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Title: The Ranger Boys and Their Reward

Author: Claude A. LaBelle

Release date: December 12, 2021 [eBook #66928]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: A. L. Burt Company, 1922

Credits: Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RANGER BOYS AND THEIR REWARD ***




[Illustration: Finally Mr. Boone turned to him, and stretching out his
hand, advanced and said: “Don’t you know me, Richard?”]




THE RANGER BOYS AND THEIR REWARD

By CLAUDE A. LABELLE

Author of

  “The Ranger Boys to the Rescue,” “The Ranger Boys
  Find the Hermit,” “The Ranger Boys and the
  Border Smugglers,” “The Ranger Boys
  Outwit the Timber Thieves.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers    New York




THE RANGER BOYS SERIES

A Series of Stories for Boys 12 to 16 Years of Age

By CLAUDE A. LABELLE

  The Ranger Boys to the Rescue
  The Ranger Boys Find the Hermit
  The Ranger Boys and the Border Smugglers
  The Ranger Boys Outwit the Timber Thieves
  The Ranger Boys and Their Reward

Copyright, 1922

By A. L. BURT COMPANY

THE RANGER BOYS AND THEIR REWARD

Made in “U. S. A.”




THE RANGER BOYS AND THEIR REWARD




CHAPTER I

THE PLEA FOR HELP


“Well, now that everything is going all right at the camp here, I
suppose we might as well say goodbye to our friends and get ready
for the return to the West Branch and resume our duties on the
forest fire patrol,” remarked Garfield Boone to his chums as they
sat in the crude office of the lumber camp.

“Yes, this seems to be the best thing to do, but I almost dislike
the thought of going back. After all the excitement that we’ve had
lately, it will be dead slow on the hill. Nothing to do but walk the
patrol and take our turns in the Tin Can,” agreed Phil Durant.

The third member of the trio of friends, tried and true, merely
yawned and said nothing. This was Dick Wallace, rather a heavy chap.
Some people would have called him fat, but he always referred to
himself as merely plump.

“Come, say something, Dick. You’ve been sitting here for an hour and
the most you’ve said is yes or no, sometimes you didn’t even say
that. What’s the trouble?” inquired Garry.

“Gosh, can’t you fellows see that I’m just resting? You want me to
say something? All right. I wonder what we’ll have for dinner
today?”

His friends broke into hearty laughter. Dick’s appetite was a
standing joke with them, likewise his weight; for he always took the
easiest way of doing things when speed was not required. This does
not mean that the fat youth was a shirker or naturally lazy. When
occasion demanded it, he was all speed and as quick as a flash of
lightning. Like many heavy people, he could move with the utmost
celerity if need be, but his attitude was why hurry when you didn’t
have to. Time enough for that when something arose that demanded
action.

“I say, boys, there’s old Lawrence with a mail bag. You know he went
to town at daybreak to get the mail. Wonder if there’s anything for
us?” remarked Phil, as he spied the old lumberjack coming towards
them.

“Shouldn’t wonder if there was a letter from home for some of us,”
answered Garry, as he stuck his head out of the door and called to
the man to bring them what mail there was.

“Three for Garry, one apiece for the rest of you,” said Lawrence, as
he handed them the small bundle of envelopes.

The boys made a dive for the mail and soon each was busily engaged
in perusing the letter or letters sent him.

As they are reading their letters, let us get acquainted with the
heroes of this coming volume. Those of our readers who have read the
preceding four volumes in this series, “The Ranger Boys to the
Rescue,” “The Ranger Boys Find the Hermit,” “The Ranger Boys and the
Border Smugglers,” and “The Ranger Boys Outwit the Timber Thieves,”
are already acquainted with the trio and the stirring adventures
they have had. For the benefit of others, however, we will give a
slight history of what they have done.

The three boys, whose names we already know, have just finished
their junior year in high school, and while wondering what to do for
their last vacation together, are told by Garry’s father, a wealthy
timberland owner, that he will get them places in the Maine Forest
Ranger Service.

The duty of the men on this service is to patrol the forests
constantly on the lookout for forest fires, and if any are
discovered, to report them promptly, as well as trying to do what
they can to put out the blaze.

A short way up the river near their home the boys have a shack, and
one afternoon they go there to find it occupied by three tramps who
seize Phil and Garry. Dick makes his escape and brings help from
town.

It is discovered that the three are badly wanted for robbing
postoffices, and the chums receive a sizable reward for their
capture.

This money they use, or rather a part of it, to outfit themselves
for the forest. On the way to their work they make friends with one
Nate Webster, an old Maine guide who later does them many a good
turn. They also incur the enmity of a French Canadian halfbreed
named Jean LeBlanc, who finds out that one is the son of Mr. Boone,
a man he has hated for years.

While on their patrol they meet a party of New York campers, and are
instrumental in saving the little daughter of Mr. Graham, head of
the party. A day or two later LeBlanc captures the child and intends
to hold it for ransom.

A queer, unknown individual writes them constant notes informing
them of what is going on. This man they call the Hermit. Garry
finally rescues little Patty, and LeBlanc is captured only to break
out of jail later on.

The halfbreed continually crosses their trail, causing them all
kinds of trouble, and several times endangering their lives. He sets
fire to the forest, and almost causes the death of the boys and a
party of motion picture people who are taking a forest picture.
Having checkmated him, they set out to find the Hermit, following a
clue given them in a cipher note, and Dick succeeds in finding the
old man, who is evidently a gentleman, yet seems to be a trifle
unbalanced mentally.

So well do they succeed at their work in the forest, that when a
gang of fur smugglers start operations on the Canadian border, the
Chief Ranger recommends to the Customs authorities that they be sent
to help.

They are instrumental in aiding an old man who has been caught in a
disused bear trap in the woods, and meet his granddaughter Ruth.
They get evidence against the smugglers after some thrilling
escapes, and find that part of the contraband of the smugglers
includes some wonderful jewels. LeBlanc is mixed up in this, but
makes his escape across the border, where the American Customs
authorities cannot pursue him.

Coming into possession of a torn map, they work out its solution and
discover a rich mine of tourmalines, those gems that are famous in
the State of Maine, and are valuable both as jewels and as parts of
electrical apparatus.

As they plan to return to their work as Rangers, they are asked by
Mr. Boone to aid him in unraveling the mystery of the trouble at his
summer logging camp.

Again they find LeBlanc is mixed up in the theft of the timber, and
after a half a dozen narrow escapes from disaster, meet with
success. LeBlanc makes a mad dash for freedom and succeeds in
swimming to meet a motor boat containing some of his friends,
including his brother, Baptiste, who is just as great a villain as
Jean.

In several of their adventures they have put to good use a wireless
telephone outfit given them by Mr. Graham in gratitude for the
double rescue of his little daughter, Patty.

In the preceding volume Dick called for help when the timber thieves
had besieged the camp and captured the men loyal to Mr. Boone.
Through the machinations of Barrows, the camp manager, much of the
timber had been stolen, and enough harm done to seriously hinder
Boone from keeping his contracts to deliver a certain supply of
lumber at a set date.

Thanks to the boys’ work, however, the plot was nipped before it had
gotten too far, and so we meet them now in the camp office after
order has been restored, and the men are working doubly hard to aid
their employer.

Just one more thing must be explained, and that is the mystery that
entered Dick’s life when he was a mere child. His father, a friend
of Garry’s father, had been professor of botany at an Eastern
university. Dick’s mother died when he was a baby. One day Professor
Wallace fell from his horse and received an injury that made him
lose his memory. Before he could be operated upon he escaped from
the hospital, in delirium, and had not been heard of from that day.

Out of sincere friendship for his old schoolmate, Mr. Boone had
taken Dick into his home and, after formally adopting him, brought
him up as he did his own son, Garry.

Now to return to the boys, who are just finishing their letters.

“Who is all that mail for you from?” quizzed Phil, as he spied Garry
finishing his third letter.

“Well, you chaps were pining for more excitement, and dreading to go
back to the humdrum patrolling of the forest, and it looks as though
your desire for action was to be gratified,” answered Garry. “One of
these letters is from Mother. The other two are from Augusta; that
is, one is from the Chief Ranger and the other is enclosed in his
message. That one is from a young lady.”

“What young lady would write to you, anyway, and why should she send
it through the Ranger?” scoffed Phil.

“It’s from a young lady who lives on the Canadian border. Does that
tell you anything?” replied Garry.

“Aha,” shouted Dick, as light broke on him. “Phil, it’s a love
letter!”

“Nothing of the sort,” retorted Garry, though he flushed up a bit.
“It’s a plea for help.”

This made the others stop their good-natured chaffing of their
leader, for it was Garry who was the elected chief of the trio, and
they importuned him to hurry up and read the messages.

“First, then, is the one from Ruth, who says that she and her
grandfather have received several threatening letters, claiming that
all kinds of misfortune will follow them unless they leave their
home and get out of that section of the country. Along with her
letter is the one from the Chief Ranger, who says that in addition
to the threatening letters that have been sent, there are some
peculiar doings in the postal way at Hobart, and as we had such
success in helping the Customs man, he has recommended that we be
sent to Hobart to aid the postal inspector, who is on his way there
now. So that’s the story in a nutshell.”

Dick jumped to his feet, all his “resting” forgotten. He seized Phil
by the shoulders and did a regular war dance, dragging the
protesting Phil, who was of a quieter disposition, around the floor
of the office.

“Whe-e-e—, that means a trip back to the border, and all kinds of
things may happen there again. Let’s get going; we can pack in a few
minutes and get to town in time to catch a late train for Bangor.”

“All right; see how quick we can get packed up. Also, I wish one of
you boys would pack up for me; some of my stuff is scattered around
the shack; and be sure and pack the radio carefully. I had it out
overhauling it this morning. I want to arrange about leaving, and
see Art Howells, the new manager, and tell him to try and get some
trace of Sandy before we go.”

The mention of Sandy brought sadness to the boys. He was a big
Airedale that they all loved, and had been stolen or wandered away a
short time after they had reached the logging camp.

Away went the chums to pack, and Garry sought out Howells. The new
manager assured Garry that he would do his best to find some track
of the dog.

Howells also sent a man to get Mr. Boone, who was still at the camp
helping reorganize the men after the trouble of the preceding days.
When Garry returned to the office, he found his chums, awaiting him.
They had packed in a hurry, for Dick was still stuffing down the
contents of his knapsack as Garry entered the shack.

“We’ll be all set in a few minutes,” declared Dick. “Have you sent
for Dad Boone, Garry?”

“Yes, he’ll be here in a few minutes; he is only at the sawmill.
Sure you have everything packed? Haven’t you forgotten anything?”
asked Garry.

“Everything is as right as a trivet,” answered Phil. “Wonder if we
can get the old Ford that was brought here yesterday to ride into
town on; it will save us a long hike and will get us there quicker.”

“Guess we can have it all right; we’ll see as soon as Father comes,”
answered Garry.

At this moment Mr. Boone entered the office, and noticing the
excited air of the boys, and the packed knapsacks, asked in some
surprise if they were not in an awful hurry to get back to work.

It took only a few hasty words to acquaint him with the new
situation that had just arisen, and as Garry concluded the
explanation he asked for the use of the old auto to carry them to
town.

This request was readily granted by Mr. Boone, and he wished the
boys good luck on their venture.

“I had hoped that you would go back to the mountain for the rest of
the summer,” he said, “where there is some peace and quietness. It
seems that you have stepped into trouble at almost every turn, and
there is only one thing that I worry about. That is LeBlanc. He is a
most vindictive rascal, and I will not feel confident of your
security until you are off to school this fall or until he is safely
under lock and key in some prison, where he belongs. I hope you boys
have no wild times on this, yet I would be the last one to ask you
to shirk your duty; and since the Chief Ranger has such a high
regard for you, who are yet boys, to send you on such an errand, I
can only say I’m proud that you have done so well, and deserve all
the praise that can be accorded to you. Also, I wish that you would
postpone your departure for a few minutes, as I want to write a note
to Nate Webster for you to mail when you get to Bangor. It will go
quicker then, for the train that you will take this afternoon does
not carry mail.”

Naturally they agreed to this, and went outside while Mr. Boone
wrote his note. In some way it had been noised about the camp that
the boys were to leave, and soon several of the men had gathered in
front of the office. Mr. Boone finished his letter, and gave it to
Garry and they got into the flivver. The man called Tom, who had
taken them on the coon hunt some nights before, started several
times to speak, and then decided not to.

Just as they were about to start, Garry called to Art Howells to be
sure and keep an eye out for news of Sandy’s fate. There was a gulp
in his throat as he said this. His chums, too, were silent, for they
missed their faithful, four-footed friend sorely.

This evidently decided Tom, for he came to the flivver, and said to
Garry:

“If you can get me time off enough to go to town with you, I promise
you that you will have your dog a half an hour after we reach
there!”




CHAPTER II

BAD NEWS IN HOBART


On hearing this, the boys gave a shout of joy, and in a minute had
arranged for Tom to come with them as far as town.

With the cheers of the lumberjacks sounding in their ears, and with
a wave of Mr. Boone and Art Howells, the boys were off. The flivver
coughed, and gathering speed, rattled down the bumpy road.

As soon as they had started, they hurled a number of questions at
Tom about Sandy.

“I wasn’t goin’ to say anything about the dog, because you fellows
might take it out on us. My brother came to see me in camp the day
after the coon hunt, and stayed around for awhile and made half sort
of friends with the dog, and then later he was gone. I found out
that he had taken him with him. ’Course I know it was stealing, but
he was my brother and I was afraid he would get into bad trouble.
You fellows know how I felt. First place I was ashamed to tell you I
had a brother that would do that, and second place I was afraid
you’d have him taken up for it. But I was going to see that you got
him back somehow. When you got ready to go today, I knew how you
felt about the pup, and so I couldn’t hold in any longer. All I wish
is that you won’t have anything done to my brother, bad as he is.”

The boys were so overjoyed with the thought of regaining Sandy that
they immediately promised Tom that the matter would be forgotten.

Speeding up the machine as soon as they struck better road, they
made excellent time and reached the village ahead of their schedule.
They went direct to the station to get their tickets, while Tom
departed for his brother’s house to bring Sandy to them. After
buying their tickets, they were on tenterhooks waiting the return of
their animal friend.

True to his word, Tom was at the station in half an hour. But Sandy
beat him by several seconds, for no sooner did he get his first
sight of the boys than he broke from the leash by which Tom was
leading him and made a mad dash for the chums. He nearly knocked
Garry over as he leaped on him, then he jumped from one boy to
another in frantic glee, giving vent to sharp barks of delight as
the boys mauled him in their joy at seeing him again.

“Sorry we’ll have to put you in the baggage car on the trip, old
timer,” said Garry, “but the railroads have a rule against big
fellows like you being in the car.”

At last the train came in and they were on their way. Sandy voiced
unqualified disapproval at being tied up in the crowded baggage car,
and occasionally one or another of the boys went ahead and petted
him a few minutes.

The train was a slow one, and it was nearly eight o’clock when they
reached the Penobscot River city. For once they were quite ready to
follow Dick’s lead and get “eats,” then they went to the hotel and
reserved rooms. They found that their train was to leave fairly
early in the morning, but as not one of them was tired, they took a
walk down through the business center of the town.

As they passed a brightly lighted drug store, Dick noticed something
in the window.

“There, I knew there was something we ought to have had on our other
trips,” he announced to the others.

“Hold him, Phil, he’s going to buy something again. Remember how he
wouldn’t go on without that knife last time he was here?” said
Garry.

“Gosh, that reminds me I left that knife in the cabin at the little
lake,” he ejaculated. “I wonder if that chap is still around here
selling ’em?”

“Hardly; he was just one of those sidewalk merchants that are here
today and gone tomorrow” answered Garry. “But what is it that you
want to buy now?”

“Look at that display in the window, and see if you don’t think we
ought to have an outfit” answered Dick as he waved his hand toward
the indicated window.

“Well, for once you see something sensible. We might have a lot of
use for them the remainder of the summer, and it will give us some
nice souvenirs.”

What Dick had seen was a display of cameras, and followed by his
chums he entered the store and soon had purchased a good camera and
a sufficient quantity of films to take a number of pictures. As an
afterthought, he bought material to develop a limited amount of the
pictures, explaining that they might be able to print some in spare
moments.

“Go ahead and buy whatever you want,” laughed Garry, “only remember
that this stuff all goes in your pack, and you will have to carry
the extra weight.”

This, however, failed to bother Dick, and he bought such articles as
he needed.

They were about to return to the hotel, when Garry noticed a
policeman coming down the street. This called to mind the night they
had been near arrest and had received the torn map that eventually
led them to the secret tourmaline mine.

“Let’s drop around to the station and see if the Chief of Police
might be in. I’d like to say howdy to him, even if he once did have
an idea that we were a crew of runaways,” he suggested to his
companions.

The idea was instantly approved, and they changed their direction
and headed for the station. They were just in time, for the Chief
was preparing to leave for home. He recognized the boys immediately
and invited them into his office for a chat. The few minutes
lengthened into an hour, for the Chief made them tell him about the
smuggling band and how they had aided in the capture.

“I happen to know something about it, for some of them were brought
here for a hearing before the United States Commissioner, and I
attended the hearing. It’s natural in you boys, I suppose, to be
modest about it, but I wish that I had a son, or three of them like
you, that could get out and do such a creditable bit of work as you
did. If you ever want a job, apply to me,” he concluded with a laugh
in which the boys joined.

The visit over, they hustled back to the hotel and to sleep, as they
were booked for early rising.

A sharp tatoo on the door awoke them in the morning, and they
hurried into their clothes, for they had no more than time to eat
and get to the station.

Aboard the train they chose seats, as was their custom, in the
smoking car, not that any of the trio was addicted to smoking, but
because they generally found several interesting characters to
watch, and this happened to pass away the time.

Then, too, on one occasion, they had obtained a valuable clue that
aided them greatly in the successful carrying out of the mission
they had been sent on, and on their first trip they had made the
acquaintance of Nate Webster in the smoker of a train.

They found facing seats and stowed their packs and rifles in the
racks overhead, and settled down for the weary ride that would take
them to Hobart. As was usual in this train, there were a number of
picturesque characters: lumberjacks going north to the woods, guides
returning after taking parties on camping trips, or going to meet
parties that were awaiting them along the way, French Canadians
bound for towns on the other side of the border, and several men who
were evidently bound on an extended fishing trip, to judge from the
paraphernalia they carried with them. The boys were just a little
bit amused at the amount of luggage that they carried. It was piled
at one end of the car, and from the looks of it would have required
the services of at least three porters to carry for them. This, by
the way, is the mistake made by the average camper, unless someone
wise in the ways of the woods gives them a friendly tip and tells
them to travel light.

Each of the boys always made shift to travel with only one knapsack
each and everything that was not absolutely necessary was discarded.
As it was, their packs were quite heavy, for they had their carrying
sets of the wireless ’phone; but these were fairly light, since they
had been specially made for the Rangers by Mr. Graham.

Garry and Dick amused themselves by playing checkers on a small
pocket board that was their constant companion, while Phil wandered
through the car stopping to watch several of the card games that
were in progress and listening to the conversation. As our previous
readers know, Phil could talk French as well as he could English,
but this was an accomplishment that the trio kept a strict secret,
since it enabled them at times to get valuable information.
Naturally a great deal of this language was spoken in this section
of the country, and more so as they approached the border and other
men got aboard.

Phil’s trip was fruitless as far as getting any information was
concerned, for all the men were talking only of the most trivial
subjects.

“What luck?” asked Garry, when Phil finally returned to his seat.

“Nothing at all. There is no one on the train that I remember having
seen when we were here before, and everyone seems to be all right.
It is unlikely that I should have found out anything about the
postal trouble, for there is probably some single person at the
bottom of that, rather than a band such as that of the smugglers
that we ran down last time,” said Phil. “But there is one thing that
I thought of as I walked through the cars. We will be only a short
hike away from our mine when we get to Hobart, and I wonder if we
wouldn’t have time to make a little visit there and see that no one
else has stumbled on the secret. I wish I could pick about twenty of
the best tourmalines, for the money they would bring would be mighty
welcome.”

