“Rumrunners, I suppose,” said Frank.
But the fisherman scorned this suggestion.
“If it’s rumrunners, they’d be bringin’ their cargoes out to the road, wouldn’t they? Not much sense in ’em hidin’ the liquor in the caves and leavin’ it there, is there?”
“I wouldn’t think so. But perhaps they bring it out to the road quietly.”
“Nothin’ of the sort. It’s been investigated. There’s been no queer doin’s on the road at all. All the queer doin’s are right in the caves. If it was rumrunners, they’d be bringin’ the stuff in by boat, and there ain’t been any boats seen around here that can’t be accounted for.”
“Just what are the queer doings?”
“Lights, mostly. And shootin’.”
“But has no person been seen?”
“Not a livin’ soul.”
“That’s strange.”
“Strange ain’t the word for it!” declared the fisherman. “It’s downright spooky. Like ghosts or somethin’.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” asked Joe.
“I don’t. If I did believe in ghosts, though, I’d say there was ghosts down in them caves lately and that’s all I’d think about it. But not believin’ in ghosts, I don’t know what to think.”
“Have you gone down to the caves yourself?”
“I went down there a couple of weeks ago, but I didn’t see anything until just when I was comin’ back that night. Then I saw a light away down in one of the caves I’d been in just a couple of hours before. Next I heard two or three shots, and then a yell.”
“A yell!”
“The most awful screech I ever heard.”
“Well, that proves that there’s somebody down there,” remarked Biff.
“Maybe it does and maybe it don’t. I wouldn’t say it was a human voice I heard. More like an animal.”
“But an animal couldn’t make a light.”
“And there ain’t many human bein’s could make that yell. So there you are.”
“Yells or no yells, we’re going to explore the caves,” declared Frank, with finality. “What say, fellows?”
“I’ll tell the world we are!” exclaimed Chet. “You couldn’t drive me away now with a squad of marines.”
The fisherman shrugged.
“It’s your funeral,” he said. “I’m thinkin’ you’ll come away from there a lot faster than you go in.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Joe, with a grin. “And perhaps we’ll find out just who or what is causing all the disturbance. We’ll go prepared for anything that may happen to turn up, at any rate.”
“You’ll need to,” said the fisherman gloomily. “Don’t say that I didn’t warn you. You’re welcome to put your machines in the shed, and if you’d like a bite to eat, I guess my wife can fix up a bit of a snack for you.”
This hospitality was appreciated by the boys and they saw that the fisherman’s bark was worse than his bite, as the saying is, but they politely declined, as they had eaten just a short time before. Chet, who could—and would—eat at any time, was not very emphatic in his refusal; he would willingly have accepted the invitation. But the other lads were anxious to be going on.
“It’s very good of you,” said Frank, “and I hope you don’t think we’re rude in going ahead to the caves after your warning. But there are four of us, you see, and we think we can look after ourselves pretty well. So, if you’ll just let us leave the motorcycles in the shed while we’re around here we won’t bother you any further.”
“You’re welcome to do that. And I suppose if you’re bound to go on to the caves, nothin’ I can say will stop you.”
The fisherman led the way to the shed, where the motorcycles were safely stored. The machines would be under cover in the event of rain, and there was a stout padlock on the door that ensured their safety against being stolen. The lads unloaded their supplies and each filled his pack with provisions.
“Have we got everything?” asked Frank finally. “Matches, flashlights, revolver, bullets, bread, salt, coffee—”
“Everything needed for an expedition to the South Pole,” said Chet, shifting his pack to a more comfortable position on his shoulders.
A complete checkup showed that they had everything they needed; so, after bidding goodbye to the fisherman, who drew them a rough map showing the route they should follow in order to reach the caves, they set out up the path just back of the cottage.
“Nobody seems very encouraging about this trip,” said Biff, as they ascended the hillside.
“What do you think can be the trouble down in the caves?” asked Joe.
“Gold smugglers, I’ll bet! In spite of what the fisherman says, I can’t think of any other explanation,” Frank replied. “They probably have some way of getting the stuff out to the road without being seen. Underground passages, or something of the sort.”
“It seems likely. The shots and the yells were just to frighten people away.”
“Well, we should soon find out.”
Although the hillside path had not seemed very formidable from the shore, the boys found that it was steeper than it looked, and it was more than an hour before they finally reached the top of the cliffs. Here a magnificent view awaited them. Far below, the fisherman’s cottage seemed to lie at their very feet, like a toy house. The ocean lay like a flat blue floor, far to the east, north, and south, and back of them was a great, barren expanse of tumbled rock, without sign of path or road. Venturing close to the edge of the cliff, the lads saw a sheer wall of rock, many feet in height, at the bottom of which the waves were lapping.
“No wonder we couldn’t reach the caves by skirting the shore!” said Frank. “The only way along the base of that cliff is by boat.”
“We’ll have to go ahead and search for the ravine the fisherman told us about,” suggested Joe.
Chet looked up at the sky.
“Yes, and we can’t afford to lose any time about it either. We’re in for a storm.”
Although the lads had noticed that the sun had gone behind a cloud, they had not seen the heavy black cloud banks massing above
