The Flying Stingaree Read online

  THE FLYING STINGAREE

  A RICK BRANT

  SCIENCE-ADVENTURE

  STORY, No. 18

  BY JOHN BLAINE

  What’s shaped like a sting ray and flies over Chesapeake Bay ? This is the eerie riddle which confronts Rick Brant and his friend Don Scott when, seeking shelter from a storm, they anchor the houseboat Spindrift in a lonely cove along the Maryland shore and spot the flying stingaree.

  The “thing,” they learn, is not the only one of its kind-one is actually suspected of having kidnapped a man!

  The residents of the Eastern Shore of Maryland believe the strange objects are flying saucers, but, weary of ridicule, have ceased reporting the sightings.

  Rick and Scotty, their scientific curiosity aroused, begin a comprehensive investigation, encouraged by their friend Steve Ames, a young government intelligence agent, whose summer cottage is near the cove.

  As the clues mount up, the trail leads to Calvert’s Favor, a historic plantation house-and to the very bottom of Chesapeake Bay . How Rick and Scotty, at the risk of their lives, ground the eerie menace forever makes a tale of high-voltage suspense.

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  CHAPTER I

  Chesapeake Bay

  The stingaree swam slowly through the warm waters ofChesapeake Bay . Geography meant nothing to the ray, whose sole interest in life was food, but his position-had he known it-was in the channel that runs between Poplar Island and the town of Wittman on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The ray was also directly in the path of an odd-looking cruising houseboat, the Spindrift, that had just rounded the north point of PoplarIsland and entered the channel.

  The sting ray’s color was an olive brown, so dark in tone that he looked like wet black leather. He was roughly diamond-shaped, like a kite, with rounded sides. He had a long, slim tail that carried vicious barbs along the base of its upper side. It was from the barbs, which served as defensive weapons, that the name sting ray, or stingaree, derived. The ray was harmless to men-unless one chanced to step on him as he lay resting on the bottom ooze. At such rare times, his tail would lash up, inflicting a serious and painful wound.

  A tiny crab, hatched only a week before, swam upward toward the gleaming surface, his churning legs making a slight disturbance. The ray sensed the small vibrations and instantly changed course, speeding through the water like a fantastic spaceship of the future. Intent on the crab, the ray ignored the stronger vibrations caused by a pair of outboard motors and a long, flat-bottomed hull. Not until the crab was within reach did the ray sense imminent danger. With a single flashing movement, he snatched the crab and flung himself upward through the shining surface and into the air.

  Rick Brant, at the helm of the cruising houseboat, saw the ray break water and he let out a yell. “Scotty!

  Look!”

  Don Scott, asleep at full length on the houseboat’s sun deck, which was also its cabin top, awoke in time to see the dark shape reenter the calm water. “Stingaree!” he exclaimed.

  Rick had never seen an area more teeming with life thanChesapeake Bay , unless it was the jungles of the South Pacific. Books, guides to eastern land and water birds, regional fish and reptiles, rested on the cabin top before him, along with a pair of binoculars. He had used them all repeatedly, identifying eagles, wild swans, ospreys, wild duck and geese, terrapin, snapping turtles and water snakes, as well as a horde of lesser creatures. Trailing lines over the houseboat stern had captured striped sea bass, called

  “rockfish” locally, a species of drumfish called “spot” because of a black spot on the gills, pink croakers that the Marylanders called “hardheads,” and the blue crabs for which the bay is famous. He had seen clam dredges bringing up bushels of soft-shelled, long-necked clams that the dredgers called “ manos,”

  and he had seen the famousMaryland “ bugeyes” and “skipjacks”-sailing craft used for dredging oysters.

  The boats were not operated during the oyster breeding season from the end of March until September.

  Rick’s interest in the life of the great bay was to be expected. As son of the director of the world-famous Spindrift Scientific Foundation, located onSpindriftIsland off the coast ofNew Jersey , he had been brought up among scientists. The habit of observation had developed along with his natural-and insatiable-curiosity.

