,” she remarked. “We’re headin’ fer Black Island right enough.”

The sun now was high overhead, beating down on Penny’s back and shoulders with uncomfortable warmth. Mrs. Jones brought out the lunch and a jug of water. One ate while the other rowed.

“We’re most to Black Island,” the widow informed presently. “If ye look sharp through the grass, ye can see thet point o’ high land. Thet’s the beginnin’o’ the island—biggest one in the swamp.”

“But where is Hod?”

“He musta pulled up somewheres in the bushes. We’ll have to be keerful and go slow now or we’ll be caught.”

“Listen!” whispered Penny.

Although she could as yet see no one on the island, voices floated out across the water.

“We heerd yer signal, Hod,” a man said, “but we hain’t seen no one.”

“A boat musta come through, or Maw wouldn’t heve beat the pan.”

“Whoever ’twas, they probably went off somewheres else,” the other man replied. “Glad yer here anyhow, Hod. We got a lot o’ work to do and ye can help us.”

Hod’s reply was inaudible, for obviously the men were moving away into the interior of the island.

“Thet was old Ezekiel talkin’ to his son,” the Widow Jones declared, although Penny already had guessed as much. “They’ve gone off somewheres, so if we’re a mind to land, now’s our only chance.”

Penny gazed at her companion in surprise and admiration.

“You’re not afraid?” she inquired softly.

“Maybe I am,” the Widow Jones admitted. “But that hain’t no excuse fer me turnin’ tail! This here’s a free country ain’t it?”

She poled the skiff around the point to a thick clump of bushes. There she pulled up, and with Penny’s help made the skiff secure to a tree root hidden from sight by overhanging branches.