“Guess great minds run in the same channel,” remarked Garry, “for I
was thinking of the same thing not very long ago. But I have a
better idea. By the time we get this business here settled up, it
will be fairly well along in the summer, and it seems to me it would
be useless to go back to the patrol for such a short time. We will
want to have a few days at home before we go to military school this
fall, and so I suggest that after this mission is ended, we get
relieved from duty and go and mine some of the tourmalines. We ought
to get quite a bit of the work done, for it is a comparatively easy
job to get them out, and then we can hire a couple of guards to
watch them until such time as we can come back, or get some
trustworthy person to operate it for us; such a man as Nate Webster,
for instance.”

“That would be a jolly good idea,” remarked Dick. “I’d like a chance
at mining just to see how the thing is done.”

“Well, we’ll have to forget about that for the time being, for we
have a big enough job on our hands for the present if we meet with
any success on this business. As a matter of fact, we won’t be able
to do a great deal on this anyway. It is something that we know
nothing about, and I imagine that the only reason we were sent here
at all is because we have had a chance to learn something about the
country here and know some of the people in Hobart. As for giving
any advice to the inspector, that of course is out of the question.
Really, this thing looks more like a vacation to me than anything
else,” concluded Garry.

“You never can tell what will happen,” remarked Dick sagely.
“There’s one thing I would like to do before we quit here for the
summer, and that is cause LeBlanc to be taken up and held where he
can do no more mischief for a time. He gets worse every week, and
there is no telling what he will do in the end. I wonder if he is
the one that sent the letters to our friends? You know they were
instrumental in bringing his smuggling plot to a disastrous end, and
he is of the vengeful type that would seek some mean satisfaction.”

“I rather doubt that he is the one,” said Garry. “It is more likely
some friend of Lafe Green, for he probably has some pals that were
not caught in the net of the law when the smugglers were rounded
up.”

“Well, we can do little until we get there and see what it is all
about. There’s nothing to be gained by idle speculating as to the
perpetrator of the offense, so we might as well take it easy till we
reach our destination,” advised Garry.

The morning dragged on, and the boys welcomed the half hour stop for
dinner. They ate in the same restaurant where they had met the
Customs man some weeks before.

Their own dinner procured, they got something for Sandy and carried
it to the baggage car.

The dog raised such a howl when they started to leave that Garry
volunteered to ride in the baggage car for a while, provided the
baggageman was willing. He heartily agreed to allow Garry to remain,
and the others returned to the smoker.

The particular route over which they were traveling was not one of
the best, and occasionally they were forced to wait while other
trains made connections.

About half way though the afternoon, as they were waiting on a
siding to allow a fast freight from across the border to have right
of way, the boys remarked on the fact that several tramps seemed to
have made a special train of it. They observed three hanging to the
end, grasping the trainman’s iron rungs for support.

The train had half passed when Dick grasped Phil by the arm.

“Look quick. There’s one of the tramps that we caught in our shack
at home!”

Phil cast a quick glance and what he saw corroborated Dick.

“There, I’m glad you saw him too,” announced Dick, “for I am sure it
was one of the gang. If I alone had seen him, you boys might have
said that I was seeing things. I move we drop out and tell Garry,
and one of us can stay behind with Sandy and let Garry come back to
the car.”

This was done, and Garry was much interested in their story.

“You remember we saw them in this section once before, and it is
possible they are making a stamping ground of this place. Now all we
need is a glimpse of LeBlanc and we’ll have all our enemies with us.
We might make a grand slam and clean them all out.”

Two hours of riding brought them at last to Hobart, and they
gathered their traps and disembarked.

Ruth and her grandfather, John Everett, were waiting to meet them.
Mr. Everett had fully recovered from his accident with the bear
trap, and both he and his granddaughter greeted the boys warmly.

“First thing we want is to hear the whole story and then we will see
what we can devise in the way of plans for putting an end to the
annoyance. Shall we walk towards your house and you can tell us on
the way?” asked Garry.

At the mention of house, both Ruth and her grandfather looked sad,
and Mr. Everett answered their query about walking in that
direction.

“Just now we haven’t any house. It was burned to the ground last
night, and evidence seems to point to the fact that it was
deliberately set on fire!”




CHAPTER III

LAFE COMES BACK


The news shocked the boys into silence for a moment, then Garry
burst out indignantly:

“Well, that’s about the meanest thing I ever heard of. Are you sure
that it was deliberately fired?”

“We are convinced of it,” said the old man. “The blaze started in a
half a dozen places at the same time. There was nothing that we
could do to save our home. As a matter of fact, we barely got out
some of our clothes. Of course we have insurance, but that will
never cover the loss of things that cannot be replaced,—some of my
old books, for instance.”

“It seems likely that the man or men who have sent the threatening
letters are the same who fired the house,” mused Garry aloud.

“Yes,” said Mr. Everett, “when we first received the letters we
thought that they might be a practical joke; and later, when they
still continued to come, we took it to be a means of frightening us.
I thought for a time that it might be some one whose enmity I had
personally incurred, but when Ruth got them too, with hints as to
why they were being sent, namely, the matter of the smuggling
attempt and capture a short time ago, I knew that it was some member
of the band who was still at large.”

Garry pondered for a moment, Then he remarked:

“There would seem to be only two sources from which the letters
would come. One is from some friend or friends of Lafe Green, and
the other—but that seems almost impossible.”

“Who are you thinking of?” inquired the old man quickly.

“Why, I was thinking of Jean LeBlanc,” answered Garry slowly. “What
makes me think that impossible is that I know where he has been for
some little time, and he doubtless did not send them, for he was too
busy with his other infernal mischief.”

Ruth then interrupted the conversation.

“Suppose we leave and go to Aunt Abby’s house, and talk about
things, instead of standing here like a pack of sticks. Aunt Abbie
isn’t really our aunt,” she said, turning to the boys. “She’s an old
lady who lives all alone in a big house, and occasionally she takes
in people to board and room. That’s where we are staying now.”

This suggestion was voted a sensible one, and the party proceeded to
the house referred to.

There they were met by Aunt Abbie, a little, old, grey haired
person, who beamed when she was introduced to the boys.

“I’ve heard a lot about you boys from Ruth,” she told them;
“especially about Garry.”

Phil and Dick burst into laughter, which they choked off as soon as
possible, while Garry turned a fiery red. He knew what was in store
for him as soon as they were alone.

They were ushered into the trim parlor and took up the conversation
where it had been left at the station.

Ruth’s grandfather asked what the boys knew of LeBlanc’s latest
movements, and this naturally led to the telling of the occurrences
that transpired at the lumber camp. The boys did not tell this until
they were hard pressed to, for they were modest when it came to
their own achievements. Finally the story came out, each of the boys
telling a portion of it in turn.

“I wonder if that halfbreed could not have been at the bottom of
this after all. It was only a few days ago that he came to the camp,
and we have gotten the letters at intervals during the past three
weeks. He could easily have sent them through some friend. My only
hope is that he is not in this section again, but that arson
business was what I would have expected of a man of his stamp,”
concluded Mr. Everett.

“Wonder if the tramps could have had anything to do with it? You
know the old saying about birds of a feather flocking together, and
it would be like them to hitch up,” queried Dick.

“Yes, that’s possible but not exactly probable,” said Garry.

“Have you the letters?” asked Phil.

“Yes, they’re upstairs. Wait a minute and I’ll run up and get them,”
said Ruth; and away she went to do the errand.

She was back in a few moments and handed them to Phil. The boys
crowded around to see them. They were all printed in a coarse
lettering, mostly on scraps of old wrapping paper; one was on a
hand-bill, and two or three on a cheap grade of stationery such as
may be bought at any notion store.

The letters were all of the same tenor, warning the man and girl to
leave town at once else misfortune would visit them.

“There isn’t much of a clue of any sort in the letters themselves,
but let’s see the envelopes; perhaps they will be more
enlightening,” remarked Garry.

The envelopes were all of the same variety, cheap and flimsy as was
the paper. The postmarks were varied. Most of them were evidently
mailed in Hobart, but one had come across the border, as its
Canadian stamp bore testimony, and three came from the little town
of Coldenham, several miles up along the border.

“Not much help in these after all,” said Garry in a disappointed
tone. “We might go to these various offices and see if the
postmasters have any remembrance of who mailed them, but that is too
faint a clue to waste time following up.”

“Say, here’s something that might help. Just see how this sentence
is worded,” broke in Phil. “‘It is that the town you must leave
immediately.’ Now no person who was familiar with the English
language would have said it that way. The more likely phrasing would
have been, ‘You must leave town immediately.’ And that makes me
certain that only one man wrote those letters.”

“Jean LeBlanc!” burst out Garry and Dick almost in the same breath.

“That’s what I think myself. I’d stake a lot that I am right,” said
Phil. He began to look through the other letters and, as he
expected, his scrutiny revealed several other little oddities of
language.

They were still discussing the matter when Aunt Abbie entered to
announce that supper was ready. The boys protested that they could
not put her to so much trouble, but were instantly hushed by the old
lady.

“She prides herself on her cooking, and you’ll hurt her feelings if
you protest,” whispered Ruth to the boys, so the party trooped out
to the dining room where an ample supper was waiting them.

As they ate, the question of quarters for the night came up, and
Garry suggested that they go to the lean-to which they had built in
the woods outside of the town on their previous visit; but Aunt
Abbie would not hear of this, and insisted that they stay there.

“Land sakes, I have enough room here for all of you, and I like to
have people in this big, lonely house. Keeps me young to have young
people around me, too.”

So it was settled that they should stay there for the night, but the
boys decided that in the morning they would visit the lean-to, and
repair any slight damage that might have been done to it, and make
their quarters there during their stay, for they thought they might
be in and out a good deal in search for the writer of the
threatening letters.

After supper Dick announced that in the morning he was going to try
his hand at photographing the letters. This led to another
examination of the notes, and Garry made a discovery.

“Look, there is a distinct sign of a fingerprint here. The paper
looks as though it might at one time have been wrapped around a
piece of bacon and is slightly greasy; enough to take a fingerprint.
When you take your pictures in the morning, Dick, I will fix it so
the print will show up.”

Supper over, the boys decided to walk to the postoffice and
interview the postmaster, whose name they found out was Denton. They
also ascertained that he had held this position for nearly twenty
years.

The postoffice was located in the general store, where they had
often purchased provisions while on the trail of the smugglers.
Denton was soon found, and the boys proceeded to recall themselves
to him. He greeted them warmly and asked if they were on another
camping trip. This last was accompanied by a sly wink, for naturally
he had heard of the part they had played in running down Lafe Green
and his gang. He showed no surprise when the boys asked if they
could hold a private conversation with him.

Denton led the way back to a little cubby hole of an office,
furnished only with a desk and a fair-sized safe. In this, the boys
judged, he kept stamps and the records of the postoffice, as well as
what money he took in during the day’s trading at the store.

Garry briefly explained what their purpose in coming back to Hobart
was, and exhibited the letter sent by the Chief Ranger as authority
for their statements.

Denton glanced at the letter and then leaned back in his chair.

“Well, I’ll tell you all there is to tell. I suppose you’ve seen the
letters that contained the threats, and if you can figure out who
sent them, it’s more than I can do. Just probably a case of spite
against ’em, and will doubtless blow over. I’ve always held to the
opinion that barking dogs never bite.”

“Seems to me that the dog bit this time,” remarked Garry dryly.

“How so?”

“Why, the setting afire of the house last night.”

“Oh, that. Well, there may be other reasons. Mr. Everett has a whole
lot of enemies. He’s pretty freespoken with his tongue. ’Course he’s
generally right in what he says, but there’s nothing that hurts like
the truth in some cases. All that’s a matter for the sheriff to help
out with. On the big matter we can’t do anything till the postoffice
inspector gets here. I’m expecting he’ll arrive some time tomorrow,
next day at the latest,” said Denton.

The boys looked up in surprise. The “other matter” was a new one on
them.

Garry looked at Denton, and in a rather bewildered tone asked:

“What other matter?”

This time it was Denton’s turn to look surprised.

“Seems to me that is the thing we have to worry about. I don’t know
as I ought to say anything more about it to you. ’Course I figure
you’re all right, but you should know about that if you’re going to
help out on it.”

Garry spent a few moments in argument, and finally convinced Denton
that they were all right in this matter, and at last, after giving
the subject several moments of thought, he enlightened them.

“Why, I’m referring to the robbery of the mail that goes to the
paper mill!”

The trio looked aghast at this piece of news. This was a brand new
angle to them, and they pressed the postmaster to give them the
details.

“There ain’t much to tell. You probably know there’s a pulp mill up
the line aways at Coldenham. The owner is a queer old cuss; Scotch
feller name of Ferguson. He’s pretty near the richest man in this
neck o’ the woods and peculiar in lots of ways. Has this big pulp
mill, but won’t have a business office in Portland or Boston, but
does everything from the mill there. Owns the bank in the town, too,
so all his money goes through there. Now all mail that goes to
Coldenham from round Boston or New York comes through this office.
Mostly always it lays over a bit in this office, for the only
railroad between here and Coldenham is a short haul road that’s
owned by Ferguson; more money for him you see. We get the mail on
the regular mail train here and then transfer it and send it along
to him. Once in a while his mail comes too late to catch the return
trip of his train and then we send it along to him by a flivver.
Have a regular rural carrier here that does that extra.

“Well, everything has always gone along all right until a couple of
weeks or so ago, the mail was rifled somewhere between its starting
point and its destination. ’Course there is no way of telling right
now just where this was done, but when the inspector comes we can
put a check on it from office to office and see at just what point
it was robbed. Most of the stuff has been checks, certified of
course, and so it’s done by someone that knows how to cash them
after they are taken.

“There’s the story in a nutshell. If you can make anything out of
it, you’re a better man than I am, any one of you.”

Denton concluded his story and leaned back in his chair surveying
the boys.

Garry was silent for a few moments, and then he made answer:

“I am afraid there is nothing that we can do. When the inspector
comes we can do anything that he asks and guide him around through
the country and that is about all. We are just Rangers and not
postoffice detectives.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do except sit tight and see that it
doesn’t disappear while it’s in this office. I wouldn’t have that
happen for the world. I’ve been postmaster here for nigh onto twenty
year, and never was so much as a postage stamp short in all that
time,” said Denton with an air of pride.

As they talked, Phil had been listening intently. He possessed an
almost abnormal hearing, and had frequently heard things that warned
of the approach of danger when his two chums could not hear a sound.

“Keep on talking, Garry,” he whispered to his chum, who happened to
be sitting nearest him. “Talk loudly.”

Then stepping cautiously, so as to make no sound, he approached the
window, which was up on account of the heat of the night, and with a
quick snap of his hand, caused the roller shade to fly to the top.

All present got a glimpse of the face of a man standing there at the
window, listening to the conversation. The chums made a dash for the
window and were fumbling at the screen when the man fled.

“By gosh, that’s Pete Avalon, one of the hangers on at the
restaurant kept by the big Frenchman where you fellows have eaten,
and where, if I remember rightly, one of you had an unpleasant
experience a while ago.”

“Now what was he there for if not to listen to the particular
conversation that we were having?” asked Garry of the others. “I
begin to make two and two into four on several of these questions. I
think that the sending of the letters to the Everetts and the theft
of the checks from the mail are done by the same people.”

“By gracious, there’s something I noticed when we were examining the
letters and then it slipped my mind. There was one letter there that
had no stamp on it, and I was going to ask how it had been
delivered. I’ll bet a cookie that it was slipped into the mail bag
by someone who was fooling around with the other mail. Now this
Avalon has probably hot-footed it to the man back of all this to
tell him that the law is already on the trail of the missing checks.
They know that you can fool very little with Uncle Sam’s mail
system. It’s one of the safest and best protected things in the
world,” declared Phil.

“Well, we can do nothing more tonight, except to notify the
constable to keep an eye on Avalon, and pick him up on suspicion for
questioning when the inspector gets here. We might as well go and
get some sleep now, and be fresh for a start in the morning,” said
Garry.

“Not much use in having Avalon watched. Now that he knows he was
seen, he is probably off to some hiding place where he will lie low
till he can get across the border. Still we’d better be safe than
sorry, and I’ll tell the authorities first thing in the morning,”
said Denton.

The boys took their leave of Denton and left the general store,
promising to look in next morning and buy some supplies, for they
intended to camp at the old lean-to outside the town.

They stood for a few moments on the steps of the general store
chatting with several of the villagers who made a sort of a club
room of the store every evening. Then they walked down the street a
way, when Garry stopped them for a consultation.

“I was just wondering if there was anything that we could do
tonight,” he told his friends. “I thought for a minute that we might
try and get on the trail of this Avalon and see where he went. If he
is mixed up in this, he probably went directly to where the head of
this mischief is and reported his discovery.”

“Don’t believe there is a chance in the world. He went off as though
he were shot out of a gun, and by now he is probably safely hidden
or making his way guardedly to his hiding place. If we had brought
Sandy with us tonight he might have gotten on the trail. Next time
we make any move, we’ll have him with us,” advised Dick.

“Guess you’re right, and the sensible thing to do is to go home to
bed,” answered Garry. They sauntered up the street towards the
section where Aunt Abbie lived, taking their time, for the night was
fine—a night such as is known only in Maine—when the heat of the
day is cooled off by the balsam laden breezes that blow through the
forests.

“Say, I want some candy before I go to bed,” announced Garry.

“Gosh, and you holler at me because I want to eat things now and
then,” laughed Dick.

“It’s mostly now with you Dick, and in my case it happens to be
then. You boys walk on ahead and I’ll trot back to Denton’s and get
a little. I won’t be more than five minutes and will catch up with
you by the time you reach Aunt Abbie’s house,” and Garry was off at
a trot for the store.

He procured his candy, and was walking back to join his comrades,
when he became suddenly aware that he was being followed.

Garry could not see anyone, but he had that instinct that comes to
anyone when he is being followed. It is the same feeling that one
has when he realizes that there is someone else in a room with him
when it was supposed to be empty.

He dodged behind a tree, and made a noise of tramping with his feet
as though he were still moving on.

This ruse succeeded, and he saw a man dodging from tree to tree.
Garry left his shelter and turned the corner into the street that
led to Aunt Abbie’s house, and there stepped quickly into the shadow
cast by a large elm tree. The electric light on the street was a
wretched affair, casting only a few feeble rays on the street below.

As he waited, a figure turned the corner, and with a start he
recognized Lafe Green.

Garry was undecided as to what course he would pursue. Should he
call to his friends to come back and join him, and see if they could
not bring Lafe back to justice, or should he see if he couldn’t
shake him off and then turn pursuer himself and see where Lafe would
go?

Green, however, decided matters for him. Evidently he had discerned
what Garry was up to, for when he reached the tree behind which
Garry was concealed, he darted around and came face to face with the
boy.

Garry put on a bold front, although inwardly he was a little
troubled over what might be the outcome of this meeting.

“Hello, Lafe,” said the boy. “How do you happen to be here?”

“Don’t know as it’s any of your particular business, but before you
go trying any funny business. I’ll tell you that I am out on bail,
so you have nothing on me at all.”

“I’ve been following you about, though, for the last few minutes, to
get a chance to tell you something. Unless you fellows get out of
here by tomorrow night, I promise you that you will be driven out in
a way that will make you sorry you ever came here. Get that?”




CHAPTER IV

THE GUM HUNTER’S CLUE


With these words, Lafe turned and walked swiftly away, leaving Garry
standing there dumbfounded for the moment. There was much food for
thought in what Green had just said. In the first place, Garry had
little idea that he would see Green at all, and could not understand
how he had gotten bail for his freedom. Then came the recollection
that the man had several friends around this particular section, and
undoubtedly had quite a little money himself, made out of some of
his illegal practices, such as the smuggling at which he had been
caught only a comparatively short time ago.

The threat of harm did not worry Garry particularly. He and his
chums had so often been in tangles that it did not faze him.

