Kitabı oxu: «The Campers Out: or, The Right Path and the Wrong», səhifə 6

CHAPTER XIII – ADRIFT IN THE SWAMP

Meanwhile Tom Wagstaff and Jim McGovern, the two youths from New York, found themselves involved in a series of singular and stirring incidents.

It will be admitted that they were not fond of meeting the kind of persons who brought the old stage to a standstill in the dismal depths of Black Bear Swamp, and, when they saw an opportunity to leave, lost no time in doing so.

They were trembling in their seats, wondering what would be the next act of the dreaded fellow dimly seen in the gloom, when Ethan Durrell performed his brave exploit which ended in the capture of the rogue.

“Now’s our chance!” whispered Jim, who saw the couple struggling on the ground; “bimeby he’ll kill that greenhorn and next the driver and then our turn will come.”

“If that’s so, I don’t see any use in waiting,” replied Tom, losing no time in scrambling out of the coach, and dropping to the ground in such haste that he fell forward on his hands and knees.

The driver and the New Englander were too much engaged at that moment to pay any heed to the youths, who were in such desperate haste to get away from the spot that they dashed among the trees at the imminent risk of seriously bruising themselves.

After pressing forward until they were nearly out of breath, they came to a halt in the depths of the wood for consultation. They had managed to reach a point some distance from the highway, where they felt safe for the time.

“It’s lucky we were cool enough to bring our guns with us,” was the bright remark of McGovern, “or there’s no telling what might have happened.”

“Do you think those robbers will follow us, Jim?”

“Of course they will; you don’t suppose they want us to testify in court against them and have them hanged, do you?”

“But we didn’t see them plain enough to know them again.”

“That don’t make any difference,” was the brilliant reply, “for I would know that fellow’s voice among a thousand.”

“I guess maybe you’re right; it won’t do for us to go back to the road, for we would be sure to run against them.”

“No; we’ll push on through the woods till we come out somewhere. If we were only acquainted with the country we would know what to do, but there’s no saying where we’ll fetch up.”

At such times a person feels safer while in motion, and, though the young men had no more idea of the points of the compass than if adrift in mid-ocean, they pressed on, impelled by their anxiety to place all the space possible between themselves and the stage-robbers, who, they believed, numbered three at least.

They agreed that the New Englander was the most foolish of persons in attacking the criminal, for, even if he succeeded in bearing him to the ground and overcoming him, his companions had already rallied to his help and would quickly dispatch him and the driver.

Jim and Tom listened for sounds of the conflict, and the fact that they heard no shouts or more reports of fire-arms did not lessen their belief that it was all over with Lenman and Durrell.

The boys were still picking their way through the lonely woods when they found their feet sinking in the spongy earth and were stopped by a morass which grew worse at every step.

“It won’t do to go any farther over this road,” said Wagstaff, who was a few steps in advance, “for the water is getting deeper and I don’t believe there are any boats for us to use.”

The obvious course was to turn back and make an abrupt change in their route. This was done and they soon were walking over the dry leaves.

“Tom,” whispered his companion, who was still a few feet behind him, “somebody is following us.”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Wagstaff, stopping short and looking around in the gloom; “are you sure of that?”

“Listen!”

Both were silent. There certainly was a rustling of the leaves behind them, which could not have been made by the wind, for hardly a breath of air stirred the branches. The violent disturbance that had so alarmed them when riding in the coach had entirely subsided and was succeeded by a calm that gave no sign of the flurry.

“It’s one of them robbers,” was the frightened reply of Tom, “and he’s after us sure enough.”

“You’re right; what shall we do?”

“How would it work to climb a tree?”

“What good would that do?” was the sensible question of Jim.

“He wouldn’t know where we were, and by and by would give up the hunt.”

“That won’t work. Why, Tom, I forgot; we’ve got our guns and they’re loaded; why not use them?”

“That’s so. I didn’t think of that, but we must look out that he don’t get in the first shot, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” added Tom, stepping so close to his friend that his mouth almost touched his ear; “you walk around back of him, so as to place him between us; then we’ll come toward each other and the first one that gets sight of him will drop him.”