  The tall, slim, brown-haired, brown-eyed boy was completely happy. He enjoyed casual living, especially on the water, and lif e on the Spindrift couldn’t have been more casual. He was dressed in a Page 2

  tattered pair of shorts and a wristwatch. Once, in the cool of the evening, he had slipped on a sweat shirt.

  Otherwise, the shorts had been his sole attire while on board since leaving his home island a few days before.

  Scotty, a husky, dark-haired boy clad only in red swimming trunks, came down the ladder from the cabin top and stood beside Rick in the cockpit. “Now that you woke me up to look at a fish, suppose you tell me where we are? Last thing I remember, we were passing under theBayBridge offAnnapolis .”

  “That’s Bloody Point Lighthouse behind us,” Rick said. “PoplarIslandis on the starboard and theEastern Shore to port. That black thing sticking up ahead of us is a light buoy. When we reach it, we should be able to see the range markers intoKnappsNarrows .”

  Scotty checked the chart on the table hinged to the bulkhead formed by the rear cabin wall. “What time is it?”

  Rick glanced at his watch. “Five after six.Time for chow. Want to rustle up something? Or shall we eat atKnappsNarrows ? The cruising guide says there’s a restaurant there.”

  “Let’s eat out,” Scotty replied promptly. “I’m sick of my cooking-and yours. I’d like someMaryland crab cakes like those we had inChesapeakeCity .”

  Rick remembered with pleasure.“Suits me.”

  “Think we’ll get to Steve’s tonight?” Scotty asked.

  “I doubt it. We probably could reach the mouth of the river about dark, but then we’d have to navigate up the river and into a creek before reaching Steve’s. I don’t want to tackle theseChesapeake backwaters at night.”

  The destination of the houseboat was the summer cottage of Rick’s old friend, Steve Ames, who was also a chief agent of JANIG, the top-secret Federal security organization. The boys, and the Spindrift scientists, had worked on several cases for JANIG, starting with the adventure of The Whispering Box Mystery. Steve was responsible for Rick’s ownership of the houseboat, which had been named for Rick’s home island on the grounds that it was now his “home away from home.”

  Rick’s first glimpse of the houseboat had been from the air. At the request of Steve Ames, he, Scotty, his sister Barby, and Jan Miller, daughter of one of the Spindrift physicists, had been searching the coast ofNew Jersey for signs of strangers in the area. Barby had spotted the houseboat, which at that time was painted a bright orange. Later, the houseboat had played a major role in the adventure of The Electronic Mind Reader, and Rick had fought for his life and the safety of the two girls in the very cabin behind which he now stood. The houseboat had been impounded by Federal authorities, and recently Steve had mentioned to Rick that it was to be auctioned. After consulting with his family, Rick had entered a bid for the boat. His bid had been the only one, and he became owner at what was close to a salvage price.

  It was Rick’s pride that his chief possessions had been bought with his own money, and the houseboat was no exception. Like his first plane, the Cub, he expected the houseboat to pay its own way. Rick had recovered his investment in the Cub by using it to operateSpindriftIsland ’s ferry service to the mainland.

  Rick flew the scientists toNewarkAirport when they had to catch planes, or he flew to Whiteside for groceries, or intoNew York to pick up parts and supplies. The houseboat could not be used in the same way, but he was sure he could get its price back by renting it to summer visitors to theNew Jersey area.

  He had repainted it in two shades of green with a white top, and had made a few other improvements.

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  Before renting the boat, however, he intended to have an extended houseboat vacation. He and Scotty had leftSpindriftIsland , headed south into Manasquan Inlet, and then sailed into the inland waterway. By easy stages-the houseboat could make only ten miles an hour-they had moved down the waterway intoDelaware Bay , up theDelaware River , through theChesapeake andDelawareCanal , and intoChesapeake Bay . Now, some twenty miles south ofAnnapolis , the boys were nearing Steve’s summer cottage.

  Rick’s parents, with Barby and Jan, were now on their way toWallopsIsland rocket range operated by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Hartson Brant had business there in connection with instruments the Spindrift group of scientists had designed for measuring solarX rays. The instruments would be launched in rockets. WallopsIsland was nearChincoteague,Virginia , just across the Maryland-Virginia border on the long peninsula called “The Eastern Shore” that runs betweenChesapeake Bay and theAtlantic Ocean . By car, Wallops was less than two hours from Steve’s summer cottage.