What did cause him the most concern was why Lafe should want them to
leave town. Of course he would be vengeful about the part they
played in his arrest, but that would hardly make him follow them and
give a specific warning.

Lafe and LeBlanc had been mixed up in the smuggling plot, and to
Garry it required no great stretch of the imagination to figure that
they might again be working in cahoots.

There was no particular use in following him, since he would
probably go to his home, and had possibly been seen by some of the
people in the town.

Deciding that he could do nothing, Garry hastened homeward, and
found that his friends had already arrived. They asked him what had
kept him so long, and he exploded a bombshell under their feet when
he told them of his meeting with Green.

“Now if we find out anything that connects the tramps with this
outfit as I suggested a while ago, we’ll have a pretty pack of
villains, won’t we?” asked Dick.

“I don’t think the tramps have anything to do with this, much as
you’d like to have it so, Dick,” said Garry.

“There’s one thing we might do a bit later if we deem it advisable,”
suggested Phil, “and that’s make a little tour of investigation of
Green’s house as you did last time, Garry. We know of the secret
entrance to the house, and that would simplify getting inside.”

“We’d have to have pretty good clues to make us do that again,”
decided Garry. “That last time was a pretty risky piece of business,
and luck was with us all the time. However, we shall see what later
developments will bring about. Now I move we say goodnight and crawl
off to bed.”

Ruth had been an interested listener all this time, and she implored
the boys to let her help if they would.

“I’d just love to think that I helped in any way to round up the
people that have been sending those horrid letters,” she said with
bated breath.

The boys laughed, and assured her that if they could use her in any
way to play detective they would surely call on her. They said
nothing concerning the new developments in the postal situation,
deeming it wiser to keep this matter a secret until the arrival of
the inspector.

Next morning after breakfast they set about taking photographs of
the letters. They did not think it highly necessary that this be
done, but there was little they could do until the arrival of the
man from the postoffice department, and besides, Dick was anxious to
try out his skill as a photographer. He was fairly adept already,
and was always trying to add to his experience.

“Now how are you going to treat that fingerprint, Garry?” asked
Dick.

“I won’t promise that it will be altogether successful; all I know
about doing it is something I read in a newspaper once. It seems
that the way they photograph prints is to cover the spot with some
specially prepared dark powder and that catches on the ridges of the
print left by the finger. Now we haven’t any of that particular kind
of powder, so we’ll have to invent something.”

“Let Uncle Dudley here come to bat with a bright suggestion,” said
Phil. “Suppose we just take an ordinary lead pencil and scrape on
the lead until we have sufficient powder for the purpose?”

“Fine. I believe that will do the trick,” responded Garry.

A pencil was quickly procured and Garry scraped a little heap of
graphite powder while Dick prepared to take the pictures.

He procured a board and tacked the letters on it, and then set it
against the house where the bright sunlight would strike it with
full force.

“I’m going to give this a time exposure,” he told the boys. “This
kind of work is generally done with artificial light, using an extra
powerful bulb; but I think with this bright sunlight and a time
exposure instead of a snapshot, we will be able to do a good job.”

Dick snapped the various letters, all except the one with the greasy
imprint on it. This was held to the last, and when he was ready the
board was laid flat while Garry sprinkled the powder on the print.
Then the board was tilted so that all the surplus scrapings would
slide off, leaving only those that adhered to the ridges. They were
delighted when they found that they could almost make out the
complete design of the print.

“I’m no judge of such matters, but I venture to say that there’s
enough of a print there for any purposes of identification. Snap
away,” said Garry.

Aunt Abbie and Ruth and her grandfather had been interested
spectators during this operation, and as soon as the photographing
of the letters was completed, Ruth asked if the boys would not take
a snapshot of the entire group.

Dick said he would be glad to, and was arranging the members of the
little party in a compact group, when the gate was opened and a man
walked up the path. He was a lean, sallow looking man, and as he
observed the three boys, he said:

“Am I right in supposing that one of you is Garry Boone?”

Garry stepped forward and said that was his name.

“My name is Simmons, and I’m from the postoffice department.”

Here was the expected inspector, and the boys crowded forward to
shake hands with him. Garry acted as master of ceremonies, and
introduced all the party to Simmons.

“We’re whiling away a few minutes taking pictures. Won’t you step in
and we’ll have a complete group; a regular illustration for ‘The
Mystery of the Threatening Letters,’” said Dick with a laugh.

Simmons appeared to hesitate for a moment, and then with a smile
stepped in beside Aunt Abbie and in another minute the picture was
snapped.

The boys neglected to mention the fact that they had taken pictures
of the letters—not meaning to conceal anything—but they were eager
to have Simmons go with them to the postoffice where they could
begin work on the mystery.

Simmons went into the house to question Mr. Everett, and while he
was talking, Dick removed the letters from the board and gave them
to Ruth to carry to Simmons. They followed in a few moments, as soon
as Dick had taken out the film, which had been exhausted, and
substituted a new one for more snaps.

“I’ll take charge of these letters,” said Simmons. “I don’t know
that you boys can be of a great deal of help. In fact I am of the
opinion that the less you are seen in connection with the case, the
better. Now I’m going to be perfectly frank with you. I don’t see
why boys were sent to mix in this case at all. It would have been
far better to have me here alone, where I could work with some of
the necessary secrecy that the case demands. Which reminds me, also,
that no one here is to tell anybody what my business is.”

This had been delivered in a rather snappy tone, and the boys were
somewhat hurt at the attitude taken by the inspector.

“Now get us right on this matter, please, Mr. Simmons. You won’t
find us making any silly suggestions to you how to do your work, and
as for our being here, boys or not, we came simply on the orders of
our superior. We are in the service of the State of Maine, and as
such are bound to obey orders, whatever duty may be assigned to us.
We were fortunate enough to give some slight assistance on the other
matters here, and it is probably for that reason that the Chief
Ranger had us come here.”

“Slight assistance indeed,” burst out Ruth. “Why, Mr. Simmons, they
were the only ones that did anything on that smuggling business. All
the treasury man had to do was bring handcuffs and arrest the men
after the boys had found out who was in the ring, and everything
that had to do with the fur and diamond smuggling.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that you may not prove to be of valuable
assistance,” Simmons hastened to say. “I merely thought that I would
get a good line on what is what, and it wouldn’t do for us to be
seen in company too much, for that would tip our hand to the ones
who are stealing the mailed checks.”

This seemed good logic to the boys, and so it was agreed that the
only time they should meet would be after nightfall and at Aunt
Abbie’s home.

Simmons decided to go alone to the postoffice, and the boys, seeing
there was nothing they could do for the present, determined to get
some supplies and go to their old lean-to and put it in shape for
habitation during their stay in that section.

They procured their groceries and wandered down the leafy forest
lane to their old camping ground. They found the lean-to in
excellent condition. All that needed to be done was to fix up stones
for their campfire and cut new boughs for a “mattress” on which to
lay their blankets.

“What do you think of this man Simmons?” asked Dick, as they set out
for a little clump of balsams to get boughs.

“Don’t know just what to say offhand,” answered Garry. “I can say,
however, that he seems to be a little peeved at our being here to
help him out. Of course I realize that it is a cheeky thing for a
pack of boys to be sent to help a man that knows his business, or is
supposed to know it, but orders are orders.”

“Well, maybe it is cheeky; but without being stuck on ourselves, I
don’t think the smuggler band would have been run down without our
help; or to put it more modestly, without the help of someone more
familiar with the ways of the woods than a city man from Washington.
However, we’ll do just what he tells us to, and let it go at that,”
said Phil, as he swung his hatchet and knicked off a few boughs.

“That isn’t my idea at all,” interrupted Dick. “We will in all
probability not be asked to give any help at all if my impression of
this man is correct. Therefore I move that we do a little work on
our own hook and see what we can do ourselves. If we find any clue
that is really promising, we can turn it over to Simmons. If he
accepts it, all well and good; we will know that he appreciates the
help. If he doesn’t, we can go on quietly ourselves and do what we
can. If we are fortunate enough to get the right clue that will lead
to the real culprit, we will offer it to him again. Then if he bars
us and pays no attention to it, the best thing to do will be to
communicate with the Chief Ranger at Augusta and get his advice as
to what to do. How does that strike you fellows?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Garry, “but I think you chaps are building
a mountain out of a mole hill. If we find something that means
anything, it will give the inspector a good impression of us, and we
will then be asked to give all the help we can. However, only a
little time will tell what is going to happen, and the first thing
to do is to find some real evidence that will help the case. Until
we do that we can’t claim to be much good, and I wouldn’t blame the
man for not wanting us to be bothering around.”

“Well, then, let’s follow our usual custom and hold a council of
war,” suggested Phil, as they started back to the lean-to with their
arms full of the fragrant balsam boughs.

This suggestion was hailed with delight by the others, and at the
lean-to they made haste to spread the boughs to that they would make
comfortable bunks, and then sitting Hindu fashion on the ground
between the two branch lean-tos, opened the council.

Garry was the appointed leader of the boys on all expeditions. This
had held true ever since they had first become friends, for Garry
was a year older than the others, and possessed of a level head. His
was a forceful personality that made him a born leader. Yet there
was never a complaint on the part of the others against Garry’s
leadership, for he possessed the fine trait of never being “bossy.”
An important step was always discussed before a decision was made,
and when there was any doubt, a vote was taken after each man had
had his say. Oftentimes they decided such matters as who should
perform certain duties by drawing lots, using three twigs, the man
getting the shortest being named for the job.

“All right, now,” said Garry. “Who has suggestion number one?”

“I believe that I have a hunch,” answered Phil. “Perhaps I am all
wrong and am just trying to paint a villain blacker than he is; but
I cannot get it out of my head that the halfbreed is mixed up in
this some way. Perhaps he is not the brains of the organization, but
Lafe Green might be. He is a cunning man, versed in all kinds of
villainy, and with LeBlanc’s bravery, for bad as he is, you must
give him credit for being fearless, they make a dangerous
combination. Lafe Green can command a certain type of men by holding
influence over them, and LeBlanc can lead certain kinds through
making them fear him. Then they seem to be mixed up in any mess that
we come in contact with. I move we start on the premise that they
are the ones.”

“Good logic, there,” said Garry, “and there is only one way to find
out whether or not your hunch is true. That is by following them all
and either pinning something on them, or finding that they are
guiltless.”

“Of all the crowd that we have run afoul of in the past few weeks,”
said Phil, “who is still at large?”

“Why, let me see,” said Garry. “I can think of only three. There are
the LeBlanc brothers and Lafe Green. Of course we don’t know how
many confederates there are for this outfit, but there should not be
many. Most of them were cleaned up at the time of the smuggling.
Then, too, this kind of business is something that does not require
a great deal of help. The threatening letters could be sent by one
man, and the mail robbery would not need many. I am inclined to
think there is inside help somewhere in that. Yes, there are only
three that I can think of.”

“Wait a minute, now,” interrupted Dick. “You forget the tramps.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. There is nothing to make us think they would
have become acquainted with Green and his outfit, and besides they
have seen us a couple of times and failed to recognize us. That was
natural, because we are dressed differently and are tanned up so
that our own families would hardly recognize us. If they had been
part of the Green-LeBlanc outfit, they would have been told of us,
and when they saw us would have made it known in some fashion. I
think they are only in this section because it is close to the
border, and they can keep out of sight. Perhaps they are laying
plans for some sort of a crime around here. At any rate, it would be
well to watch them and if possible effect their capture, for they
are wanted in Portland for jumping their bail. Well, that being put
aside for the moment, what is our first step?”

“I suggest first that we have a quiet talk with Denton, since we
were not allowed to be in the conference between him and Simmons.
Then I move that we take a little trip to Green’s house and try to
get in by way of the secret passage as you did the other time,
Garry,” said Phil.

“That sounds good to me. I think we could do it, for there was never
anything said about our knowing it. If we had been discovered that
time, they would either have blocked the passage up, or made some
provision for keeping prying people out when they were holding a
conference. Suppose we set tomorrow night for the trial and draw
lots for the one to go?” offered Garry.

“All right except for one thing,” said Phil. “I suggest that the
lots be drawn only between Dick and me. You had the thrill and the
adventure last time, so that ought to let you out, Garry.”

“Suits me, but I don’t like to think of you chaps doing anything as
dangerous as that might easily be, without being in on it.”

“Well, you did your duty the other time, and there will be no one to
say that you are backing out of danger, for you aren’t. Phil and I
are backing you out ourselves, so you can console yourself with that
thought,” said Dick with a laugh.

The lots were drawn, and to his inward delight, Dick was the lucky
man.

“That seems to be all that we can do for the present,” remarked
Garry. “Suppose we rest a bit and have dinner, then let Dick take a
few pictures and wander back to town and have a talk with Denton.”

This was the course agreed upon, and Phil wandered into the woods in
search of squirrels for a squirrel pie.

He was back in an hour with four beauties, and Dick was set to
skinning while Phil made the necessary dough for the pie crust.

All busied themselves in the task of preparing the dinner, and soon
it was ready. They had barely sat down, when a voice startled them.

“M-m-m, that coffee smells powerful good,” said the voice, and the
boys looked up to see a man standing near them.

“Well, if it isn’t our old friend, the gum hunter,” cried Garry.

And so it was. The gum hunter; meaning a man who made a part of his
living by wandering through the woods collecting spruce gum to sell
to the drug stores throughout the state, who had made their
acquaintance on their previous visit and at that time had given them
a tip that stared them on the quest of the smugglers that had ended
so successfully.

“Sit in and have pot luck with us,” invited Dick.

“Don’t know but what I will; was getting pretty hungry, and since I
was round near, thought I’d come here and fix myself some lunch.
Often come here because I can build a campfire at the same place,
and generally have a few old branches cut to use. Two or three times
I’ve slept here to save bother of going all the way back to town,
especially when I wanted an early start in the morning,” said the
gum hunter.

They finished their dinner, and were about to clean up, when the gum
hunter bade them wait.

“Callate I’ll have to furnish something towards this eatin’,” he
told them, and carefully delving into his pack brought forth a flat
package. “This is a home-made apple pie, and I hope ’tain’t squashed
up much, though I bin carryin’ it since morning. That’ll cut four
ways, and make good big pieces. ’Tain’t none of your miserable
little bakery pies.”

“Gosh,” said Dick, “that’s just what I need to top off my dinner.
Garry, pass the coffeepot.”

“Now what might you boys be doing back here? Setting out to catch
more smugglers? Saw Lafe Green in town again last night, and
wherever he is there’s bound to be contraband running across the
border.”

The boys knew that the old man was reliable and trustworthy, and one
who could be relied upon not only to keep a tight mouth about any
confidence that was given him, but one who could give sound advice
when occasion demanded it.

With this in mind, Garry sketched briefly the main points in the
matter that brought them back to Hobart and its vicinity.

“M-m-m, now, that requires considerable thought,” said the old
woodsman. “This matter of the mail robbery is somethin’ new to me.
Guess naturally the postoffice kept mighty quiet about that. ’Course
I know about the letters, saw one of them. That’s something I’d put
right at Lafe Green’s door, and where he is, there’s the halfbreed
to consider also. Lafe has always had it in for Everett, and
especially since the smugglin’ business; for everyone round here
knows that you chaps were in on it, and your bein’ friendly with Mr.
Everett has given rise to pretty good guesses that he helped you
out. That was to be expected, his having been in the Customs service
so long. But this other matter, I can’t say anything about till I
think it over.”

“We have had some idea that someone along the line in the
postoffices might have helped out. Otherwise this could not have
been done unless the mail carriers were held up at the point of a
gun and robbed,” said Garry. “What about Postmaster Denton?”

“Honest as the day is long,” promptly returned the gum hunter. “I’d
trust him with anythin’ I have, and there ain’t a soul in Hobart
that wouldn’t do the same thing.”

“That seems to let him out, then,” said Garry. “Now are we crazy and
stretching things when we figure that Green may have something to do
with this?”

“Yep, seems to be stretching it a little bit, but I wouldn’t put it
past him. Let me light up and think this out for a minute.”

So saying, George Washington Dudley—for that was the name of the
hunter—although he insisted that his friends call him “Dud,” hauled
out an old pipe and was soon puffing ruminatively away at it.

“If this thing was done with the help of any of the postoffice men,
it ought not to be a hard matter to trace it down,” suggested Garry.
“How about the man who delivers the mail with the flivver to
Coldenham when the pulp mill owner’s private road isn’t running?”

“He’s all right, cousin o’ mine; bank on his being honest,” returned
Dud.

He was silent a minute and then burst out:

“By ginger, it’s funny I didn’t think o’ that before. Find out one
thing, and you’ll have a good start. Find out if the robberies
happen to the mail that is delivered by my cousin or on the train
that runs between Hobart and Coldenham, and there’s your start.”

“Why, how will that help us?” inquired Garry.

“Why, dad blame it, the engineer o’ that train is a brother-in-law
of Lafe Green!”

This surprising piece of news threw all into a silence for a moment.

“You see how simple things are now?” queried Dud. “If you can find
out that letters are all right when they leave the Hobart
postoffice, and are all wrong when they get delivered to Coldenham,
then you have half the work done, and you can be pretty certain that
Lafe is back of it.”

“That’s step number one, then,” said Garry. “Let’s hustle back to
town and have a little chat with Denton. Which way are you bound,
Dud?”

“I’m off for about two or three days in the woods. Need some money
and so can’t afford to loaf; besides, these be great days for
wandering through the forest, and can’t afford to miss one of ’em.
We’re due for good weather for a week or two, then we’re due for a
spell o’ rainy days. All signs pint that way. So good luck to you.
I’ll look ye up when I get back, either here or in town. Ought to
catch you one place or t’other.”

Dud shouldered his pack, and loped off into the woods with a wave of
his hand at the chums, and soon disappeared from view.

The boys hastened to straighten out the camp after their dinner and
then prepared to go to town.

“What say we do same as we did last time—cache the foodstuff in one
of the trees near here; that will prevent any marauder from making
off with it, and leaving us hungry some night?” asked Dick.

“Good enough,” said Garry. “We can use the same tree, since it is
already marked so we can readily recognize it.”

This was done and the trio proceeded townwards. Arriving at the
postoffice they found Denton sitting on the wide porch that
stretched for the full length of the store, gossiping with several
old men of the village.

He hailed the boys as he saw them approach, and when they climbed up
onto the porch invited them to come inside.

He led the way back to his little cubbyhole office, and when they
were seated, asked what luck they had had.

Garry replied that little had been done and little could be until
they had asked him some questions.

“First thing,” said the leader of the Rangers, “has Simmons, the
inspector, been here yet?”

“Yes, drat him, only left a little while ago,” was the sour reply.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Garry in surprise, at the tone of
Denton’s voice.

“Seems to think I know all about this matter, and says he thinks
half the trouble is right here. Asked a lot of fool questions about
the letters sent to the Everetts and darn few about the stolen mail.
Seemed to be most interested in the contents of the safe. Made me
check over all the stamps and the cash of the postoffice, and wanted
to know how much money was generally kept there, and if it was cared
for safely, and all that sort of stuff. Seems kind of funny he’d be
worried more about a couple or three hundred dollars of postoffice
money than about Ferguson’s missing checks, which now total up
nearly three thousand dollars. I think he has an idea I’ve stolen
the dratted checks myself.”

The boys did not pay too serious attention to Denton’s tirade
against the inspector, for they thought that his brusque manner, a
little of which had been displayed to them, had riled the
postmaster.

Dick said so in as many words, and laughed a little at Denton’s
ruffled feelings. “What did he say about us?” asked Dick.

“Well, young feller, you think I’m put out at the way Simmons talked
to me, here’s a little for yourself. He told me not to have anything
to do with that parcel o’ dime novel reading boys that had come to
town to tell the postoffice how to run its business. So there’s one
for you!”

This time it was Dick’s turn to be ruffled, and in fact so were his
chums.

“It’s plain to be seen that there can be little cooperation between
us and the inspector,” said Garry after everyone had cooled down a
trifle. “I think we had better proceed in our own way, being ready
of course to do anything that Simmons asks us to do. Now, if you
feel that you can give us any private information, Mr. Denton, we’d
be glad to have it. We have one clue now that may be worth
following. Can you tell us when most of the letters that contain the
checks are delivered and how?”