Jim was not over pleased with the plan, since it looked to him as if his task was to be the most dangerous, but he could not well refuse. He therefore faced the other way, and began advancing with the utmost care, making a circuit to the right so as to be certain of not running against the dreaded individual.

In fact, the young man made a larger circuit than was necessary, but he kept his bearings, so that when he once more approached Tom it was in a direct line and the stranger was between them.

McGovern held his rifle tightly grasped, ready to raise and fire the moment he caught sight of their enemy. While there was a little light here and there among the trees, it gave neither him nor his companion any help. It was so early in the autumn that few leaves had fallen, and, had he not used extreme care, literally feeling every step of his way, he would have been injured by the projecting limbs and the numerous trunks of the trees.

While it may be supposed that the strategy of the young men had placed their foe at great disadvantage, they found themselves hindered by the impossibility of giving or receiving any mutual signals. Since the stranger was closer to both than Tom and Jim were to each other, any attempt to send word over his head was certain to be caught and understood by him. All that could be done, therefore, by the young men was to follow the lines hastily marked out before they separated.

Jim having approached his friend as far as was prudent, stopped to decide what to do next. The boys were not thoughtless enough to lose sight of the danger to themselves in carrying out their plan. Since they were coming together each was liable to mistake the other for an enemy. They had not thought of this at first, but both remembered it now, and each decided not to fire at any person who might come into view until first challenging him.

In no other way could a fatal mistake be guarded against, and when, therefore, Jim had stood motionless a minute or two, and was sure he heard the same rustling in front, he simply brought his gun to his shoulder.

“Tom, is that you?” he asked, in a subdued voice that could not fail to reach the stranger.

The noise ceased, but there was no answer. The youth now slightly raised his voice:

“If you don’t speak I’ll fire! I see you and won’t miss.”

The stillness continued unbroken, and the stranger did not stir. It was impossible in the darkness to make him out clearly, but sufficient could be seen to insure the success of a shot at so short a range.

“I’m going to fire, look out! One – two – three!”

Mr. McGovern ought to have reflected that no man, especially one trained in wrong-doing, would stand up in this fashion and wait for another to perforate him; but at the utterance of the last word Jim let fly straight at the figure, and what is more, he struck it.

The hair of the youth seemed to lift his hat from his head, as a strange cry broke the stillness, and he heard the body, after a single spasmodic leap, fall on the leaves, where, after a few struggles, it lay still.

“Have you killed him?” called the horrified Tom, hurrying from his station a few rods away.

“I’ve killed something” was Jim’s reply, who, drawing his pocket safe, struck a match and held it over his head, while both stooped over and examined the trophy of their skill and strategy.

“Jim,” said Tom, the next moment, “I’ll agree never to say anything about this, for I’m in it as bad as you.”

“It’s a bargain,” was the reply of the other; “we’ll never tell Bob, even, for he would plague us to death.”

The object before them was a six months’ old calf. It had probably become lost in the woods, and, hearing persons walking, followed them with a dim idea that they were friends and would take care of it. The result was a sad example of misplaced confidence.

Certain now that nothing was to be feared from the rogues that must have disposed of Lenman and Durrell long before, the youths resumed their progress through the wood with the same aimless effort that had marked their journey from the first.

It was not long after their incident with the calf that both noticed that they had entered what seemed to be a valley of slight descent. The sound of running water warned them to be careful of their steps, though it was evident the stream was small.

Wagstaff still kept his place slightly in advance, and was picking his way with the same care he had shown from the first, when he stopped short once more.

“What is it?” asked his companion, stepping to his elbow.

“What the mischief can that be?” asked Tom, in reply.

Although Jim could not see the extended arm, he knew his friend was pointing at something which was now observed by him, and whose appearance mystified him beyond expression.

“It must be a ghost,” he whispered; “I can’t make it out!”

“Don’t stir; wait and see; gracious, it’s moving!”

CHAPTER XIV – HOST AND GUESTS

Tom Wagstaff and Jim McGovern might well be puzzled at the sight which greeted them while picking their way through the wood.