  As soon as his business was concluded, Hartson Brant planned to drive to Steve’s, where the Brants and the two girls would join Rick and Scotty for a vacation on the houseboat. There was plenty of room.

  The Spindrift was thirty feet long and ten feet wide, and had two cabins. Four could sleep in the forward cabin, and two amidships where the galley, dinette, and bath were located. Steve had agreed to drive the Brant car to Spindrift on his next trip toNew York . The
houseboat, with the full clan aboard, would travel leisurely back to the home island.

  Rick was delighted with the arrangements. The Brants-and that included Scotty, who had become one of them after his discharge from theUnited States Marine Corps-were a close-knit family whose members enjoyed doing things together. Rick considered Jan Miller, Barby’s dearest friend, a welcome addition to the party.

  “Range light ahead,” Scotty said.

  Rick nodded. The light was set atop a black piling. The color meant he would have to pass it to port, then pick up the red beacon at the entrance to theNarrows , passing the red beacon to starboard. This was in accordance with the old sailors’ rule: red right returning, which means keep red markers and buoys on the starboard, or right, when returning from seaward. It was fun navigating in strange waters.

  He had never heard ofKnappsNarrows a few days before, or of TilghmanIsland , where theNarrows were located. Nor had he heard of theChoptankRiver , which lay just below the island.

  The houseboat plowed ahead, its twin outboards purring. Its bow, rounded like the front of a toboggan, slapped into a slight swell. Rick passed the range light and headed for the red tower that marked the opening of theNarrows . In a few moments they were in theNarrows , passing lines of docked crab, oyster, and clam boats. There was a bridge ahead, with a gasoline dock in its shadow. Rick gauged wind and current and decided how he would maneuver into place. The current was heavy in the channel, running in the direction in which he was headed.

  “I’ll nose in, and you jump off with a bowline,” he directed Scotty. “We’ll let the stern swing around with the current. That will leave us facing the way we came, so we won’t have to turn when we leave.”

  In a short time the maneuver was completed. Rick edged the rounded nose of the houseboat against the seawall as Scotty stepped ashore carrying the bowline. He snubbed it tightly around a piling and held fast while the ungainly boat swung with the current.

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  Rick stepped to the seawall with the stern line as the craft swung completely around, and the boys made the boat fast.

  “Now,” Scotty said, “let’s gas up and eat.”

  After filling the gas tanks, loading the icebox with fresh ice, and topping off the water tank, the boys slipped into shirts, slacks, and shoes,then headed for the restaurant that adjoined the dock. Over delicious, spicyMaryland crab cakes and coffee, they talked with the proprietor, a friendly, heavy-setEastern Shore man who spoke with the typical slurred accents of the region.

  “Quite a boat you got there,” the man said.

  Rick grinned. “It does look sort of odd, but it’s comfortable.”

  “Expect so. Thought it was a seagoin ’ flyin ’ saucer when I saw it comin ’ through theNarrows .”

  Scotty munched crab cake appreciatively. “Seen many flying saucers around here?” he asked whimsically.

  “A few.”

  The boys stared.

  The man smiled at the reaction. “Didn’t expect that? It’s true. We see one now and again.”

  “Really?”Rick asked.

  “Sure as geese fly. Don’t know that they’re really flyin ’ saucers like we read about in the Washington and Baltimore papers-we get both-but they’re somethin ’ strange.Not natural, anyway.”

  The boys looked at each other. There was no doubt that the proprietor believed what he was saying. He was as casual as though reporting a catch of fish.

  “Seen any recently?” Scotty inquired.

  “Two nights ago.Always see ‘em about dusk.Real plain, against the sky. Sun hits ‘em when they get high enough. They shine, sometimes silver, sometimes red.”

  “Funny we haven’t seen anything about it in the papers,” Rick commented.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Used to be we’d report ‘em,and the papers carried a few lines. But the way the stories got written, you’d think usEastern Shore folks were short a few marbles. We got tired of being laughed at, so no one says much about the saucers any more.”