“Surely can,” answered Denton. “They’re registered, and generally
come in on the noon train that goes across the border. That has most
of the mail from the big cities. Most of the mail that comes on the
local trains is only from Bangor and smaller towns along the way.
That means that it’s delivered on Ferguson’s one-horse train. We
call it the creeper around here, it’s so wheezy and slow. It comes
in mornings dragging a load of pulp which is generally left in the
storehouse that Ferguson has here until he gets a sizable amount,
then a freight train takes it from here to the paper mills down the
line. Late afternoon it makes a return trip.”

“I always aim to put the registered mail and most of the Ferguson
mail on that train, for the carrier doesn’t start until later than
the train.”

Garry looked significantly at his pals, and warned them with a look
to let him do all the talking.

“What makes you ask about that?” asked Denton.

“Why, we only have a hunch that it would be a good thing to check
the deliveries along the route and see if there is any way of
ascertaining where the letters might be opened,” answered Garry, who
decided that they had better keep their ideas to themselves for a
while, until they found there was basis for suspicion, or else found
they were on a wild goose chase. If the latter were the case, they
did not want everyone to laugh at them for their foolish hunch.

The answer seemed to satisfy Denton, and he said:

“As for giving you boys any help, you can count on me every minute.
I know what you chaps have done, and I kinder like you, and I don’t
like that man Simmons at all. In fact if he don’t show some signs of
life and do something after he’s been here for a reasonable time, I
am going to write the department and ask that another inspector be
sent that won’t bother about the stamps, which have a regular
inspection every so often, and will put his time in on the right
matter.”

There was nothing further that the boys could ask then, so they went
out into the store.

“Better buy something so that we will seem to have a purpose in
coming to the store other than our real one,” whispered Phil to
Garry.

Garry nodded his head, and for the benefit of those who were sitting
out on the porch and who he knew were probably inveterate gossipers,
they made a few minor purchases, leaving them to be called for on
their way back to the lean-to.

Then they went to Aunt Abbie’s to see their friends, and found that
Mr. Everett was out but that Ruth was at home. She greeted them with
sparkling eyes, and her whole manner indicated the she had some very
important secret or idea in her keeping. The boys could not help but
notice this, and pressed her to tell them what she was so excited
about.

The girl, however, steadfastly refused to divulge her thoughts, and
seeing that she had made them curious to a great degree, teased them
considerably about what she called “womanish curiosity.”

It was well along in the afternoon by now, and the boys, refusing
Aunt Abbie’s pressing invitation to stay for supper, withdrew to
make their way back to their camp. They wanted to talk over the new
angle in the case, which might mean a trip to Coldenham first,
rather than a search of Lafe Green’s house. That could probably come
later.

They arrived at camp just before dusk and set about the routine of
preparing the evening meal. As the boys worked, Dick remarked that
he did not think he had enough boughs for a bed, as he was heavier
than the others and would sink in them much more easily.

The chums laughed at this, and Dick retorted:

“Go on, just because you skinny fellows can sleep on two branches
and a stone is no reason I should be uncomfortable. Go on, start the
supper while I get some more boughs.”

“How about you helping out a little on the supper?” queried Phil.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You get the supper and let me get some
more stuffing for under my blanket, and I’ll wash the dishes.”

This announcement was like a thunderbolt, for Dick hated dish
washing above anything else. He would cut wood or carry water or
cook without a murmur, but dish washing drew one constant grumble
from him.

“Gosh, Garry, let him get all the boughs he wants. When Dick offers
voluntarily to wash the dishes, it’s a day to celebrate. By the way,
Dick, you might bring a few extra ones for me while you’re at it.”

“Dick must be sick or something,” laughed Garry, as he watched the
fat boy depart.

In a short time Dick came struggling back under a load of boughs,
and as supper was not yet ready, decided to re-arrange his bunk
while waiting. He went into the lean-to and kicked away the boughs
he had already placed.

Then his chums were startled out of a year’s growth by hearing him
utter a piercing scream.




CHAPTER V

AN INDIAN TRICK


With the scream still ringing in their ears, Garry and Phil dashed
into the lean-to to discover Dick staring spellbound at the ground.

“Look,” he gasped.

The boys cast their eyes on the ground, and beheld a big
rattlesnake, stone dead.

“Did you kill it, Dick?” was Garry’s first question.

“No, it was laying there under the boughs that made my sleeping
place. Gosh, it scared me, I can tell you. I don’t know what made me
scream so. I guess it was just the thought that it might have been
alive, and that I would have laid down there tonight. I saw that it
was dead, of course, the minute I looked at it, but I couldn’t help
letting out that yelp. Ugh, it makes me creep now to think of it.
Wonder how it chose that place to die?”

“Must have crawled in and then gave up the ghost,” said Phil.

In the meantime Garry had been examining the reptile’s body.

“That snake was killed by a human being,” he announced. “See, its
head is crushed, and it has been hit several times with a club.
Don’t see how it could have crawled very far after being mashed up
that way.”

“What do you mean?” was the startled question of Dick.

“Looks suspiciously like an ill-timed practical joke to me,”
answered Garry. “Of course it is foolish to think we are the only
ones that ever come near here, and some passerby or camper might
have killed it and seeing that this place was occupied, hidden it
there to do just what it did—scare one of us half to death. Any
snake is bad enough, but a rattler, even a dead one, is enough to
shake anyone’s nerve for a minute.”

“Well, let’s throw the thing away and forget about it,” said Phil.

“I think I remember Dud say once that among his many occupations and
ways of making a living in the woods, was by skinning a snake
whenever he happened to kill one, and selling the skin. There are
some people who want such things for curios, but blessed if I would
want one,” said Dick. “Chuck it outside and next time we see him we
can tell him he can have it.”

“Wonder if Dud would have done that for a joke,” asked Phil.

“I doubt that,” said Garry. “Dudley is too sensible a person to play
a fool trick like that, knowing how it would startle anyone. No,
whoever did that was half foolish. Gosh, there’s the coffee boiling
over,” and Garry dashed to the campfire. They forbore talking about
the snake during supper, and were about to forget it, when Garry
looked at his chums with a gleam of understanding.

“Listen, you two. I may be wrong, but am more likely right. I just
happened to remember something that gives me the creeps. If I’m
right, it is the most dastardly attempt to kill a person that I ever
heard of.”

“Gosh, don’t give a lecture; tell us what you mean,” broke in Dick.

“It’s just this. That dead rattler was put there with a distinct
purpose by some one who wants us out of the way!”

“You don’t think anyone is foolish enough to believe that a dead
reptile would drive us away do you? Of course we would be startled,
but it wouldn’t make us run out of the country,” scoffed Phil.

“No, you don’t get the point at all,” said Garry, his face paling at
the thought. “Haven’t you ever heard that the mate of a dead snake
will always find the body and wait there, sometimes for days? It
must be some instinct that makes it think the killer of its mate
will come that way, and enable him to get revenge.”

The truth of this sank in with such appalling suddenness that the
boys were speechless for a moment.

When at last Dick found his voice, he said in a trembling tone that
he tried to conceal but could not:

“Why, that means that I might have been bitten as I slept tonight;
and not only that, but all three of us might have met the same fate.
Who do you suppose was at the bottom of that attempt on our lives?”

“Well,” remarked Garry grimly, “I can think of only one person who
would have been fiendish enough to do that, let alone think of it.
It’s an old Indian trick to get rid of an enemy without leaving a
trace. Boys, just as sure as we’re sitting here, Jean LeBlanc is
back on our trail, and that snake was put there by none other than
our halfbreed enemy!”

“That means step carefully every minute then, doesn’t it?” asked
Phil.

“You bet it does,” responded Garry. “From now on we go back to our
old system of night watches. Two hours and a half of duty for each
of us every night while we are in the woods, and eyes in the back of
our heads all the time.”

“Do you suppose Lafe Green could have done that?” queried Phil. “You
know he gave a pretty significant warning to you last night, Garry.”

“No, I don’t believe he would have thought of that, and besides he
was around town all day, as you will remember Denton told us when we
asked him. It means that LeBlanc has come back and they have joined
forces.”

The chums carefully searched every nook and corner of the lean-to,
and shook out the boughs that made their bunks, for they did not
know what other infernal contrivance their enemies might have laying
in wait for them.

It was also agreed to keep the campfire going all through the night,
the boy being on sentry duty being detailed to keep it supplied with
fuel. To this end, all hands turned out for a few minutes and
gathered firewood. A sharp watch was kept for the mate of the
rattler, and before turning in, it was carried several feet away
from the camp, and thrown at the foot of a tree.

“You know I have an idea that whoever did that, or rather say
LeBlanc, since we are morally certain it was his work, will come
back here tomorrow to see if his ruse worked. If he finds us gone,
he will be likely to look under the boughs to see if the reptile is
still there. Now we are not certain that it is LeBlanc or Green, it
may be someone else. In that case we would want to know what he
looked like. So here is my idea. Just before we leave in the
morning, I am going to rig up a camera trap,” said Dick.

“A what?” asked Phil.

“Camera trap; haven’t you ever heard of one? They’re often used in
the woods by people who want to get good pictures of wild animal
life. You just fix a place for the camera and focus it on a spot,
then set a trap that will pull down the lever when it is stepped on
or moved. Simple as A B C. I’ve never done it before, but I know how
to construct one. We’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

By this time it had become quite dark, and the boys turned in,
except for Phil, who drew the first tour of sentry duty. Warning him
to keep his eyes and ears open every minute, Garry and Dick rolled
into their blankets.

Phil was as restless as a cat on a hot plate. Every snapping twig or
soughing of the breeze through the trees made him jump. He made
constant patrols around the lean-to, snapping on his pocket electric
light as soon as he got out of the range of the light afforded by
the campfire.

Nothing, however, developed during his watch, and it was with a bit
of relief that the end of the two and a half hour period came. He
awakened Garry, who was to take the second watch, and soon was
curled up in his blanket and fast asleep.

Garry felt much the same as Phil had, although he took things
easier, for he was not of the sensitively nervous type as was Phil.

Nevertheless, he too was glad to call Dick. It was not that the boys
were in any way cowards, for they were not. Had it been a human
being whom they expected, they would have thought nothing of it;
rather they would have considered it a welcome bit of excitement.
But this was an entirely different matter—a creeping enemy that
would come on them unawares, and which was more dangerous than human
being or animal could have been.

Dick yawned and grumbled when Garry shook him, then he rubbed the
sleep out of his eyes, and looked to see that his rifle was in good
working order.

“Anything stirring?” he asked, as Garry handed over the electric
torchlight to him.

“Nothing breezing yet; keep your eyes peeled,” whispered Garry.

Dick took a round of the lean-to, then running true to form,
rummaged around till he found a package of cookies he had bought the
previous day, and munched away at them as he watched. He kept his
eyes glued to the spot where the dead reptile had been thrown,
flashing his light there at momentary intervals.

Then another thought struck him. He now wondered whether the snake
would go directly to the body, or whether it would come first to
where its mate had originally been. This made Dick jump to his feet,
for he had been sitting with his back to the lean-to where his chums
were asleep, where he could watch everything for several feet around
in the gleam of the campfire. He patrolled the camp, and then came
and threw fresh wood on the fire. As the dry branches caught and
burst into a bright flame, he cast one look at the spot where the
dead snake had been put, then let out a yell, and throwing his rifle
to his shoulder, fired after a hasty but accurate aim. He emptied
the magazine before he stopped firing.

The shots brought his companions tumbling out with their rifles.

“What is it Dick?” shouted Garry.

“Gosh, it’s a wonder I had presence of mind enough to shoot,”
shivered Dick. “I looked at the place once and saw nothing, then
made a patrol of the camp and threw on some more wood. It couldn’t
have been quite five minutes when I looked at the spot once more,
and there, coiled up was a real live snake. Let’s go over and see if
it’s dead.”

“Careful now; throw on some more wood and get your flashlights out,”
ordered Garry. “Dick, you take the three of them, they’ll give a
fine light. Phil, you and I will take our rifles, and we’ll edge
over there very slowly. Be ready to shoot on the instant.”

“Wait a minute,” said Phil. “Bullets won’t always kill a snake. Get
a pole and be ready to break its spinal cord with a good blow. One
can keep his rifle ready. A rattler can’t strike without coiling,
and if it is alive it’s probably threshing around from the bullets.
Here, grab this heavy sapling that forms a support for this side of
the lean-to.”

It was only an instant to tear away the pole, and then with Dick
holding the flashlights they advanced cautiously. When they reached
the spot they heard no warning rattle. The rattle snake never
strikes without first whirring the button-like appendages on the
tail. They looked and saw that Dick’s aim had been deadly. Dick’s
magazine rifle contained fifteen bullets, and he had emptied the
whole of them at the snake. One had taken deadly effect, smashing
the reptile’s head, and one or more had severed the spinal column.

“Ugh, that’s over with, unless they bring some of their cousins and
aunts,” said Dick with a little shudder.

Dick’s remark brought a relief to the tension, and the others
laughed heartily.

“No, it’s all over now,” said Garry. “We’ll heave these things far
into the woods and forget about it. Mark where we put them and Dud
can have the skins. Now let’s get back to bed. Just to be safe,
however, Dick you finish the night watch.”

Quiet then reigned in the camp, and Dick waited contentedly until
dawn, when he started the coffee and then awakened his companions.

Immediately after breakfast, Dick set about making his camera trap.

“First thing we must do,” he announced, “is to make this lean-to so
that there is only one entrance. That’s because I can focus the
camera to cover only so much ground. Best way to do is to lay two or
three more saplings crosswise between the two brush shacks, and
weave some branches on them.”

All three set to work and made the lean-to inaccessible on one side.
This was done by laying four saplings across the opening and
fastening them to the uprights that held the lean-tos. On these were
hung quantities of branches, which were then twisted in and out of
each other much as one would weave a basket. This is the usual way
to make a brush house in the woods, and so constructed, they are
easy to make and all right for good weather. Of course a heavy rain
will soon penetrate, and so they are not generally used for
permanent camps. Still, when they are properly prepared, and thickly
woven, these houses will keep out an ordinary summer shower.

“There, how’s that for a job?” asked Garry.

“Pretty good, except for one thing. We’ll need some more branches so
as to make that wall extra thick, because it is in that that I am
going to mask the camera,” answered Dick, who was superintending the
job since it was his idea.

This was soon done, and then they stepped back and surveyed their
handiwork.

“Now what’s the next step?” queried Phil.

“Next thing to do is to dig a shallow trench two feet square and six
to eight inches deep. Only way I see to do that without a shovel is
to use our hatchets as pickaxes, and then scrape away the dirt with
our hands.”

“What’s the idea of the trench?” asked Garry.

“You ought to be able to see that without asking questions. That’s
what I’ll use to lay some sort of a platform on that will cause the
lever of the camera to snap. Thing that stumps me just now is how to
make that platform. Before we cross that bridge, however, let’s get
that trench fixed. On second thought, it need be only about three
inches deep. I am beginning to see light.”

The work of making the trench was simple, and when it had been
completed, Dick ordered them to get about a dozen thin saplings.

“Strikes me the fat boy is pretty good at bossing, isn’t he, Garry?”
said Phil with a laugh.

“Go on now, get those saplings. You see before you a mighty inventor
who cannot be bothered with menial tasks,” said Dick in a lofty
tone.

“Don’t know whether to trip him up and sit on him, or just ignore
him,” said Garry to Phil.

Still chaffing good naturedly, the two set out for the saplings,
while Dick busied himself with setting his camera in the brush,
masking it so that only the lens appeared. Having done this, he
stepped away a few feet and looked to see if it was observable. He
decided that no one could see it without looking for it especially.

Garry and Phil came back and stood for a moment, looking straight at
the brush screen that had been erected.

“Why didn’t you improve the shining moments and put your camera in
place?” asked Garry as he saw the closed case lying on the ground.

“Fine!” exclaimed Dick delightedly. “It’s there already, and if you
boys who know about it couldn’t see it, then certainly no one else
will. Now for the trap.”

The making of the trap was a delicate process. First he took two
sticks and laid them crossways at each end of the trench. Then he
anchored these securely at each end, putting dirt on them and
stamping it down with his heavy shoe packs so that it would not stir
in the slightest degree.

Next he delved into his knapsack and brought out some strong but
thin linen cord they had bought some time previously and which had
served them well at various times, since it was light enough to do
fairly delicate work with, yet strong enough to bear some strain. He
ran a length of this from the lever on the camera to a sapling which
was laid across the two supports that he had built. With this as a
guide, he attached a dozen threads a foot or two from where the
nearest sapling began.

The next thing was to run the main string down and under one of the
sapling supports on the brush screen where the camera was concealed.
He smoothed away the bark from the wood so that the string would
slip easily, and then ran it back up to the ridge of the lean-to.
From there it was brought across and down to the ground, where the
trap was to be laid.

“You see the idea, now, don’t you?” Dick asked.

“Well, we have vague glimmerings, and that is all,” answered Garry,
speaking for himself and Phil.

“The thing is simple enough. This cord has been brought around so
that it is attached to the lever and to this trap. When someone
steps on the trap, it will sink just enough to pull on the cord, and
that will bring down the lever, and presto, your picture is taken.”

“Well, I see that,” said Garry, “but what’s to prevent its taking
another picture when someone steps on it again?”

“Easy again. Once the camera has been snapped by the trap, its work
is done. You see the lever on this camera takes one picture when you
pull down, then to get another, you push the lever back up. Of
course there is nothing in this crude trap that will push up, so you
can take only one picture without resetting the trap,” explained
Dick.

“That’s well explained; now tell me something else and I will keep
quiet for a while,” said Garry. “Why have you tied some extra
threads to your main line that leads to the lever?”

“That’s an extra precaution. If I had a wide board that I could set
in the ground, a weight on any portion of it would cause the entire
board to sink a bit, and that would give the necessary pull to
release the lever. But we have no board and so I must lay these
strips of sapling close together. Suppose that the intruder steps on
one spot, he would only cover about nine or ten of these saplings,
and if my string was not hitched to those particular saplings, the
trap wouldn’t work. The idea of the extra strings is so that on
whatever portion of saplings anyone stands, he will be sure to pull
down on a string. Savvy?”

“Right, as usual, I stand corrected,” murmured Garry in a purposely
humble tone.

Dick looked at him sharply.

“Are you trying to rag me a bit?” he asked.

“No, not trying to,” answered Garry with special emphasis on the
word “trying.”

Dick was about to make a retort, then kept silent, for he knew that
Garry was having a bit of fun with him, and in a battle of words
with the sharp-witted leader, he knew from experience that he would
come off second best.

All that remained now to do was to set the saplings. Dick filled in
the trench so that the saplings would clear the ground by just about
half an inch, all that was necessary to bring down the little lever.
One by one the saplings were laid and the threads attached, Dick
drawing the string taut while Garry held the lever up so that it
would not be accidentally pulled down. Finally the saplings were all
laid.

“Now we must cover the saplings with some dirt very carefully and
smooth it down hard,” said Dick. The dirt was sprinkled on and then
bidding Garry guard the lever, Dick patted it down hard on the
improvised platform.

“That’s good so far,” said Phil. “But won’t the person who steps on
that feel the give of it, and become suspicious?”

“That’s one chance we will have to take, but I intend to sprinkle a
few pine needles on top of this and try to give it the appearance of
soft ground. You know how often one steps on a springing, spongy
surface in the woods.” As he talked he threw handfuls of pine
needles on the spot.

“There, guess that’s camouflage for you. I don t think anyone would
ever know it had been fooled with,” said Dick, with some pride in
his handiwork. And indeed he had good cause to be pleased, for the
ground looked not a whit different than the surroundings.