A strong light seemed to be shining through a screen. At first it was stationary, its appearance preventing them from guessing its nature. While they stood silent, wondering and frightened, on the point of retreating, the shadow of a person glided in front of the light. It was grotesque and gigantic, and flitted across their field of vision, disappearing as quickly as it had come to view. The next moment some one was seen holding a lamp in his hand and peering out in the gloom.

Then the whole explanation broke upon them. They had come upon a tent in the wood, the light shining through the canvas and producing the effect which first puzzled them. The person inside passed between them and the lamp, so that his shadow was flung on the screen in front. Then he picked up the light, and pushing aside the flap, peered out in the gloom.

As he did so the glare from the lamp fell upon his face and showed his features so distinctly that both boys recognized him, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment and delight.

“Bob Budd, as I live! Why, you’re the very fellow we’re looking for!” called out Tom Wagstaff, as he and his companion hurried forward and greeted their friend, whose amazement was equal to theirs when he held the light above his head and recognized them.

“Where under the sun did you come from?” he asked, all three walking into the tent after shaking hands, and seating themselves, while the host set the light on a small stand at one side.

“I didn’t expect you for a week or two,” added Bob, whose pleasure could not be concealed.

“Well,” replied Jim, with a laugh, “we set out to surprise you, and I guess we succeeded.”

“There’s no doubt of that,” said Bob; “but tell me how you found the way to this spot.”

The visitors were not quite willing to give the whole truth, and Tom ventured the explanation.

“We came most of the way in the cars,” said he, “but got off at a little station a few miles out to tramp across the country, thinking we might pick up some game on the way. We didn’t make out very well, and rode to Black Bear Swamp in the stage. There we got out again and set out to find you.”

“How did you know where to look?”

“The driver told us you had a camp out this way somewhere, and we thought we might stumble over it.”

This narrative was so brief in the way of details that the boys ran some risk of having it overturned when the account of the driver and his passenger should be heard, but fortunately for them, Durrell and Lenman forebore any references to the unworthy part played by the youths, and Bob Budd remained ignorant of the real cause of the abrupt flight of his friends, and their taking to the shelter of Black Bear Swamp.

“I’ve had the tent up for three days,” added the host, who was about the age of his guests, “and it’s so well stored with eatables and drinkables that I come out every night to take a look at it, so as to make sure no tramps or thieves are prowling around. I was about to go home when you hailed me. Shall we go to the house or stay here till morning?”

“I don’t see that this can be improved on,” replied Tom, looking admiringly about him; “we’re pretty well tuckered out, and I would as lief stay here till morning anyway.”

“Those are my sentiments,” added Jim, much pleased with the survey.

“Then we’ll stay,” said Bob; “I’m glad you’re suited. Where are your trunks?”

“At the station at Piketon.”

“I’ll send the checks over in the morning and have our man bring them here. I have my own gun and some things to bring from the house, and then we’ll be in shape for a good old time in the woods. I guess, boys, a little refreshment won’t hurt us.”

The liberality of Bob Budd’s Uncle Jim and Aunt Ruth, with whom he lived (he having no parents or other near relatives), enabled him to do about as he pleased, so far as his own pleasure and self-indulgence were concerned. He quickly set a substantial lunch before his guests, of which all partook. I am sorry to say that strong drink formed a large part of the repast, all indulging liberally, after which pipes and cigarettes were produced, and they discussed their plans of enjoyment.

Wagstaff and McGovern did not hesitate to admit that they had run away from home for the purpose of having this outing. The fact that their parents were sure to be distressed over their absence was a theme for jest instead of regret.

“They’ll learn to appreciate us when we go back,” said Wagstaff, with a laugh, as he puffed his villainous decoction of tobacco and poison; “you see, if Jim and I went home now they would be apt to scold; but they will be so glad at the end of a fortnight that they’ll kill the fatted calf and make us welcome.”

“A good idea,” commented Bob, passing back the flask to McGovern; “you see, my uncle and aunt love me so dearly that they don’t object to anything I do, though now and then Aunt Ruth holds up Dick Halliard as a model for me.”

“We saw that lovely young man while we were in the stage,” remarked Wagstaff; “he went by us on his bicycle.”

“Yes; he rides a wheel well, but it makes me mad to see him.”

“Why so?”

