Andre Norton Super Pack. Andre Norton
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Ralestone landing. Val headed inshore.
“Just what does this mean—Val! Has there been an accident?” The irritation in Rupert’s voice became hot concern.
“An intended one,” his brother replied. “We’ve got the real victim here with us.”
They tied up to the landing and Sam came down to hand out Jeems who apparently had lapsed into unconsciousness again.
“You’d better call a doctor,” Val told Rupert. “Jeems has a head wound.”
But Rupert had already taken charge of affairs with an efficiency which left Val humbly grateful. The boy didn’t even move to leave the boat. It was better just to sit and watch other people scurry about. Sam had started for the house, carrying Jeems as if the long-legged swamper was the same age and size as his own small son. Ricky dashed on ahead to warn Lucy. Rupert had Sam Two by the collar and was giving him instructions for catching Dr. LeFrode, who was probably making his morning rounds and might be found at the sugar-mill where one of the feeders had injured his hand. Sam Two’s sister had seen the doctor on his way there a scant ten minutes earlier.
Val watched all this activity dreamily. Everything would be all right now that Rupert was in charge. He could relax—
“Now,” his brother turned upon Val, “just what did—What’s the matter with you?”
“Tired, I guess,” Val said ruefully. But Rupert was already in the boat, getting the younger boy to his unsteady feet.
“Can you make it to the house?” he asked anxiously.
“Sure. Just give me an arm till I get on the landing.”
But when Val had crawled up on the levee he did not feel at all like walking to the house. Then Rupert’s arm was about his thin shoulders and he thought that he could make it if he really tried.
The garden path seemed miles long, and it was not until Val had the soft cushions of the hall couch under him that he felt able to tell his story. But at that moment the short, stout doctor came through the door in a rush. Sam Two had led him to believe that half the household had been murdered. At first Dr. LeFrode started toward Val, until in alarm the boy swung his feet to the floor and sat up, waving the man to the stairway where Ricky hovered to act as guide.
Then Val was alone, even Sam Two having edged upstairs to share in the excitement. The boy sank back on his pillows and wondered where their late assailants were now, and why they had been so determined to learn Jeems’ secret. As Ricky had said once before, the Ralestones seemed to have been handed a gigantic tangle without ends, only middle sections, and had been told to unravel it.
Boot heels clicked on the stone flooring. Val turned his head cautiously and tried not to wince. Rupert was coming in with a bowl of water, from which steam still arose. Across his arm lay a towel and in his other hand was their small first-aid kit.
“Suppose we do a little patching,” he suggested. “Your face at present is not all it might be. What did you and your swamp friend do—run into a mowing machine?” He swabbed delicately at the cut the Boss had opened across Val’s cheek-bone, and at another by his mouth.
“I thought it might be that for a moment—a mowing machine, I mean. No, we just met a couple of gentlemen—enterprising fellows who wanted to see more of this commodious mansion of ours—” Val’s words faded into a sharp hiss as Rupert applied iodine with a liberal hand. “They seemed to think that Jeems knew a lot about Pirate’s Haven and they were going to persuade him to tell all. Only it didn’t turn out the way they had planned.”
“Due to you?” Rupert eyed his brother intently. The boy’s face was swollen almost out of recognition and he didn’t like this sudden talkativeness.
“Due partly to me, but mostly to Ricky. She—ah—created the necessary diversion. I had sort of lost interest at the time. I know so little about gouging and biting in clinches.”
“Dirty fighters?”
“Well, soiled anyway. But if the Boss isn’t nursing a cracked wrist, it isn’t my fault. I don’t know what Jeems did to Red, but he, too, departed in a damaged condition. Do you have to do that?” Val demanded testily, squirming as Rupert ran his hands lightly over the boy’s shoulders and down his ribs, touching every bruise to tingling life.
“Just seeing the extent of the damage,” he explained.
“You don’t have to see, I can feel!” Val snapped pettishly.
Rupert got to his feet. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Oh, a hot bath and then bed. You’ll be taking an interest in life again about this time tomorrow. I think LeFrode had better see you too.”
“No,” Val objected. “I’m not a child.”
Rupert grinned. “If you’d rather I carried you—”
There was no opposing Rupert when he was in that mood, as his brother well knew. Val got up slowly.
The program that Rupert had outlined was faithfully carried out. Half an hour later Val found himself between sheets, blinking at the ceiling drowsily. When two cracks overhead wavered together of their own accord, his eyes closed.
“—still sleeping?” whispered someone at his side much later.
“Yes, best thing for him.”
“Was he badly hurt?”
“No, just banged around more than was good for him.”
Val opened his eyes. It must have been close to dusk, for the sunlight was red across the bedclothes. Rupert stood by the window and Ricky was in the doorway, a tray of covered dishes in her hands.
“Hello!” Val sat up, grimacing at the twinge of pain across his back. “What day is this?”
Rupert laughed. “Still Tuesday.”
“How’s Jeems?”
“Doing very well. I’ve had to have Rupert in to frighten him into staying in bed,” Ricky said. “The doctor thinks he ought to be there a couple of days at least. But Jeems doesn’t agree with him. Between keeping Jeems in bed and keeping Rupert out of the swamp I’ve had a full day.”
Rupert sat down on the foot of the bed. “You’d know this Boss and Red again, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll probably have a chance to identify them.” There was a grim look about Rupert’s jaw. “Ricky’s told me all that you overheard. I don’t know what it means but I’ve heard enough for me to get in touch with LeFleur. He’ll be out tomorrow morning. And once we get something to work on—”
“I’m beginning to feel sorry for our swamp visitors,” Val interrupted.
“They’ll be sorry,” hinted Rupert darkly. “How about you, Val, beginning to feel hungry?”
“Now that you mention it, I am discovering a rather hollow ache in my center section. Supper ready?”
“Half an hour. I’ll bring you up a tray—” began Ricky.
But Val had thrown back the sheet and was sitting on the side of the bed. “Oh, no, you don’t! I’m not an invalid yet.”
Ricky glanced at Rupert and then left. Val reached for his shirt defiantly. But his brother raised no objection. The painful stiffness Val had felt at first wore off and he was able to move without feeling as if each muscle were tied in cramping knots.
“May I pay Jeems a visit?” he asked as they went out into the hall. Rupert nodded toward a door across the corridor.
“In there. He’s a stubborn piece of goods. Reminds me of you at times. If he’d ever get rid of that scowl of his, he’d be even more like you. He warms to Ricky, but you’d