“There is just one thing more. That is the liability of the intruder
sneaking around the corner of the lean-to and dodging the trap
altogether,” said Dick, “and we can soon fix that with a few
saplings. We will make a sort of little fence with an opening only
wide enough for an entrance. That will serve a double purpose. It
will make the intruder step on the trap, and it will offset the
appearance of the brush wall at the back by making it appear that we
have simply fixed up our lean-to in fancy fashion.” As he spoke,
Dick began to make the “fence,” and the others, catching onto the
idea, lent a willing hand.

When it was completed, the shack had a comfortable air about it that
led the boys to decide that when the trap had served its purpose,
the other trappings would be left as they were.

“Now let’s pull out for town and see Denton and look up Simmons,
just to see what he has to say for himself,” suggested Dick.

The chums slung their packs over their shoulders, for they seldom
went anywhere without them, not knowing at what moment they might be
called on to make a hurried move.

The work of making the trap had required about two hours, and the
walk to town generally took them an hour. This morning it was a
trifle longer, for the day was fine, and there was no especial need
of haste, hence they sauntered along at an easy pace, while
chattering about half a dozen different topics.

They reached town about ten in the morning and proceeded to the
general store. Denton was sitting on the front porch, his usual
place when the duties of the store did not demand his attention.

He saw the boys approaching and waved to them as they walked up the
street.

“Well, what news this morning?” asked Garry.

“Nothing much more than usual. Simmons was in this morning and
looked around and asked when the next batch of registered letters
was expected, and then said he was going to drive to Coldenham, and
off he went.”

“Why should he ask you when registered letters would come?” asked
Garry, who was rather puzzled at what seemed the peculiarity of the
question.

“How are you supposed to know anything about when certain letters
will arrive?”

“Lately, Ferguson’s office has been calling me on the telephone to
let me know when money was expected, in the hope that I could
exercise special care for the safety of the letters. Of course I
told Simmons about it, so it was natural that he should ask me about
this.”

“Are any letters due today or tomorrow?” asked Garry.

“Yes, I got notice early this morning that some were expected from
Portland in payment of the last loads of pulp sent down the line.”

There was nothing else in the way of news, and so the boys, after
chatting about other matters for a few moments, took up their way
towards Aunt Abbie’s house. On their way they passed the French
restaurant where Dick had once been imprisoned by LeBlanc and Green,
and were not greatly surprised to see Lafe Green standing in the
doorway. He gave the boys a malevolent look as they neared him, and
when they passed by whispered sibilantly:

“This is your last warning; get out of here and get out quick!”

Garry stopped in his tracks.

“Listen, Green. Let me give you a little warning. You can’t drive us
out of town with threats, and all your little schemes and those of
LeBlanc won’t do you a bit of good. And there won’t be any
kidnapping either, for we are making no move without letting someone
know where we are going and why. The moment that anyone of us
disappears for more than six hours, you and all your friends will be
tracked down and arrested.

“I am writing a complete account of this business for the sheriff,
and for the state authorities at Augusta, so that any move you make
will bring you speedily before someone that you cannot get away
from. Now, is that clear to you?”

Green laughed loudly, but there was a false ring in his mirth. The
idea of the boys having a constant check kept on their movements was
not evidently to his liking, neither was the fact that the state
authorities would take up the matter. He knew, of course, that the
boys were in the Ranger Service—LeBlanc had told him that—and knew
that the Rangers would leave no stone unturned to run down anyone
that would harm a member of that service.

“You make big talk, young fellow, but I’m telling you that this
country is dangerous for you; not from me, understand, but from some
people that I don’t control. Better save your skins and get back to
the city and not concern yourselves with things that you shouldn’t.”

Green turned on his heel and walked into the restaurant, and the
boys resumed their way.

“What’s all this about a letter, Garry?” asked Dick. “That is the
first I’ve heard of it.”

“Same here,” said Garry. “It just struck me at the moment, however,
that it would be a wise thing to do, and so I threw it at Lafe in
the hopes that it might check his future actions slightly. I believe
the shot went home at that.”

Arrived at Aunt Abbie’s, they found her all wrought up.

Her first words exploded like a bombshell.

“Ruth went out last night and hasn’t been home since!”




CHAPTER VI

GARRY’S CHASE


“Ruth gone?” ejaculated Garry. “Are you sure she has disappeared, or
is there some place she would have gone to visit?”

“Why, she would never have gone out for any length of time without
letting someone know where she was going. She dressed for a walk a
little while after supper last night, and said she might drop in and
see her girl friend, Nellie Crombie. When it came almost eleven
o’clock her grandfather got worried and went to Nellie’s house,
where they told him Ruth had left almost a half an hour before. It
wouldn’t take her more than ten minutes to get home, so her
grandfather got still more worried and came straight back here. At
midnight she hadn’t come, and so he started out looking for her. He
went to all her friends, but no one had seen her. Then he called up
several people who live around the Crombie’s place to see if they
had seen her, but no one had. He’s been up all night and was out
this morning looking around. He is nearly frantic and so am I. I
don’t know where she could have gone.”

Aunt Abbie was all of a tremble as she told the boys of the missing
girl.

To the boys, here was something that demanded immediate attention.
They surmised at once that it was part of the plan of the letter
writers to terrorize the family. First there was the burning house,
and since this had not succeeded in showing the little family that
the conspirators were in deadly earnest, this last had been resorted
to.

“Where can we find Mr. Everett now?” Garry asked Aunt Abbie.

“Goodness only knows; he’s been everywhere, asking all his friends
if they have seen the girl. Best thing to do would be to go back to
the village and ask if he has been seen. You ought to find him real
easy that way. There has been some talk of organizing a search party
to go into the woods, but what would Ruth have wanted in the forest
alone and at night?”

The boys could not answer this question, and were about to turn back
to the village, when they saw Mr. Everett approaching the house. He
shuffled along as though he were extremely weary. When he saw the
boys, his tired face lighted up.

“I’m glad you are here, for maybe you can help me; no one else can
around here. I suppose Aunt Abbie has told you what has happened?”

“Yes, sir, and we’re just on the point of starting out to see what
we can do,” said Garry. “Have you any news at all?”

“Yes; I found a man that said he saw Ruth going up Clemson street
about twenty minutes to eleven.”

“Where is Clemson street and where does it lead to?” asked Phil.

“Why, it’s on the other side of the village. You boys know where it
is; it’s the one you took that night you went to Lafe Green’s farm;
it leads right past there and along towards the border.”

Suddenly a staggering thought hit Garry. Clemson street leading to
Lafe Green’s farm. The secret passage. Ruth’s desire to help the
boys play detective. Her eagerness last night. The secret that she
would not let the boys in on.

All these thoughts flashed through Garry’s mind in rapid succession.

“I believe I have a good clue, and we’ll follow it up right away. My
advice to you now, sir, is that you hustle off to bed and get some
sleep. You’ll need all your strength, and you can depend on us to do
everything in our power to help you,” said the Ranger leader.

“I guess I will take your advice. I’m tuckered out, and I don’t
believe I could go another step without dropping. Now that I know
you fellows are here, it relieves my mind considerable. I’ll only
take a short nap and then wait for you to come back with news,” said
the old man as he turned into the house.

Aunt Abbie was about to follow him, when Garry caught her by the
hand.

“Listen, Aunt Abbie. Don’t wake him up under any circumstances, or
we will have a mighty sick man on our hands. Let him sleep as long
as he can, and in the meantime we’ll find something to work on. Now
you’ll do that, won’t you?”

“Bless your heart, of course I will. He hasn’t had a mite of sleep
since yesterday morning. Now good luck, boys, and bring our little
girl back to us,” said the kindly old lady.

Off down the street started Garry, followed by his curious chums.

“What’s the big idea?” asked Dick. “Tell us before we explode with
curiosity. What is your hunch?”

“Yes, out with it,” added Phil.

“I’m going to in a minute. I just wanted to get away from the house
so that Aunt Abbie or the old gentleman would not hear us and worry.
Here’s my hunch. You know how Ruth has said a half a dozen times
that she envied us for our adventures, and that a girl never could
do anything, and how she would like to help us out in this
business?”

“Yes, we understand that; go on,” said Phil.

“And you know how excited she was yesterday afternoon? Well, I think
she went to Lafe Green’s house to see if she could find anything out
that would be of help to us. You know she’s daring and not afraid of
anything, like so many girls are. It’s ten to one that she went
there. You remember she knows about the secret passage because she
was there when her grandfather told us about it that night.”

“Say, I believe you’re right, Garry. What’s the next move then?”
said Dick.

“Looks to me as though the next move were to go directly to Green’s
house and have a showdown,” said Phil.

“Right you are, Phil. On the march now. We’ll keep this under our
hat so that there will be no danger of Lafe Green and his gang
getting a tip.”

Almost running, they reached Clemson Road and headed in the
direction of Green’s farm.

On the way they discussed the most advisable way to approach the
house. Should there be any force of men there, it would be folly to
approach the house openly, as it would give warning.

As they neared the place, Garry called a halt to allow them to
regain their breath, for they were all puffing so fast had Garry set
the pace. Also, he wanted to hold a council.

“There, we can see the house from here,” he said as they gathered
under a big tree. “I thought I remembered the general lay of the
land. You see we can go around through the field there and come up
back of the barn, and from there to the house is so short a distance
that we can make it in a few seconds on the run. Dick, you get in
front of the barn after we reach the house, to prevent anyone from
making an escape through the secret passage. Phil and I will beard
the lion in his den.”

“Just a minute, though,” put in Dick. “I am game to do anything you
decide, but can we go busting into a man’s house without a warrant
or any authority?”

“Technically we can’t, but this seems to be a time for action if
ever there was one. If we find our guess to be correct, and Ruth is
held there, no one will bring up the question of our authority. We
are dealing with known criminals, and we can show good cause for our
suspicions. At any rate, we’ll think about that later. Like the
western sheriffs used to say, it’s a case of shoot first and ask
questions afterwards.”

“Let’s go,” said Garry enthusiastically.

Garry’s enthusiasm was transferred to the others, and off across the
fields they started, bending low in the hay to avoid detection as
much as possible, although they did not think too sharp a watch was
being kept in the day time, except possibly the roadway that led to
the house.

When they reached the back of the barn, Garry halted them again.

“First look to your rifles. We might need them. Now, Dick, give us
forty seconds to reach the house, then run around and take your
stand where you can watch the barn door. If you need help, fire your
rifle twice. Now Phil, shoot for the house.”

Garry and Phil started and Dick glued his eyes on his watch.

At the house they saw no sign of anyone having heard their approach,
and there seemed to be no indication of anyone’s being around. Garry
began to think the house was deserted and made up his mind that even
if this were the case he was going through it.

They came around to the front door, which stood open, and Garry
stuck his head through the doorway and called:

“Hullo, there in the house.”

Both boys kept their rifles in such position that they could be
thrown up instantly. For a moment there was no response, then Garry
repeated his call. There was a sound of someone shuffling along in
his stocking feet, then a man came into the hall.

Garry and Phil almost dropped their rifles from surprise, for there
stood one of the tramps.

“What you want,” he half grunted. From his tousled appearance he had
evidently been asleep.

“We want to have a look through this house, and while we’re at it we
want you,” answered Garry.

“Want me?” asked the man, surprised out of his drowsiness.

“Yes; you’re wanted for bail jumping down Portland way. The Gordon
station and postoffice robbery, you know.”

“You policemen?” asked the man, who appeared dazed at the knowledge
of the boys concerning him.

“No, we’re not policemen, but we’re going to take a look through
this house and then take you back to the village,” said Garry
firmly.

“Where’s your warrant?” demanded the tramp.

“Haven’t got one,” returned Garry promptly.

“Then you can’t do anything with me,” announced the man, becoming
bolder.

“Oh, yes we can. We’re officers of the state, and besides, any
citizen can apprehend a criminal and turn him over to an officer.
Now speak up lively and tell us if there is a girl being held
prisoner in this house.”

A momentary gleam of fear appeared in the man’s eyes, but he made
haste to answer:

“’Course not; ain’t no womenkind of any sort around here. This is
Mr. Green’s house.”

Both Garry and Phil could see the man was lying, and knew that their
guess was correct. Either Ruth was in the house, or this tramp knew
something about her.

“Come on now, come through. You know the girl I mean. Where is she?
Phil, keep your rifle on this fellow, and if he makes a move while I
go through the house, blow him up,” ordered Garry.

“Say, listen. What do I get if I put you fellows wise to all this?”
demanded the tramp. “And how do you chaps know anything about me?
Not that I’m admittin’ anything you said about me.”

“We know you all right. We helped catch you in our cottage down
Portland way early this summer,” said Garry.

The tramp peered at Garry closely. Then he spat out an oath.

“I thought I knew you when I saw you the other day. Guess you’ve got
me right. Well, you haven’t told me what I get if I tell you about
the girl.”

“You’ll get nothing in the way of being let loose, if that’s what
you’re driving at,” answered Garry. “And if you don’t tell us what
you know you will come in for a few years extra on a charge of
abduction. I’ll do this though. You tell us what you know and we’ll
put it in on our report and that will get you out of this scrape.”

The tramp thought this over for a moment, and then appeared to
decide that the jig was up and he might as well save himself at the
expense of his pals.

“There was a girl came here last night through a certain passage to
the house here, and Green and the Frenchman discovered her listening
to them talk and caught her before she could get away.”

“What Frenchman do you mean?” interposed Garry quickly.

“The one they call Jean,” answered the tramp sullenly.

So there was another hunch that made good. Green and Jean had
hitched forces again. That meant that the halfbreed had come
directly to this place after he had made his escape from the
lumber-camp with the aid of the motor boat.

“Where is she now, in the house here?” demanded Garry eagerly.

“No,” said the man. “They was afraid someone was with her or was
going to follow her here, so they rushed her out. That is, the
Frenchman did. He said he would take her to a hideout he had. I
think he said it was on the river; what did he call it? Penicton, or
something like that.”

“I know. Penocton is the name, Garry. That’s the one we visited that
time we found our tourmaline mine,” put in Phil.

“Do you know anything more about it than that?” quizzed Garry.

“No, that’s all I know.”

“Just one thing more,” said Garry hurriedly. “How did you fellows
come to be hitched up with this gang?”

“Green hired us to do a little job for him.”

“What was it?”

“None of your business. Say, look here. I’ve told you all you wanted
to know, more than I should. Now my mouth’s shut, see? I ain’t a
goin’ to tell you nothin’ more. Not even if you beat my head in with
your gun,” and the tramp relapsed into sullen silence. He seemed to
be sorry now that he had gone so far in his answers.

“Phil, there’s one chance that all this may be a string of lies; and
to be on the safe side, I’m going through the house. You keep this
fellow under cover, and if anyone approaches, fire your rifle once,
and back this fellow into the house, and make him lock the door.
I’ll be with you, then, in a minute.”

Garry went into the house and made a systematic search of the house,
starting with the top floor and the attic, peering into all the
closets and any spot that would make a likely hiding place. He made
no discoveries on the top floor, and descended to the main floor
again. Here he found nothing, and was preparing to descend the
cellar for a last look, when he saw the latch on the door being
raised.

He stood stock still, and lifting his rifle, waited in silence.

The door opened slowly and noiselessly, and he was just about to
order whoever was behind it to come out, as he was covered, when a
head came cautiously around the door, and Garry dropped his rifle
butt to the floor and began to laugh.

Instead of Green or one of his cohorts, as he had expected, the head
belonged to no other than Dick!

“Say, I’m glad to see you” said Dick with a sigh of relief. “We did
a fool thing in not deciding how long I was to wait without hearing
from you; and you were so long that I thought you had been found and
were tied up in some corner with Green and all his friends standing
guard over you. So I came through the passageway to see if I could
be of any help. What’s new? Have you found Ruth?”

In a few brief sentences Garry informed him of what had transpired
in the past few minutes.

“Now we’ll get our prize tramp here and hustle him back to town and
deliver him over to the constable. Then, while you fellows follow
our original plan about the engineer, I’ll set out after Ruth. It’ll
have to be luck for me to find her, but I’ll track down the river
bank in the hope of finding some trail.”

The return to town was made without incident, though the boys kept a
sharp watch for fear that some of the tramp’s friends might come
along and attempt to free him from his captivity. They led him
directly to the little lock-up and turned him over to the constable
with instructions to notify the sheriff so he could get in touch
with the authorities at Portland.

Garry’s last words to the tramp were to bid him to keep silent about
his having told them about Ruth and LeBlanc, threatening if he
opened his mouth to forget his promise to plead for special immunity
for him. The tramp readily agreed to keep his silence.

“Now gather round here fellows. I’m going to stock up on provisions,
and start for the river. You fellows had better arrange between
yourselves to keep an eye on the engineer and Green. Decide who will
take the engineer, and the other one watch Lafe. Either one may lead
you to a clue.

“So that we will have check on my movements, start about eleven
o’clock tomorrow morning to call me on the wireless. Keep calling me
at intervals for two hours. Set your range for about twenty-five
miles. I won’t be further away than that. If you cannot get me, get
the sheriff and have Green taken up again and squeezed until he
comes through with information about the girl. Of course LeBlanc
will be arrested on sight, if he comes back here, but he probably is
wherever he has taken Ruth.”

“Suppose we don’t hear from you; what about your own safety?” asked
Phil.

“In that case, get some help and come after me. My plan is to go to
that little town we passed through the time we found the tourmaline
mine, and then head across the river. You remember it was all wooded
land on the other side. I’ll leave several trail signs to show
whether I went up or down the river. Then at intervals of a half a
mile, I’ll tie a strip of white cloth to a bough on one of the trees
along the river bank. If I turn into the woods at any point, I’ll
tie the strip there and then leave trail signs. Keep an eye out for
a small stone cairn, for I may leave a note. Now I’m off to the
store for some groceries.”

Giving each of his chums a hearty grip of the hand, Garry headed for
Denton’s general store.

Denton asked him several questions about why he was purchasing extra
provisions, but Garry gave him evasive answers.

“By the way,” said Garry, “how come you didn’t think to tell us this
morning about Miss Ruth Everett being missing?”

“I swan, I forgot all about it. I haven’t been thinking about much
of anything lately except that dratted postoffice business. Then
when I did think of it, you were out of sight. Have they heard
anything about the girl?”

“Guess they’re working on something now.” Garry refrained from
answering any questions, for there were three or four other men in
the store, and he was now proceeding on the idea that every man was
a potential enemy until he was proven otherwise.

Garry packed his knapsack carefully, and as a last thought bought a
couple of yards of white cloth with which to make the trail marks he
had promised to leave.

He took the trail they had taken the day they set out to discover
the mine after they had succeeded in getting the missing portion of
the torn map.

It was a good twenty mile hike to the town, and Garry put his best
foot forward, for he wanted to reach the town before dark. He
decided he would put up there for the night in the village hotel, if
there was one, rather than stay in the woods.

Garry did not think it wise to sleep out in the forest where some
misfortune might befall him, at a time when he needed all his
strength, and above all, his liberty. Then, too, he wanted a good
night’s sleep to be fresh for the coming day, which he fancied would
be a hard one.

As he walked, he kept a keen lookout for any signs of trail,—a
dropped handkerchief, or something of the sort. Garry hoped that
Ruth would find some way of dropping something that might serve as a
clue, for she was a bright girl, and knew that any little help would
aid those whom she knew would seek to trail her as soon as her
absence was discovered.

His pains were unrewarded, however, as he walked mile after mile.
Garry was straining every nerve to make time, and took a pace that
was much faster than the boys generally used when on plain patrol
duty. Their summer in the woods had made good walkers of all of
them, and they were able to make decent distances without more than
ordinary fatigue.

It had been noon time when Garry left Hobart, and allowing himself
until seven o’clock to get to the village of Chester, it would mean
that he must make a trifle less than four miles every hour, counting
out a few minutes for a breathing spell after every fifty or
fifty-five minutes of walking.

His reckoning was not far wrong, for it was only about a quarter
after seven when he pulled into Chester. He asked a pedestrian if
there was any sort of a hotel or boarding house in the village, and
was directed to one a short ways down the street. Garry was
ravenously hungry, so he had his supper at the hotel, getting in
just before the dining room closed. It was a typical country hotel,
and the fare was good. After he had eaten, he sought out the owner
and engaged him in conversation.