“Well, he’s younger than me, and I used to go to school with him; he’s one of those fellows who don’t like many things a wide-awake chap like me does, and he has a way of telling you of it to your face.”

“That’s better than doing it behind your back,” suggested Jim.

“He has no right to do it at all; what business is it of his if I choose to smoke, take a drink now and then, and lay out the other boys when they get impudent?”

“It’s nothing to him, of course; we’ll settle his hash for him before we go back. I shouldn’t wonder,” added Tom, with a wink, “if he should find that bicycle of his missing some day.”

“That would hit him harder than anything else,” remarked Bob, pleased with the remark; “I’ve thought of the same thing, but haven’t had a good chance to spoil it. I say, boys, we’ll have just the jolliest times you ever heard of.”

“It won’t be our fault if we don’t,” assented Jim, while his companion nodded his head as an indorsement of the same views.

“Is there good hunting in these parts?”

“It, isn’t as good as up among the Adirondacks or out West in the Rocky Mountains, but I think we can scare up some sport. I’ve a good hunting dog, and as soon as we get things in shape we’ll see what we can do. What sort of game do you prefer?”

“Anything will suit me – elephants, tigers, rhinoceroses, and the like; or, if we can’t do better, I wouldn’t mind a bear or deer.”

“I daresn’t promise much, but we’ll have the fun anyway, and that’s what we all want more than anything else.”

The boys kept up their conversation until the night was well along, and all were in high spirits over the prospect. They smoked and drank until, when they lay down in slumber, they were in that plight that they did not waken till the sun was high in the heavens.

The day was so cloudy and overcast that, although it cleared up before noon, they decided to defer their hunting excursion until the following morning, or perhaps the one succeeding that. Tom and Jim accompanied Bob to his uncle’s, where they were made welcome by his relatives, though it must be said that neither was specially pleased with their looks and conduct. They made themselves at home from the first, and their conversation was loud and coarse; but then they were friends of the petted nephew, and that was all sufficient.

The trunks were brought from the railway station by Uncle Jim’s coachman and taken to the camp of the Piketon Rangers. By that time the news of the attempt to rob the stage had spread, and caused great excitement in the town and neighborhood. Tom and Jim, finding no reference to them in the accounts, deemed it best to say nothing, since they might have found it hard to make it appear that they had acted bravely at a time when such a fine chance was offered to play the hero.

That afternoon the three fully established themselves in the tent of Bob Budd. The day had cleared up beautifully, but it was too late to start out on the great hunt they had fixed their hearts on, and toward night they separated to take a stroll through the surrounding country, with which they wished to become familiar. They believed this could be done better if they should part company, since each would be obliged to keep his senses about him, and to watch his footsteps more closely than if he had a guide in the person of Bob Budd, their friend and host.

CHAPTER XV – THE FOREST PATH

Dick Halliard was kept unusually late at Mr. Hunter’s store that evening, for the busy season was approaching, when the merchant was obliged to ask for extra work at the hands of his employees. Dick showed such aptitude at figures that he often gave valuable aid to the bookkeeper, one of the old-fashioned, plodding kind, who found the expanding accounts too much for him to keep well in hand.

Reaching his home, he was met by his mother, who always awaited his coming, no matter how late he might be. A light never failed to be shining from the window for the only son, and a warm welcome and a delicious meal were sure to greet him.

After kissing his mother and taking his seat at the table, he glanced around and asked: “Did father become tired of sitting up for me?”

“He retired some time ago; he wished to wait, but I advised him not to do so.”

The lad paused in his meal, and looking at his mother, who was trying to hide her agitation, asked:

“Why do you try to keep anything from me? Father is worse, as I can see from you face.”

“Yes,” replied the mother, the tears filling her eyes; “he is not as well to-night as usual.”

Dick shoved back his chair.

“I will go for Dr. Armstrong; it’s too bad that he could not have been called long ago.”

“I would have gone, but I feared to leave him alone, and we were expecting you every minute. You must eat something and swallow a cup of tea.”

Poor Dick’s vigorous appetite was gone, but partly to please his parent, and partly because he knew it was best, he ate and drank a little. Then he ran up-stairs to see his father, who was suffering from a fevered condition which made him slightly delirious. The brave boy spoke a few cheerful words, and then, promising to return as soon as he could, hastened down-stairs and donned his hat and coat.

