The Yellow Feather Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

lights.
    â€œJoe, crawl onto the bow and tell me where to steer,” he directed.
    Joe felt his way forward in the dark. Lying on the deck with his head hanging over the prow, he kept up a rapid-fire series of instructions.
    â€œWho would ever keep an appointment out here in the bay on a night like this?” Tony asked as the Napoli snaked slowly among the chunks of ice.
    â€œI don’t know, except the Yellow Feather!” Frank said.
    As the boat moved farther out of the cove, the danger from the ice increased.
    â€œFrank, port, hard!” Joe commanded.
    Desperately Frank spun the wheel. There was a slight scraping along the starboard gunwale, and a gasp of relief from Joe, as an ominous section of ice floated astern.
    â€œHow far off Rocky Point are we, Tony?” Frank asked, peering into the darkness.
    â€œWe must be getting close. Maybe you’d better cut her down some. You can almost drift in.”
    â€œSee anything ahead there, Joe?” Frank called in a low voice.
    â€œNot a thing.”
    In a few minutes they were in the shadow of sheer rocks of the Point that towered menacingly. The Napoli was crawling now. Joe kept a constant watch for ice, while Tony searched the sea for the shadowy outline of another craft.
    Suddenly there was the sharp boi-i-ng whine of a projectile near their heads! Instinctively the boys ducked. Splash! The object struck the water ten feet from the craft.
    â€œWhere’d that come from?” Joe called.
    Neither Frank nor Tony could answer.
    Before the boat had gone twenty yards there was another whine. This time all three felt a convulsive shudder jar the boat. The Napoli had been hit!
    â€œLook at this!” Tony cried.
    The tip of a small harpoon was embedded in the wood of the boat about a foot above the water line. Tony wrenched the missile loose and pulled it into the cockpit.
    â€œHoly crow!” Joe exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here quick.”
    Frank spun hard to starboard and the Napoli lurched seaward. A second later there came another twang, followed by a splash sending a spout of water high into the air directly in front of them.
    â€œWe’re in a trap!” Frank exclaimed. “Our only chance is to hide!”
    Pulling on the wheel frantically, he headed the boat back toward the protection of the rocks.
    â€œFrank! Ice!” Joe warned him.
    Blocking their course to the safe shelter of the Point was what looked like a flotilla of ice floes! Frank realized that it would be almost impossible to steer through them. Desperately he searched for an escape route. He saw only one possible way out of their hazardous situation.
    â€œJoe! Come back here!” he called.
    At the same time he cut the throttle, spinning the wheel first one way, then the other, so that the Napoli course made the boat a difficult target.
    Joe crawled back along the deck and jumped to his brother’s side. Quickly Frank related his plan. Instantly Joe grabbed a boat hook and slid up to the bow again. At the same time Frank cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs:
    â€œHelp! We’re sinking! Save us!”
    Then he steered the speedboat toward an overhanging cliff, and under the jutting cover. With the boat hook Joe kept her from bouncing against the rocks.
    The boys waited, but there were no more twangs of death-dealing harpoons. The ruse had worked!
    â€œWhere do you suppose the harpoons were fired from?” Tony whispered.
    â€œThey seemed to come out of nowhere,” Joe replied in a low voice. “I didn’t even hear the sound of a gun firing them, did you?”
    â€œNo,” the others answered.
    â€œWhat puzzles me,” Frank mused, “is those funny twang sounds we heard just before the harpoons landed.”
    â€œHold it!” Joe demanded. “Listen!”
    In the crash of surf and the whistle of wind they heard another sound.
    â€œA motorboat!” Frank said