Garry asked what the other side of the river was like and if the
woodland extended for many miles in both directions.

“On the upper side is the State Forest reserve, well patrolled by
Rangers, while to the south is wild land that has not been cut for
years,” said the hotel man.

“There was some talk of cutting there last winter, and then they
decided to hold up till a track could be laid and the logs hauled to
the river on flat cars to save time. In that way they could begin
cutting at the far side and work toward the river. A party of
surveyors laid out the proposed track, and they even laid about a
half a mile of track. Then the owner died—name was Hasbrouck, I
think—and his estate got tied up in the courts, and the work on the
road was stopped. Now there’s no one around there. Once in a great
while a camping party goes in there, but it isn’t popular except
during the deer season, because of its wild growth, lots of ravines
and rocky places.”

This long explanation was given Garry by the hotel owner, and Garry
mentally decided that if LeBlanc had come there—and this was likely
if the tramp’s words were true—this would be the section he would
go to. The halfbreed would probably keep away from the Forest
Reserve, with the chance of running across a Ranger.

Asking if the general store was open, and receiving an affirmative
reply, Garry got directions for reaching it and set out. He knew
that in all New England villages, the general store is the hangout
for most of the men after nightfall, and here was the best place to
get any likely gossip.

Garry found a half dozen men gathered inside, watching a checker
game between two old men who were evidently the crack players of the
village.

He made two or three minor purchases, mostly to get into
conversation with the storekeeper.

The owner himself was there, and after he had sized up Garry’s
attire, asked in true Yankee fashion:

“Come from the city?”

“Some little time ago,” answered Garry, “if you can call living only
a few miles from Portland being from the city.”

“Figure on going campin’ around here?”

“No, just hiking through for awhile.”

“Fellow in here this morning and bought a lot of stuff, enough to
last a while, so thought that you might be following him up, since
he was alone, and camping alone ain’t much fun.”

Garry was not particularly interested in campers, but he wanted to
ask some questions later, and knowing the Yankee way, which was to
talk of other things and get acquainted by asking questions first,
asked carelessly if the storekeeper knew the other man, or heard
where he was going.

“No, never saw him before, and he warn’t the kind to give out much
information about himself. After I talk with a man a few minutes, I
generally get to the point where I can swap questions with him; but
this chap looked as though he didn’t want a friend in the world, and
maybe didn’t have one.”

“Grouchy looking customer, eh?” said Garry with a laugh.

“Yes, siree Bob, not only grouchy looking, but hard looking. Now
that I think of him, I see it was foolish to ask if you were with
him, for he was a different breed of cats from you. Funny looking
bird.”

“What did he look like,” asked Garry, mainly to keep conversation up
for a few minutes longer.

“Big black-haired chap with a black moustache and dark skin, high
cheek bones, looked like a halfbreed to me. Talked pretty good
English, but with a little accent like they do up by the border.”

Garry’s heart beat high with excitement, for the storekeeper had
described Jean LeBlanc to a “T.”




CHAPTER VII

WHAT THE ENGINE CAB REVEALED


When Garry left them, Phil and Dick debated as to what course they
would pursue. Phil advanced the suggestion that one should make
shift to get on the train that went to Coldenham and see what, if
anything, transpired along the way.

“First I move we go to see Denton and find out if there will be any
valuable mail sent this afternoon,” said Phil.

This was met with assent by Dick, and they departed for the general
store.

“Your friend was here only a little while ago,” Denton told them.
“Bought a lot of stuff and then hiked off. Goin’ to follow him?”

“No; he’s gone off on a little private trip,” said Phil. He gave no
more information, since he saw plainly that Garry had told the
postmaster very little about what he intended to do.

When they asked about the mail, Denton said:

“Yes, there’s quite a batch of it for the Ferguson outfit came in on
the noon train, and there are several letters with cash in them from
around this section. He owns a lot of property round here, and this
is about time for the rents to be sent to him. Getting near the
first of the month, and he’s a hard landlord, especially to the
tenant farmers. Raises hob with them if they’re a day behind on the
rent, and to be on the safe side, most of them send it before the
first.”

Dick glanced at Phil, as though to say that this was the proper day
to start investigating.

Phil asked Denton if he would mind his looking at the letters.

“’Tisn’t a regular thing to do, but guess it will be all right.”

“I don’t mean that I want to inspect the letters. I only want to see
the way they are carried. I wouldn’t ask to touch United States mail
without proper authority,” explained Phil.

“Oh, that’s all right,” and Denton led the way to the office, where
he opened the safe and showed them a heavy leather sack.

“I lock it here and keep the key, and the postmaster at Coldenham
has a key to open it with. Often times there’s registered mail only
for the Ferguson mill, and that’s the case today,” said the
postmaster, as he locked the safe.

“How is that taken to the train?” questioned Dick.

“I generally take it myself, or else send Bill, my assistant in the
store, with it. We give it to the engineer, Gardener his name is,
and he gives us a receipt. We have regular blanks for it. Then it’s
met by the postoffice man at the other end.”

“What does the crew of that train consist of,” was Dick’s next
question.

At this query Denton began to laugh.

“Well, now let’s see. There’s the engineer and the fireman and the
conductor and the brakeman and the railway mail clerk. And the name
of all of him is Gardner.”

“You mean it’s a one-man train?” asked Dick.

“Exactly. Don’t need any more than that. There isn’t any stop
between here and Coldenham, and the only provision for passengers is
about half a coach; the rest of the car is used for baggage,
whenever there is any. Then the rest of the train is made up of
freight cars that are used for pulp. The station agent here takes
the tickets as the people get on the train, and the engineer only
has to run the train. He fires himself most of the time. In bad
weather he has a helper. It’s only a one-way track and few
crossings, so he’s really all that’s needed. Old Ferguson is a tight
Scotchman and won’t pay out any more than he can help in spite of
the fact he’s the wealthiest man around here.”

Having gotten their desired information, they left the store and
held a conclave.

“See how this strikes you, Dick. I’ll find some way to get on that
freight train without being observed, and after we get started I’ll
get near the engine and watch if the engineer throws any letters out
to anyone, or makes a stop to let some confederate on.

“In the meantime you keep watch on Lafe Green, and perhaps you could
go to the lean-to and see if your camera trap worked. I suggest that
I go on the train, because it would be easier for me to board it
while it was going, as I may possibly have to do, and since I am a
little lighter than you, no offense, Dick, I could manage better on
a moving train.”

“That gives you all the fun,” half grumbled Dick, “But I see your
point, and this is a case of getting results and not having
adventure. Besides, I want to see if that trap worked, and if we can
find out the perpetrator of the rattle snake trick.”

This being settled, the boys separated. Dick thought for a moment of
going straight to the French restaurant and getting something to
eat, and sizing up the inmates, also to see who Lafe might be
talking with.

However, he discarded this thought as being foolhardy, and wisely
decided there was no need of putting his mouth in the lion’s jaws
needlessly. He remembered the time he was captured by this outfit
before, and had no desire for a second experience.

Furthermore, his appearance there would immediately put anyone he
wanted to watch on guard, and he could accomplish nothing. It was
well past noon, and Dick, as usual, remembering his inner man,
decided to go to Aunt Abbie’s and prevail on her to give him
something to eat, and at the same time see how Mr. Everett was.
There was always the slim chance that Ruth might have turned up, but
this was only a chance in a thousand.

For his part, Phil went towards the station to reconnoitre the
ground and see what would be his chances of boarding the train that
went to Coldenham.

He looked carefully around the station platform to see if there was
anyone he knew, or anyone who would be apt to be interested in his
movements, but outside of one or two loafers, the platform and
station were devoid of people. The station agent was in his little
office busily ticking away at the telegraph key, sending a message.

After his hasty survey, Phil darted on into the yards. Although
Hobart was a very small town, the yards there were quite sizable,
since it was a sort of a transfer point for freight and passengers
bound into Canada, and then there was a long siding that was used
for the pulp cars that came from Ferguson’s mills at Coldenham.

Along one side of the siding was the long storehouse where the bulky
packages of pulp were stored until a sufficient quantity had
accumulated to make it worth while to have a long string of freight
cars come from Bangor or below to carry it to the paper mills.

Phil noted that the Coldenham train was already on this siding, but
the engineer was nowhere to be seen. He made his way to the
storehouse landing and walked along the string of cars wondering in
just what manner he could get on the train without being observed.
He did not, of course, care to buy a ticket and ride as a regular
passenger, for that would tip his hand to any of the enemy that
might be around.

There was the chance of ducking into one of the freight cars, and
hiding there until the train started, and then in some manner making
his way to the roof of the car, and in this way proceed along the
top until he could come within sight of the cab.

The slight element of danger in this was that some station employe
or the engineer himself, for that matter, might make a tour of the
cars just for the purpose of preventing anyone from getting a free
ride.

After conning over the situation, Phil discarded the idea of
boarding the train while it was in the yard.

There was still a long wait until the train would start, so Phil
decided to utilize it by strolling up the track for a short distance
to see if there was any spot where he could wait and, unobserved,
get on the moving train. He walked nearly a mile, but saw that there
was no spot where he could do this. In some places, a house or two
bordered the tracks, and women could be seen working in little
gardens, or sewing while sitting in front of the houses.

At others, where there was no danger of being seen, the ditching at
the side of the road provided no place where he could locate himself
without being observed by the engineer.

He glanced at his watch and saw that he still had plenty of time for
further investigation, so he walked on.

His added walk was rewarded, for he came to a spot where there was a
fairly deep cut between two natural miniature cliffs. Spanning the
cliffs was an open bridge; that is, it was open at the top, but the
sides came up for a matter of three feet or so.

This was just what he wanted. He could wait until he heard the
approach of the train and then hide behind one of the sides of the
bridge. As soon as the engine had passed under, he would only have
to crawl over the side, and drop to the top of one of the cars as it
passed under the bridge. Looking up, Phil estimated that there was
only about two feet clearance between the top of a car and the
bottom of the bridge.

This would make it a safe proposition to drop to the train, even
though it was moving. Had it been anything but the slow Coldenham
train, he knew such a feat would be impossible, for a swiftly moving
express would have thrown him off almost as soon as he touched the
top.

There was little to do now but wait until the train should approach.
Phil wondered if the road was in constant use, for should a team or
an automobile be passing as he attempted to board the train, his
work would be for nothing.

This, however, was one chance that he would have to take.

It was a warm, drowsy afternoon, and but one team passed him as he
sat on the wall that protected the bridge. He whiled away the time
by finding a stick of soft wood, which he whittled into odd shapes,
for Phil was a wizard with his penknife, and a friend to all the
children in his home town, as they were constantly importuning him
to carve dolls for them or whittle a ball inside of a little cage.
Phil, who loved the work for an idle moment, seldom refused them.

At last he heard the sound of the train approaching, and quickly
dropped to cover behind the wall. The train came along at a fair
rate of speed, wheezing and puffing at every revolution of the
wheels.

Phil’s heart beat rapidly, for this was the crucial moment. If a
team or auto should happen to pass just as he was in the act of
dropping to the train, there was no knowing what might happen, and
he did not want anyone to have the knowledge that he had gone on
this mission.

He strained his ears to catch the sound of the approach of any
vehicle, but the noise of the oncoming train drowned out all other
sounds.

Phil heard the engine pass under the bridge, and then hastily
clambered up over the wall, and giving a quick look in either
direction, and fortunately seeing nothing, lowered himself and
dropped to the roof of a car about midway in the string. He hit the
roof with a thud that almost knocked the breath from him as his feet
hit the top.

However, he retained his presence of mind, and dropped quickly to
his hands and knees and grasped the running board that is on the top
of all freight cars. The momentum of the moving train was greater
than he thought it would be, and he was afraid for a moment that he
was going to be thrown off after all.

But fortune favored him, and he kept his grip, although he scratched
his hands severely in so doing.

The train chugged on its way, and Phil was content to lie on the top
of the car for awhile and get a breathing spell. He had been told
that after the train was about five miles out of the town, it passed
a long strip of woodland that reached almost to Coldenham. Phil
thought it wiser not to attempt to get near the engine until they
had reached these woods, and also he knew that lying there on the
top of the car, he might attract some attention from a chance
passerby.

With this thought in mind, he began to edge along toward one end of
the car. Reaching his objective, he found the ladder and crawled
down between the two freight cars, and clinging to the ladder, with
his feet braced on the narrow ledge over the coupling, maintained a
safe but uncomfortable position.

Suddenly the train began to slow down perceptibly, and he wondered
whether or not he had been seen, and the engineer was coming back to
investigate.

In that case there would be only one thing to do, and that was cut
and run, taking refuge among the trees, for he had seen that the
train had entered the woodland.

Phil risked taking a look by peering out around the car’s side, and
what he saw surprised him sharply, although he was prepared for
anything that might happen.

The train had come almost to a stop, and he saw the engineer leap
down from his steps on the cab and stretch out a helping hand to
someone that darted at that moment out of the woods.

The person that the engineer helped aboard was none other than
Simmons, the postal inspector!

“Aha,” thought Phil to himself. “I am beginning to think I am on a
warm trail. Now to get up towards the cab and see what this is all
about.”

There was every chance that he would be seen as he got near to the
cab, but at that moment Nature came to his aid. The sky darkened.
Great black clouds rolled across the dome of the world, and it
became almost as dark as dusk. It was one of those sudden summer
storms, and that, and the fact that they were passing through the
forest, made it just a shade lighter than night.

This Phil thought was the appropriate time to get close to the cab,
and clambering back to the top of the car made his precarious way
along the tops of the string. The pelting rain soaked him to the
skin, and in addition made the walking perilous, for the boards
became almost as slippery as glass.

When he came within two cars of the engine, he dropped to his hands
and knees, and crawled, animal fashion, along the top. The rain and
the darkness still continued, and as he neared the end of the last
car, he laid flat and wriggled along until he came to the edge.

From his perch he could see down into the cab of the engine, across
the small coal tender. He could see the engineer and Simmons engaged
in an animated conversation, but the rush of the train and the noise
of the rain made it impossible to hear what they were saying.

He could see perfectly, by the light from the open engine boiler
door, all that was transpiring, and what he saw gave him the
solution to the mystery of the missing letters.

Simmons had taken a small tool of some sort from his pocket and was
engaged in picking the lock of the registered mail bag.

He made short work of this, and then ensued a strange scene.

The engineer worked a small pet-cock that let out a thin stream of
hot steam, and passing the letters back and forth over this, Simmons
opened them. That is, he opened several that he had selected, after
a hasty glance at the superscription.

From the envelopes, he took out some of the contents, and then
moistening the glue again with steam, carefully pressed them back.
This process is often used by culprits, but it speaks well for the
law that few of them get very far with it, for Uncle Sam safeguards
his mails with an eternal vigilance.

To Phil it appeared that the postal inspector was either an out and
out criminal, who had successfully blinded the postoffice department
to his criminal ways, or had for some reason succumbed to
temptation. Later he was to learn what the real reason was.

Phil was wondering what his next step had better be,—to go back and
seek the safety of the space between two cars and ride to Coldenham
and there get into connection with Ferguson and have the pair
arrested, or to try and drop off just before they struck the town
and get some conveyance to take him back to Hobart, where he could
confer with Dick and possibly arrange to see how far Simmons would
go.

Then he thought that the best course would be to get straight to
Coldenham so that Ferguson could have the guilty pair taken up and
recover the money and checks that had been taken from the envelopes.

He had decided that this was the wisest course, and was about to go
back along the top of the car, when the train suddenly swerved, as
it rounded a curve, and threw Phil, who was not expecting it, from
his perch.

Had it been dry, he could probably have kept his grip; but the
continued rain had made the top wet and slippery, and try though he
did to keep hold, he was unsuccessful and slipped from the top.

As he fell, he remembered that he should relax his muscles as much
as possible, as acrobats do when they fall while doing some tumbling
trick.

He struck the ground and a sharp twinge of pain ran through his leg.
He could not keep his balance, and fell back against the ground with
a jarring thud.

His head hit a stone, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.




CHAPTER VIII

DICK’S FOOTBALL TACKLE


Left alone by Phil to pursue his own devices, Dick carried out his
intention of getting something to eat before going any farther, and
accordingly turned his steps in the direction of Aunt Abbie’s house.

He went around to the back door, and with his hat in his hand, gave
an imitation of what he imagined would be a tramp asking for a
“hand-out.”

He knocked at the door, and just as it was opened, asked in a
whining tone for something to eat. The door was hardly opened, when
he heard Aunt Abbie’s brisk voice:

“Start right in on that woodpile first.”

At this Dick could not hold in, and he began to laugh heartily.

The laugh evidently surprised Aunt Abbie, for she threw the door
wide open and peered out over the tops of her glasses. When she
recognized the “tramp,” she too began to laugh, and said:

“Come in, you young scalawag. Just for what you did I’ve a good
notion to make you earn your dinner anyway.”

“Glad to help out a bit even for nothing,” promptly offered the fat
boy.

“Well, seeing you’re so willing, we’ll let you off this time. I
dunno what I can give you to eat. Fire’s gone down, and all I’ve got
is some fresh tomatoes and some salad dressing and cucumbers and pie
and doughnuts, and some cold milk out of the ice box, and——”

“Hold on, Aunt Abbie,” interrupted Dick. “There’s only one person
here. I haven’t got a half a dozen people with me.”

“Why, what difference does that make?” inquired the old lady,
somewhat tartly.

“Well, you’ve named over enough things to feed a regiment with.”

“Good land, don’t you suppose I know just what a growing boy can
eat? Goodness knows I ought to. I raised four sons myself, all of
them in the city and all doin’ well too.”

Dick sat down in the cool kitchen while Aunt Abbie scurried about
getting his lunch. She kept up a running fire of chatter as she
worked, it being mostly about the missing Ruth. She wanted to know
what news any of the boys had, and what they were doing to find her.

“Garry has some sort of a clue that he has a lot of faith in, and
has gone to look it up. You needn’t worry, Aunt Abbie. If she’s to
be found, Garry is the boy to do the trick.”

Dick did not want to tell her that Ruth was in the power of Jean
LeBlanc, for he knew that she would worry even more. Then he asked
how the grandfather was.

“Land sakes, he’s still asleep; just played out, and it looks as
though he will sleep till night anyway, maybe more. I’ve kept
everything quiet about the house so as not to disturb him. There,
now, eat your lunch, it’s all ready. What are you going to do this
afternoon?”

“I am keeping my eyes on Lafe Green for awhile, and then I thought
I’d go back to our place in the woods and see what luck I had with a
little experiment that I’m trying out,” answered Dick as he tackled
the luscious food set before him.

“Well, you better get into the woods pretty soon and get back again,
for it’s going to rain great guns before night. Not a storm that
will last long, just a good shower that will wet things down right
and set the gardens growing again.”

Dick looked out through the open window at the cloudless sky, and
asked in surprise:

“Why, the sky is as clear as crystal. What makes you think it’s
going to rain?”

“Lots o’ signs say it’s going to, but there’s one that never fails,”
answered the old lady. “My cat’s been washing her face all morning
and bringing her paw over her right ear every time, and further
she’s been outdoors eating the tops off the grass for the last
hour.”

Dick laughed heartily at this as a weather sign, until he saw that
he was in danger of offending the old lady. So he muffled his
laughter and said:

“Excuse me, Aunt Abbie, but that’s a new one on me. I never before
heard tell of a cat acting as a barometer.”

“Well, you can depend on Thomas Jones, that’s the name of my cat, to
let me know whenever it’s going to rain in the summer.”

Dick finished his luncheon and then took his departure, promising to
be back for supper unless something tied him up and prevented him.
It should be mentioned that the boys had made arrangements to board
at Aunt Abbie’s whenever they were in the town, so he was not
exactly inviting himself to be a guest that night.

“Well, go along, and bring good news back with you when you come,”
said the kindly Aunt Abbie as she began to clear away the dishes.

Thoroughly satisfied with the world, the fat youth sauntered towards
the center of the village, and reconnoitred about the restaurant
kept by the old Frenchman. No one was in sight, and he wandered down
the street.