“You can go quite fast on your bicycle, Dick,” said the mother, “and you know we shall count the minutes till the doctor comes.”

“You can depend on me to do my best; I will take my bicycle, though it isn’t very far.”

He had kissed her good-night, and was out-of-doors. The machine had been left just within the gate, where he always leaned it against the trunk of a short, thick cedar. He advanced to take it, as he had done so many times, but to his dismay it was gone.

The door had closed behind him before he had made the discovery, so that his mother knew nothing of his loss.

Dick was dumbfounded. Nothing of the kind had ever befallen him before. He had been in the house less than fifteen minutes, yet during that interval his property had vanished.

“Some one must have followed me,” was his conclusion, “and while I was in the house stole my bicycle.”

Had the circumstances been different, he would have set a most vigorous investigation on foot, for he prized the wheel above all his possessions; but, with his sick parent up-stairs, the minutes were too precious to be spent in looking after anything else.

“I’ll find out who took that,” he muttered, as he passed through the gate to the highway, “and when I do, he’ll have to settle with me.”

He studied the ground closely in the hope of discovering the trail, as it may be called, of his machine, but the light of the moon was too faint to show any signs, unless in the middle of the highway, and if the thief had followed that direction, he took care to keep at the side of the road, where there was a hard path over which he could readily travel.

It was three-fourths of a mile to the home of Dr. Armstrong, who was one of those hard-worked humanitarians – a country physician – subject to call at all hours of the day and night, with many of them requiring a journey of several miles during the worst seasons of the year.

Dick was fortunate in not only finding him at home, but in his office. He had received a summons to a point beyond Mr. Halliard’s, and was in the act of mounting his horse to ride thither. Since he had to pass the house of Dick on his way, he promised to go at once, so that not a minute would be lost.

The brief interview with the physician was satisfactory in the highest degree to the youth, for the medical man explained that, singular as it might seem, the fever which he described as affecting his parent was a very favorable sign. It showed that the remedies already used were doing the work intended, and there was more ground for hope of his ultimate recovery than before.

With this burden lifted from his heart, the boy’s thoughts returned to his bicycle.

“I would give a good deal to know who took it,” he murmured, as he set out on his return; “I never knew of such a thing. Why didn’t I think of it!” he suddenly asked himself, as he recalled that he had a little rubber match-safe in his pocket.

Bringing it forth, he struck one of the bits of wood, and shading the tiny flames from the slight breeze, stooped over and attentively examined the road and paths at each side.

He discovered nothing to reward his search, and resumed his walk homeward. “The thief must have taken the other road,” he concluded, walking more rapidly.

Only a little way farther he came to the big stretch of woods which surrounded the immense reservoir of water behind the dam that was built years before. Dick was familiar with the locality, and knew of a path which left the main highway and entered the woods, breaking into two routes, one of which led to the mill-pond, while the other, if followed, conducted a person to the wooded hilly region beyond.

Upon reaching the point where the path turned off from the highway, Dick again paused and struck a second match. This was for the purpose of studying the ground, for somehow or other he had formed the belief that the thief would take to the woods with the property, until he could find time to dispose of it without attracting attention.

There it was!

The ground, although quite hard, showed the imprint of the large and small wheel distinctly. Upon turning into the wood the change of direction necessarily threw the wheels out of alignment for a short distance, and there could be no mistake about the prints that were left in the earth.

“There’s where the thief went!” exclaimed the lad, straightening up and striving to peer into the impenetrable gloom; “but he must have walked and pushed the bicycle, for no one would dare to ride through there in the nighttime. I don’t go home till I find out something about the rogue that took it from the front of our house.”

It was a source of regret that, in his haste to go to the physician, he forgot the precaution he had resolved to take, whenever he found it necessary to go abroad at night. His father was the owner of a fine revolver that had lain in the house for weeks without being used. If the youth had it with him now, he would have felt double the assurance that was his when he began making his way along the forest path. Nevertheless, his resolution to recover his property was none the less because of his forgetfulness.