  “But lots of people see them?” Scotty asked.

  “Sure. Anyone that happens to be outdoors.”

  “Ever report these sightings to the authorities?” Rick wanted to know.

  “Did at first.Called the State Police myself.The Coast Guard boys are located right here at theNarrows , Page 5

  and they reported toBaltimore . Nothin ’ happened. The authorities aren’t sold on flyin ’ saucers, you might say. I guess the last report was when Link Harris was kidnaped by one.”

  Rick’s scalp prickled. “You honestly mean someone was kidnaped by a flying saucer?”

  “It’s the only thing we can think of. Link went out to set his crab lines, like always, and never came home. We set out to find him, and we found his boat all right, but no Link. One of the saucers was seen by several folks, and they said later it seemed right over where he was workin ’ at about the time he was there.”

  The boys digested this startling information. “Maybe he was drowned,” Rick ventured.

  “In a creek?Not likely! Link’s been crabbin ’ for thirty years in these waters. Water was smooth. Not a ripple, even out on the bay. Even if he fell over, he could almost walk ashore. Tide was out and he was settin ’ lines in about six feet, and he’s better than two yards high. Shore wasn’t more than twenty yards away.”

  “Maybe he hit his head when he fell,” Scotty suggested.

  “Possible, but even if he drowned we’d have found his body.”

  Rick shook his head. “It’s hard to believe a man could be kidnaped by a flying saucer. Couldn’t he have gone ashore and walked out of the area? Maybe he wanted to disappear.”

  “You’re mighty hard to convince,” the proprietor said good-humoredly. It was clear he didn’t particularly care whether they were convinced or not. He was making conversation just to be sociable.

  “Where Link was settin ’ lines is just a little creek with marsh all around. No man with any sense would get out of a boat and go ashore into marshland, now would he? Besides, there’s no reason Link would want to disappear. He lived all alone and did about what he pleased. Crabs netted him enough money for his needs.”

  “How long ago did this happen?” Rick asked.

  “Two, three weeks. Not long.”

  “Where?” Scotty queried.

  “Few miles south. In a creek off the Little Chop-tank.”

  “That’s where we’re going!” Rick exclaimed.

  “So? Well, watch for Swamp Creek. It’s on the chart. That’s where they got Link. Where you headed?”

  “A place called Martins Creek,” Rick replied.

  “Uh-huh. Well, Martins is on the south shore, and Swamp Creek is on the north, about three miles closer to the river mouth. You’ll pass it on the way. Better keep an eye open. That boat of yours might attract flyin ’ saucers the way a decoy attracts ducks.”

  Rick saw the twinkle in the proprietor’s eye. “We’ll set a bear trap on the upper deck,” he said. “Any Page 6

  flying saucer tries to pick usup, the pilot will catch one of his six legs in it.”

  “Likely,” the man agreed. “You catchone, bring it to theNarrows , will you?Always wanted to see one at close range.”

  “Well do that,” Rick agreed, and no premonition or hunch warned him how close he and Scotty would come to carrying out the promise.

  CHAPTER II

  The Flying Stingaree

  Someone once said that theChesapeake Bay “looks like the deck plan of an octopus,” but the mental image created by the phrase tells but a fraction of the story. Rivers and creeks empty into the bay by the dozens, and every river, and most of the creeks, have tributaries. Even some of the tributaries have tributaries. The result is thousands of miles of navigable waters, forming a maze of waterways that it would take most of a lifetime of weekend cruising to explore.

  The cruising houseboat Spindrift moved steadily across the mouth of one of the principal waterways of theEastern Shore , theChoptankRiver . It was a good three miles across the river’s mouth, and Rick occupied the time by reading aloud to Scotty, who was piloting.

  “ ‘TheChoptankRiveris navigable for large ships to the city ofCambridge , a principalEastern Shore port.

  Yachts will find the river navigable for twenty miles beyondCambridge , depending on their draft, while boats of shallow draft can cruise all the way into the State ofDelaware .’” Rick paused in his reading and looked up. “Be fun to go up one of these rivers to the source, wouldn’t it?”