As he neared the corner where stood the general store, he saw Lafe
Green disappearing around the side of the store. He followed
cautiously, and let Green get a considerable start, and then trailed
him. It was an easy job, for Green took to the woods that surrounded
the town and walked swiftly. Dick dodged from tree to tree, keeping
well back, but always close enough to make out Green’s form.

Lafe seemed to be circling as he walked, and Dick wondered what the
idea was. Then it dawned on him, that from the direction he was
taking, Lafe was headed for his own home. Dick at once concluded
that there was some reason for his wanting to approach his own place
without being detected. It was only a few moments before the boy saw
the reason for the roundabout course.

Lafe took a stand under one of the trees, and in a few minutes was
joined by two other men. Peering from his vantage point in back of a
great spruce, Dick was startled to note that the new companions of
Green were the two tramps that still remained at liberty.

They talked together in low tones for a moment, and then moved away.
Walking as though the ground were covered with sharp needles and
eggs and seeking shelter behind a tree every few seconds, Dick
followed the trio.

As he thought, they headed for Lafe’s house, coming in from the
back. When he was sure of their destination, Dick cut through the
standing hay, and wriggling along on the ground, in a manner that
the boys had read of the Indians doing, and had often practiced as
youngsters, he approached the house. The hay field, as he knew, ran
almost to the house, and ended at a stone wall not fifteen feet from
the farmhouse. When he arrived at the wall he saw that the two
tramps were sitting on the porch, while Lafe had gone inside on some
errand. What the errand consisted of, was presently shown when the
owner of the farm came out with a jug of cider.

“Not a soul inside, not even poor Bill. How he managed to let those
cussed boys get him is more than I can make out,” muttered Green to
the tramps. His words were quite distinguishable to Dick, for a
gentle breeze was blowing in his direction, over which the voices of
the men were carried as though on a telephone wire.

“Well have a score to settle with those birds aforelong,” growled
one of the tramps. “But anyway, Bill can’t be much good when he lets
a bunch of boys take him off. Can’t we get him bailed out?”

“Don’t see how. I’m out on bail myself, and it took nearly every
penny I had to do that. Besides, I ain’t any too well liked by the
law and order folks around here, and ’tisn’t likely they’d take my
bail for him. We’ll have to do those two jobs alone tonight, and
that will give us some money to work with and we’ll see then what
can be done.”

“Speaking of jobs, which will we take first, the store or the bank?”
asked one.

“Guess we better take the store first and get that over with; then
it’ll be pretty late and we can take our time with the bank,”
answered Green. “Say we get to the store at midnight; everyone’ll be
in bed then. Look here, it’s getting hot outside, and it’s cooler in
the house. Bring that jug inside with you,” and Lafe turned and went
into the house, followed by the others.

Light instantly broke over Dick. That was the reason for the
friendliness between the tramps and Lafe Green. They were evidently
plotting to break and enter the store and the bank. Green knew
nothing of this branch of criminality, and had in some way become
acquainted with the tramps and had gone partners with them in this
nefarious expedition.

Dick wished that they had stayed out on the porch and further
discussed their plans. He knew it would be foolhardy to try and
approach the house with the three of them there, for one might be at
a window and they could easily seize him. He had not brought his
rifle with him, but left it at Denton’s.

Still he had all the information that was necessary, and winding his
way across the hay field, got out of sight of the house and then
legged it for town as fast as he could go. He was puffing when he
reached the village, and he stopped to get his breath. As he stood
in the shade of an arching elm, the village constable came by and
hailed him.

“Got any more tramps up your sleeve?” he asked facetiously.

“No, I got something better than that this time,” answered Dick. “I
have three bank robbers for you.”

The constable thought that Dick was joking, and was about to make
some humorous reply, when he noticed that Dick was in dead earnest.

“You really serious?” he asked.

“Never more so in my life,” answered Dick, and in a few brief
sentences imparted his information to the constable.

“Now what’s the next step?” asked Dick, as he finished telling his
story.

“Well, things are breaking lucky for us. I telephoned the sheriff
after you brought in that other chap, and he said he’s starting
right for here in his tin flivver. That was just before noon, and
allowing him plenty of time along the road, he ought to be here any
minute now. He’s only about forty-five miles from here. Let’s get
back to the lockup and wait for him.”

This they did, and had barely gotten inside when they heard a motor
engine come to a coughing stop outside and in walked the sheriff
with one of his deputies. He recognized Dick instantly, for he had
been at the head of the party the night that the smuggler band had
been surrounded and captured.

The constable asked Dick to relate the occurrences of the morning
beginning with the capture of the tramp and the subsequent
developments that warned them of the attempt that was to be made
that night.

The sheriff took in the whole talk without interruption, and then
quickly made his plans.

“If any other person than this fellow had told me such a wild story,
I’d be laughing yet; but I’ve seen a little of the work of this boy
and his two companions, and so I’m taking a chance that he hasn’t
been dreaming. You’re sure these are the same fellows you had a
run-in with down in Cumberland county, are you?” he asked, for Dick
had told them how they had first known of the tramps.

“Sure I’m sure,” said Dick indignantly. “Do you think I’m spinning
tales just to hear myself talk?”

“That’s all right, Dick, don’t get hot,” laughed the sheriff. “I’m
just getting the lay of the land, that’s all. Now here’s what we’ll
do. I have Brown, my deputy, with me here, and the constable will
make three. We’d better get one more man, Constable, just to be on
the safe side. Who can you get?”

“Why, there’s Bud Harkins, who takes my job when I’m off on
business, or on a little vacation. I can have him here in half an
hour.”

“All right; be off and bring him here, and say nothing of what it’s
all about. That will make us four, one more than the other outfit.”

Dick had been listening to this in a surprised sort of a way.

Suddenly he burst out: “Four? Where do I come in?”

“Why, you’ve done your share already, and there’s no need for you to
be putting yourself in danger needlessly,” answered the sheriff.

“Say, that isn’t hardly fair. Here I get this tip, and then I’m to
be cheated of the fun of being in at the end,” protested the fat
boy.

“Might as well let him be the fifth man, Sheriff,” said the deputy.
“He and his friends are pretty solid headed kids, and they were with
us, you remember, when we rounded up Green and his gang first time.”

The sheriff debated with himself for a moment, and then gave in.

“All right, another person in the party won’t hurt any.”

Dick gave the deputy a grateful look, and said he had some other
business to transact, and so would hop off and do that, and would be
back at the little police station in plenty of time to join the
capturing party.

“Take your time. We won’t gather here till about ten o’clock, and
then we can slip around and take cover near the store and await the
coming of the outfit. Don’t let anyone see you coming here, if you
can help it, tonight,” answered the sheriff.

Dick hopped out and started for the lean-to in the woods. The
business that he wanted to transact was to see if the camera trap
had been sprung, and if so to bring the film back to town with him
and develop it before it was time to join the sheriff’s party.

It was a hiking afternoon for Dick, and he thought that he must have
walked nearly a score of miles that day in the hot sun. But Dick
could put on speed when the occasion demanded it, and this was
certainly such an occasion.

He glanced at the sky from time to time. It was still bright and
cloudless, and he indulged in several little chuckles as he thought
of the gentle chaffing that he would give Aunt Abbie about her “cat
barometer” that evening.

He retrieved his rifle at Denton’s and then at a half trot made for
the woods.

It was cooler walking under the trees, and he kept up a swift pace,
watching carefully as he walked, so that he would not be surprised
by any one.

He did not meet a person on his way to the lean-to, and as he
approached the brush shack, redoubled his vigilance. There was no
sign of anyone around, and keeping his rifle in a handy position, he
made his way to the place they called home while in the woods.

Dick stepped over the trap carefully, for in the event that no one
had been there, he did not want to have a snap of himself taken, and
thereby necessitate some minutes in resetting the trap.

He went directly to the bush screen, and looked.

Then he gave a whoop of delight. The little lever of the lens had
been pulled down.

Carefully he took the camera out of its hiding place among the
branches, and turned the roll so that a new film was exposed. He
knew from the numbers on the little peekhole that there were three
more exposures on the roll, and so to use them up, rather than
develop them blank, he snapped the brush lean-to from three
different positions, thinking that the folks at home would be
interested in seeing what kind of a place they lived in while in the
forests.

Then pocketing his camera, he cast a last look around the lean-to
and set out for the village and Aunt Abbie’s house.

He had gone less than five hundred yards when the sky began to
darken, and in a few minutes the big rain drops were pattering down
through the branches of the trees.

“Well, I’ll be jiggered,” he muttered aloud. “If Aunt Abbie wasn’t
right. Believe me, next time I want to know what the weather is, I’m
going to hunt me up a cat and observe his actions for awhile. I’m
due for a nice wetting now.”

He wound a large bandanna handkerchief around his neck to keep out
the wet, and pulled his coat collar up. Then he broke into a long
lope, that would take him over the ground at a fair rate of speed,
and yet not be tiring.

The rain increased in force, and soon he was pretty thoroughly
drenched. He wished he had his rubber poncho with him, but that was
strapped to his knapsack, safely tucked away at Denton’s store,
nearly four miles away. There was nothing to do but get wet, thought
Dick philosophically, and he put his best food forward. He had
cheerful visions of Aunt Abbie’s warm house and a good hot supper,
for the rain was cooling off the heated air like so many monster
electric fans.

He reached Denton’s store at last, and getting his knapsack and
refusing the postmaster’s invitation to stay and get dry, made his
way to Aunt Abbie’s.

“Good land o’ liberty,” said the old lady, when she saw Dick’s
condition. “Come right out to the kitchen stove, and get those wet
things off. Lucky there’s some old clothes belonging to my youngest
son upstairs, and you can put ’em on till yours get dry.”

Dick protested that he wanted nothing more than a chair by the
stove, for a wetting more or less was nothing to him; but the old
lady wouldn’t hear of it, and to humor her, Dick told her to go and
get the clothes and he would wear them.

“By the way, Aunt Abbie, I take back all the laughing I did at your
‘cat barometer’ this afternoon.”

“I knew you would. Thomas Jones has never failed me yet,” and she
bustled out to get the dry clothes.

In a short time she was back with them.

“These ought to fit you pretty well, my boy was about your size when
he had them. Now hurry up, for Mr. Everett has waked up, and said
he’d be right down to talk to you.”

Aunt Abbie left the kitchen, and Dick made haste to get into the dry
clothes, for although he was used to being wet, he did not deny that
the dry apparel was mighty comfortable.

Ruth’s grandfather soon appeared on the scene, and his first anxious
question was for news of his granddaughter.

Dick told him the whole story, and did his best to comfort the old
man by telling that Garry rarely failed on a mission.

“Besides, it seems to be our fate to overcome the evil schemes of
that half breed, and this time ought to be no exception. I’ve a
hunch also that LeBlanc’s race is pretty nearly run, and we are due
to turn him over to the law before we finish our work here.”

Dick’s optimism transferred itself in a measure to the old man, who
said philosophically:

“Well, the only thing to do is to wait, I suppose, until Garry gets
back, either with her or with news. All my faith is pinned on him,
and I feel he won’t fail.”

After supper, Dick asked Aunt Abbie if she had a closet that had an
electric light in it, and found to his delight that she had.

He borrowed some flat dishes from her, and then went to the closet
she indicated and proceeded to make a darkroom of it. There was a
flat-topped trunk there, and this he converted into a table.

In the flat dishes he put the necessary water, and then from his
knapsack got the hypo and developer and a piece of red cloth that he
had bought for just such a purpose.

This red cloth he twisted around the bulb of the electric light, and
in this way made his darkroom. Requesting Aunt Abbie to turn off the
lights in the room, he entered the closet and proceeded to prepare
his developer and fixing bath.

Dick was no mean hand at developing pictures, and he did the job
speedily but carefully. After the necessary developing, he left the
developed negatives in the water for several minutes, sloshing them
around occasionally to wash them free of all the acid that was used
in developing them. Then he let them dry somewhat, and held them up
to the ruby light he made with the red cloth. The negative showed
the upright figure of a man, but he could not make out who it was.

It would be necessary to make prints. Having finished with his
developing, he went out of the closet and turned on the light in the
outer room.

“Now, Aunt Abbie, can I bother you for one more thing?” he asked.

“Bless your heart, a dozen more if you want them. What is it now?”
she replied.

“I’d like a small piece of glass and a flat piece of wood. I am
going to try and print some pictures, but have no printing frame;
although with the two things mentioned, I can improvise one that
will do the work.”

Aunt Abbie directed him to the cellar, and he rummaged around until
he found a piece of glass that was of the size he wanted. It was
evidently one that had been procured to mend a light in the cellar
window which he observed was broken. Then he found a board, and
proceeded to saw it to the same size as the glass. He now had the
principal parts of the frame.

All that remained now to do was to hinge the board and the glass,
and this he did with a piece of insulating tape from his ever ready
knapsack. It was some that had been bought for the purpose of
repairing the telephone lines when they were on the forest fire
patrol, when they had first entered the woods.

Dick then retired to the darkroom, and setting his negative against
a piece of sensitized paper, inserted the two between the glass and
the wood. Then holding the other end firmly together between his
thumb and fingers, held the improvised frame with the glass up to
the electric light from which had been removed the red cloth.

Dick was familiar enough with printing to “read” the paper as it
developed. This was then put into the printing bath and soon the
picture appeared. When it was finished, Dick stared at it in
amazement; for instead of the features of Jean LeBlanc, which he
firmly expected to see, he noted that it was not Jean, but his
brother, Baptiste!

“I might have remembered that they would probably be together,” he
thought, as he remembered that Baptiste had been in the motor
launch, by the aid of which Jean had escaped from the lumber camp.
“Well, that leaves still two to be disposed of, for the tramps and
Lafe Green will be taken tonight.”

He cleaned up after his work of developing and printing, and then
looking at his watch, found it was nearly time to be starting for
the rendezvous with the sheriff and the constable.

“Where’s Phil?” asked Aunt Abbie. “I thought he would be around for
supper tonight.”

“He went off to Coldenham to do a little investigating,” answered
Dick, “and there was some likelihood of his not being back tonight,
unless he could get a conveyance to bring him. There’s nothing to
worry about, however,” said Dick lightly, not knowing of the
accident that had befallen his comrade.

At the police station, he found that all the men of the party had
already arrived. The sheriff stated that they would wait for about
one hour and then proceed singly or in pairs to the general store
and postoffice. Here they would take positions in hiding and wait
for the approach of the raiders.

“We’ll let them get in the store so that we can catch them
red-handed, and that will give us enough to keep them in prison for
a good while to come. Also, it will cause the re-arrest of Lafe
Green, who, to my mind, should never have been let out on bail. This
second offense will forfeit his right to asking bail again, and that
will clean up the last of a bad gang in these parts,” said the
sheriff.

The hour passed quickly, while Dick told of some of the events that
took place at the lumber camp.

“After we get through with this job, I think I’ll make it a point to
go after LeBlanc and get him proper. He should not be at large, for
he’s a dangerous person as well as a criminal,” remarked the
sheriff.

Dick mentally agreed with him, as he thought of the several narrow
escapes that he and his friends had had from The Bear, as LeBlanc
liked to call himself.

The start was made, and they arrived at the general store.

There the sheriff stationed them in spots where they could observe
the store and yet be in hiding themselves.

“They’ll probably approach from the woods there where you say you
followed them Dick, and will likely get in through the back of the
store, as I happen to remember there’s a window there.”

They waited nearly an hour, a long, slow, dragging hour, before the
approach of Green and his two evil companions.

Then there was a slight hitch that threatened their plans for a
moment. Instead of all of them entering the store, Lafe Green
effaced himself against the side of the store in the shadows,
evidently to act as lookout while the others plied their nefarious
occupation.

“We’ll have to get up on him unawares,” whispered the sheriff to
Dick, who was standing by him.

“Why can’t we draw back a bit and then approach him from the other
corner. We can creep along in front of the porch there, and take him
by surprise. He would only be expecting to see some straggler
approach up the street, and would not think of anyone creeping up on
him,” suggested Dick.

“Good an idea as any, suppose we try it,” whispered the sheriff.

They followed out the idea, and taking several minutes in order to
make no sound, crept up on the unsuspecting Green.

“Put ’em up, Green, and don’t let out a yip, or I’ll blow the
daylight through you,” whispered the sheriff sibilantly.

Then he and Dick straightened up, leveling their firearms at Green.
Green was so taken by surprise that he was only able to gasp.

“Now, Dick, round up the boys while I watch this fellow,” ordered
the sheriff.

Dick hastened to do his bidding, and in a trice the other members of
the party were at the sheriff’s side. Green had already been
handcuffed, and warning him to make no sound, the party moved
towards the window in the rear of the store where the tramps had
made their entrance.

Bidding the constable guard Green, the capturing party crept toward
the cubbyhole office.

Everything was going according to schedule, when the constable’s
assistant stumbled against a crate, barking his shins severely, and
forgetting the necessity for quietness, let out a muttered
imprecation.

Instantly the tramps wheeled from their work, and making out the
forms of the sheriff and his men, let loose with a volley of shots
from their revolvers.

There was the sound of a falling body, and a groan from the
sheriff’s deputy. Dick was about to rush to his assistance, when he
called:

“Never mind me, just got me in the leg. Get the men.”

The tramps had snapped out their light, and so offered no mark for
the guns of the authorities of the law. Flashes of orange flame
pierced the darkness as the sheriff fired at the spot where the
tramps had been working. Finally there was a rush of feet, and the
sheriff fired in the direction of the sound.

There was a cry of pain from one of the tramps, and then a crash as
one hurled himself through the open window.

Dick was the nearest to the window, and in a flash had followed the
lead set by the tramp. He had dropped his rifle as he jumped, and
was therefore unarmed, while the tramp still had his revolver.

The refugee was only a few steps ahead of him, and had slackened his
stride for a moment to get his bearings and determine in which
direction he should run.

This was Dick’s opportunity. Straight at the tramp he ran, and with
the practice borne of long years on the football field,—for he was
the star center of the high school team,—dived straight at the
running man.

He hit him with a shock just above the knees, and the man fell like
a stricken ox. It will be remembered that Dick was a heavy chap, and
the weight of his body added to the great force with which he struck
the man, was enough to knock the wind entirely out of the tramp.

As the man lay there, stunned for the moment, Dick possessed himself
of the revolver, and with this show of arms was able to force his
prisoner to march back to the spot where Lafe Green was being held
under guard.

There were no more shots from the store, and in a moment or two the
sheriff appeared with the constable and the prisoner. He gave these
in charge of Dick and the man Hawkins, and then went back to aid his
deputy.

The fusilade of shots had drawn several half-dressed men to the
scene, and great was their astonishment when they saw the sheriff’s
party and their prisoners.

The deputy was carried to the home of one of the men, and a doctor
called, but it was found that he had sustained nothing more than a
bad flesh wound.

Among those who had been attracted by the shots was one Mr. Arthur,
the president of the bank.

When he was informed that his little bank was to have been the next
scene of operations on the part of the yeggman, and was told that
Dick’s work had prevented it, he shook hands with the boy heartily.

“It would have been a hard blow for me, for I have more money than
usual, since several mortgages have been paid during the past few
days. You can be assured that I will not forget your brave work,” he
said.

“Looks like I lost out with you, young feller,” said Lafe to Dick.
“But let me tell you this. There’s one more left to reckon with you,
and I guess he’ll wipe the slate clean for me!”




CHAPTER IX

SAVED BY A JAP TRICK


The force of Phil’s fall had stunned him into complete
unconsciousness. He lay there for several moments, and the force of
the rain beating on his face was evidently what revived him. He
raised himself to a sitting posture and stared about him. Then his
gradually dawning consciousness became complete and he remembered
his falling.

He felt the back of his head, expecting to find that he had cut it
badly, and was surprised to find there was nothing but a bad lump.

Phil figured that his heavy scout hat had somewhat broken the force
of the blow. He felt of the bump gingerly, for it was as sore as a
burn. Then he started to get on his feet, and groaned when the
weight of his body bore down on his right foot.

He sat down again quickly and unlaced his shoe-pack.

A quick examination told him he had either sprained it, or at the
least badly strained the ankle. Snatching a handkerchief from his
pocket, he tore it into wide strips, and seeing that there was a
puddle of water in a depression near him, soaked the strips in this,
and then tightly bound the ankle, which was beginning to swell since
the support of the shoe-pack had been removed.

Phil pulled the bandaging as tight as he could bear, clenching his
teeth as sharp twinges of pain ran through his ankle and leg. Then
he put his shoe-pack on again, lacing it tightly as he could.

Another try at standing proved to be little more successful than the
first. He knew that it would be foolish to attempt to walk on it,
for that would delay its recovery, and this was a time of all times
when he did not want to be laid up.

Phil knew that he had to get home somehow, and yet he was a good ten
miles, perhaps a trifle more, from home. How to get there was the
question. Then he bethought himself of something.

He dragged himself to where he saw a sturdy sapling with a forked
branch on it. Taking his knife, he whittled away laboriously at the
bottom until he had cut it down. He had judged what would be the
proper distance from his arm pit to the ground, and began to cut
there. Then he whittled off the extra branches at the fork, leaving
about four inches of each fork projecting. In this way Phil had
fashioned a crutch for himself.

Using the crutch and hopping along on his one good foot, he searched
until he found a mate for it, and after a few minutes more of work,
had a serviceable if not comfortable and handsome pair of crutches.
He then tore strips from the bottom of his shirt, and with these
padded the forks as well as he could so that they would not chafe
his armpits too severely. By this time the rain had stopped, and
Phil decided that he would strike out for home immediately.

He had no idea how long it would take him to get home, but judged
that it would be several hours, as he would be lucky if he could
make two miles an hour with the crutches. After he had gotten the
knack of using the crutches, he made better time, and after five
miles of laborious and painful walking along the uneven bed of the
railroad, he came to a pathway across the tracks that led up over
the bank.

Phil decided to investigate this a bit, and getting up on the bank
saw that the path widened considerably; at least he figured that it
did, since it was too dark to see very plainly. He thought that it
might lead to some house, and decided he might as well take enough
time to follow it a little distance.

He was glad a few minutes later that he had decided thus, for he saw
a light gleaming a few rods away. He hastened his steps, and came to
a small cottage.

He banged at the door, which was thrown open, and a man stood there
with an oil lamp in his hand. Phil explained the situation to him,
saying that he had had a fall and sprained his ankle.

The cottager’s wife had followed her husband to the door, and when
she saw the wet, bedraggled looking boy standing there, immediately
invited him in, and soon Phil was enjoying the warmth of the fire.

He found out that the cottager was engaged in cutting cordwood, for
that section was hard wood, rather than the usual spruce, hemlock
and pine.

“I wonder if there is any way that I could get back to town,” said
Phil. “It is important that I get there, as my friends will be
worrying about me. I would be glad to pay for the trouble.”

“I’ve a horse and cart that I use to haul cordwood in, but it’s
pretty late tonight. Hadn’t you better plan to stay here for the
night and let me take you in the morning?”

Phil noticed that the cottager was reluctant to go out, and
immediately made an attractive offer for the drive, provided they
could start out immediately.

“Where you staying in town?” asked the man.

“At a Mrs. Drysdale’s. She’s generally known as Aunt Abbie in town,
though, I guess.”

“Well, well, that’s a different matter altogether,” said the
cottager. “Aunt Abbie is kin to my wife, and she’d raise fits if she
found that a friend of hers wasn’t obliged in any way possible. I’ll
hitch up the horse while Mother makes you a cup of hot coffee, and
you dry out a little, and then I’ll have you there in no time at
all.”

This was absolutely to Phil’s liking, and he waited for the coffee
to be made. When it was ready he drank it gratefully, for the rain
had drenched him to the skin and chilled him completely.

On the way into town the cottager, whose name Phil learned was
Lorimer, asked several questions about Phil, but none that caused
Phil to have to be evasive in answering.

At Aunt Abbie’s, he was ordered straight off to bed, and only Phil’s
violent protestations kept her from sending for the doctor.

“Where’s Dick?” asked Phil.

“He went gallivanting off on something he said was important
business nearly two hours ago, and hasn’t come back yet. My
goodness, for boys like you, you seem to have a lot to do in the
dead o’ the night; but I guess it’s all right, it’s in a good
cause,” remarked Aunt Abbie in a doubtful tone. “My, these last few
nights I’ve been staying up till all hours. Such excitement!”

She had no sooner finished speaking when there was a knock at the
door, and she went to open and admitted Dick.

The chums greeted each other heartily, and quizzed each other as to
developments during their respective missions.

Dick’s news was received with astonishment by all present, and he
was warmly congratulated for his part in the successful night,
although he modestly disclaimed having done such a great deal.

“I certainly am glad to see that Green again under lock and key,”
said Mr. Everett. “I can’t help but think he is the one who is at
the bottom of my misfortune; that is the threatening letters and
then the burning down of my house. That leaves very few of that gang
at large, now, doesn’t it?”

“Just Jean LeBlanc, and he hasn’t much farther to go,” said Phil.

“You forget one other, Phil,” put in Dick, “and that reminds me to
tell you that I think I know who did the rattlesnake trick. I
developed and printed the picture that was caught by the camera
trap, and found that it was Jean’s brother, Baptiste.”

“I’d forgotten all about him, to tell you the truth,” said Phil.
“Well, if we can get one, the other cannot be far away. Now let’s
off to bed. With the wetting and this uncomfortable ankle, I am
pretty tired.”

“Yes, it’s way beyond bedtime. All we can do now is wait for the
morrow and pray that good news will come with it,” said Mr. Everett.

Phil had purposely said nothing of the startling disclosures made by
his afternoon’s work, but waited until he and Dick had gone to their
bedroom. There, as he undressed and rebound his ankle, he told Dick
of the treachery on the part of Simmons.

“I waited until I could come and advise with you on the subject,”
said Phil. “I thought at first of going on to Coldenham, when my
fall put an end to that, and the best thing to do then seemed to be
to come back.”

“I hardly know what to advise,” returned Dick. “I wish that Garry
were here, so we could put the matter up to him. I should say,
though, that action was needed. Now the sheriff is a sensible man,
and so I move that we put it up to him. We can see him in the
morning, that is we can if your ankle is better, if not I’ll go
alone, and bring him here. Then we can follow his advice.”

“Yes, and there’s one other thing we can have him do. He probably
knows how to take a fingerprint and he can take Lafe’s and those of
the tramps, and while we are not experts, they are plain enough so
that we can tell with a bit of study whether or not they compare
with the one on the letter.”

“Well, that’s that, then. I’m going to turn in,” remarked Dick,
smothering a yawn.

“Same here. Goodnight,” answered Phil.

They had hardly gotten into bed, however, before there came a knock
at their door, and they heard Aunt Abbie.

“There’s a Frenchman just came to the door and says he has a message
for you from Garry,” she announced.

“I’ll be right down, tell him,” said Dick, hopping out of bed as he
spoke; and reaching for his clothes, started to dress.

Dick dressed hastily and went to the front door. When he opened it,
he could see no one, and stepped down onto the walk to look about.

He had barely done so, when he was seized by the arm by someone who
stepped out of the shrubbery that lined the walk.

“Come on,” said the man in French, and a second appeared in his
wake.

Dick recognized the voice. It was that of Baptiste LeBlanc.

Certain capture stared Dick in the face. To call for help would be
of no avail, for there was no one that could come to his aid
quickly. He thought swiftly and then acted.

Once upon a time, during their school year, a Japanese boy had lived
for a time in Colfax, the home town of the boys, and was the marvel
of the town for his ability at jiu jitsu, the Japanese art of
wrestling. He had taught many of the boys some of the simpler tricks
of judo, as the art is often called, and now Dick remembered these.

Snapping back with his foot, the heel of his heavy shoe-pack caught
the man standing in back of him square on the shin.

Then when the other had come near him, he used one of the holds
taught him by the son of Nippon, and sent the other flying.

The beauty of the art of jiu jitsu is that weight and size of the
opponent are never taken into consideration. Knowing the proper
method, a girl of sixteen can throw a full-grown man several feet.

As everyone knows who has ever experienced it, there are few things
that hurt any more than a well-directed blow on the shin. The force
of the one dealt Dick’s capturer was sufficient to make him groan
with pain, and loose his hold on the boy’s arm.

Free of his captors, Dick figured that discretion was the better
part of valor in this case, and darted back into the house, slamming
the door shut, and turning the key in the lock. Then he reached for
his rifle and went to the front window and saw the pair sneaking off
down the road.

“What was it?” asked Phil speedily.

“Nothing much; just Baptiste LeBlanc is on the trail of yours
truly.”




CHAPTER X

THE CABIN IN THE RAVINE


We left Garry talking with the storekeeper at Chester.

The storekeper had just described Jean LeBlanc to him as having
bought a liberal supply of provisions. That meant that the tramp had
not played them false but had given a straight tip.

Having gotten all the desired information, Garry bade the
storekeeper goodnight and hastened back to the hotel where he turned
in.

LeBlanc already had twelve hours’ start on him, and by morning it
would be a full day, but there was no use in Garry’s trying to go
further that night.

He would have a blind enough chase in broad daylight, and he needed
sleep so that he would be fresh for the hard trail ahead.

Garry woke with the dawn and sprang from his bed, determined to make
every minute that day count. He descended to breakfast, and after a
hasty meal asked the hotel owner if there was any place there where
he could hire a canoe for two or three days.

“Sure there is; right here. My boy had one that he used a lot, but
he’s working in the city now, and so it just lays there in the
boathouse doing nothing,” answered the hotel man.

Garry soon struck a bargain, and a reasonable one, and the hotel man
sent one of the loungers to show him where it was.

He unshipped the canoe from its resting place, and gave it a hasty
examination to determine whether or not it had sprung a leak
anywhere from its long disuse. It was a well-made Kennebec canoe,
however, and in sound condition.

Packing his knapsack and rifle securely in the bow, Garry took his
paddle and started out straight across the river, which was not less
than a quarter of a mile wide at this point.

On the other side, he beached his canoe, and taking one of the white
strips he had prepared, tied it to a branch, so that it was not
conspicuous but could be easily seen by anyone with whom
arrangements had been made to look for it.

Then he arranged the trail signal to show that he was going down
river. This consisted of three stones. On the largest stone he
placed a single one, and then on the ground beside it was placed one
indicating the direction he was to take.

This done, he pushed out in the river again and paddled down stream,
always keeping a sharp lookout along the banks.

At intervals of a quarter of a mile or so he would beach the canoe
and attach signals to guide his companions should there be need of
following him.

Several times he wondered if his hunch in going to the place where
the attempt to lay a railroad had been started was wise. Then he
reflected that he had no stated course to pursue, hence following a
hunch was the only thing left to do. He was sure of one fact, that
LeBlanc had come that way. Then this was the only likely place to
come.

He would hardly take a captive to the Forest Reserve; there was
always the danger that he would come upon a Ranger, and this reserve
was better patrolled than any other of the state woodlands, for the
government and not the state exercised supervision. The Rangers here
covered more ground, for Garry had been told that they were all
mounted.

On the side of the river where the town lay, there was no place
where one could hide out very successfully, for the timber growth
there was mostly hard wood, and there was constant cutting.
Straggled farms dotted that part of the country.

The only logical place, therefore, was the wild land toward which
Garry was heading. And, he figured, what more likely place to make a
start than the old railroad. One could easily follow that, and let
circumstances decide on what course to pursue as soon as the track
came to an end.

Garry judged that he had paddled about ten miles, when he came to a
bit of beach, or rather a spot where the growth had been cut away,
leaving a bare spot except for the scores of stumps that dotted the
land.

It has probably been the intention of the railroad builders to make
a slide here for the logs to be rolled into the river. Garry headed
the nose of his craft into the bank, and hauled up the canoe. Since
he had determined to trek into the forest, he had to secrete his
canoe. He cast about for a good place, and noting an extra thick
undergrowth several yards away, went to see if it was a practicable
hiding place.

Great was Garry’s surprise when he parted the underbrush and found a
birch-bark canoe already hidden there. He crawled into the thick
bushes to make a closer examination of the craft.

The thought that instantly sprang to his mind was that this was
LeBlanc’s canoe. If such was the case, Garry determined that it
should be put out of commission.

Still, supposing it belonged to some of the boys that lived on the
other side of the river? In that case the destruction of the canoe
would be rather a mean trick to play.

Garry looked into the canoe and found some trash left there. This
appeared to be paper in which parcels had been wrapped, and seemed
to have been only lately discarded. Looking closer, he noted the
twine that was used. It was a cheap twine composed of red and white
strands intermixed.

Immediately Garry remembered that this was the sort of twine used by
the storekeeper with whom he had talked the night before, and who
had told him of selling supplies to a man that answered the
description of the halfbreed.

Garry reflected that it was better to be safe than be sorry, and
determined to disable the canoe. In case it was the halfbreed’s, all
well and good. If it was that of some of the boys, he could leave
word with the hotel man and the storekeeper that he would make good
the damage.

There was something else to be considered. Should he disable the
canoe and should LeBlanc come back, would it not immediately give
warning that he was being tracked, and cause him to turn in his
tracks and trace his pursuer?

Garry gave the matter several minutes’ thought, and then the idea
occurred to him. He could disable the canoe by puncturing the
innumerable “eyes” that are frequent in birch bark—the little
places where a branch would later pierce though.

Hastily he took his pocket knife, one of the Scout knives that was
equipped with several tools, among them being a sharp instrument
that could be used as a brad awl.

Working speedily, he plunged it through all the eyes he could find.
This would cause the canoe to leak, and make it useless as a craft.
There is only one way to fix this, and that is one that requires a
great deal of time. It consists of making a slashwise cut in the
bark through the “eye” and sealing this down with hot pitch. The
damage that Garry had done would take a good while to repair
properly, and if it was LeBlanc’s canoe, it might hinder him in
making an escape at some time.

The easy manner in which he found LeBlanc’s canoe was a warning to
him. He carefully obliterated all traces of having been there, and
returned to his canoe. Getting aboard again, he paddled down the
river about a hundred yards, till he came to a rocky bank. There he
succeeded in bringing his canoe up on to the land, and as the growth
was thick here also, had no trouble in finding a perfect place of
concealment.

This done, he scrambled through the undergrowth back to the spot
where he had first landed. Hitching up his knapsack, and looking to
his rifle, he set off into the woods. The track had been laid for
some little distance, and piles of ties lay along the track. After a
matter of perhaps half a mile, the trackage ceased, and from there
on was only a trail marked by the triangular stick such as surveyors
use to mark out the particular line that their engineering matter
requires.

Garry knew now that extreme caution was required. Provided LeBlanc
had come this way, there was every possibility that he might be
returning over the same route.

For a matter of two miles Garry walked, peering ahead of him, and
straining his ears to catch the slightest sound.

Finally he came to a little natural clearing in the midst of the
brush and trees, and saw ashes. Someone has made a campfire there,
and not very long ago, either. Woodsmen can always tell within a
short time, just how long since a fire has been used. It is almost
impossible to describe, and can only be done intuitively or by long
practice.

Garry decided that this fire had been built not more than a day ago,
and a tin tomato can that had been thrown to one side, had barely
corroded from exposure to the elements.

He was on the trail, but where did it lead? And was it made by the
quarry he was seeking?

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost eleven o’clock,
the hour when he had promised to open his receiving station and wait
for a message from his chums. He decided that this was as good a
spot as any, and unpacked the apparatus from his knapsack, adjusting
and extending the rods from which his aerial could hang.

As he looked about for a good place to stand his rod, he caught a
glint of something bright in the tangled grass near him.

He bent and picked it up, and was amazed to find that it was a small
gold locket. Hastily he opened it, and there staring at him from the
two compartments, were pictures of Ruth and her grandfather!

Garry almost shouted with glee. They had come this way, and the next
step was to determine in which direction they had gone.

That, however, must wait for a moment, for he wanted his chums to
know that he was safe, and hence must wait for a time for a message
from them.

But when he spread out his apparatus, a pang struck him. Part of the
detector, the most essential part of the receiving apparatus, was
missing!

Garry examined it closely and saw that it had been broken; and when
he took thought, he remembered the haste in which the boys had
packed their knapsacks, his among them, when they left the lumber
camp some days before.

Inwardly the boy berated himself for his stupidity in setting out on
this search without first seeing that all his apparatus was in
perfect order.

The detector, sometimes known to users of the radio as a “cat’s
whisker,” is a thin wire with a point attached to it, extending from
the sounding posts to a piece of galena or silicon. This detector is
used for this reason: The voice waves that are sent out through a
radio transmitter are too faint to be heard by the human ear unaided
by a mechanical apparatus.

The detector or “whisker” is moved about on the silicon until it
strikes a sensitive spot, and in this way the air waves are brought
into proper tune, and may be heard through the receiving ’phones.

Attached to the end of the wire that is fixed to the baseboard is
either a point, welded to the brass wire that leads to the cup
holding the galena crystals, or else a point is carefully fashioned
on the end of the wire to the same sharpness as a needle.

In the case of Garry’s detector, both the point and the entire wire
were missing.

Somehow he must fix this, else his friends would immediately set out
in search of him, and that perhaps at a time when they had important
work to do at Hobart concerning the mission they had embarked on.

But how was he to repair a part of a radio telephone, that most
delicate instrument, while he was out here in the wilds? It would be
a hard enough task in the village, for there were no stores where
radio equipment could be bought.

Garry, however, was not one to give up hopelessly on anything. He
set his wits to work to think up some way in which the detector
could be fixed. A search of his knapsack revealed nothing that could
be substituted for the original whisker.

He knew enough about the apparatus to know what would be needed.
First there was a piece of brass wire, and that must be sharpened to
a needle point.

As he thought of the words “needle point,” he was struck by a
brilliant idea, and gave a soft whoop at the thought that it might
work.

In his knapsack was a small “housewife” that his mother had given
him just before he set out for the big woods at the start of the
summer. He resurrected this, and from it drew a large needle.

There was part of the battle won, but there were still two other
necessary things to obtain. One was the brass wire, and the other
was a method of welding or soldering it to the needle.

He rummaged through his belongings, in the vain hope of finding some
bit of wire that would answer the purpose, but could find nothing.
Desperately he glanced at his watch. It was already twenty minutes
after eleven, and the boys were probably trying vainly to talk with
him.

As he looked at his watch, a thought struck him.

Presto; here was the brass wire. It would mean sacrificing the use
of his watch for a time, but that could be easily dispensed with. He
unscrewed the back of his watch, and ruthlessly took out the
mainspring, which was a small coil of thin brass, not a wire
exactly, but something that would answer the purpose just as well.
His screw driver that he carried in the knapsack was too clumsy for
such work as tinkering with a watch, so he used the point of his
knife blade instead.

Getting the mainspring out was a matter of a few seconds only. Now
remained only to think of some ingenious way to solder the brass
coil to the needle. In his search through the knapsack he had thrown
much of the contents on the ground near him, and in looking these
over, in the search for inspiration, his eyes lighted on his fishing
tackle.

There was the final thing needed. From the tackle book, where he
kept his flies, he undid a little flap that covered a pocket, and
drew out a split lead sinker. This was just what he needed for
soldering the coil to the needle.

With his pliers he bent the end of the coil tightly about the center
of the needle, and widening the split in the shot with his knife,
slipped it over the needle where it was held to the brass coil.

Using the handle of his knife, he carefully pounded the sinker until
it held of its own accord. Soldering was now a simple matter.

Garry lighted a small fire, and when the dry branches had burned to
coals, thrust the screwdriver into the glowing bed.

“That spoils a good screwdriver,” thought Garry, “but at least it’s
in a good cause.”

As any boy knows that has ever used tools, heating a screwdriver, if
it is a good one, ruins the temper and makes it easy to break when
struggling with a refractory screw.

As soon as the blade had gotten sufficiently heated, he applied it
quickly to the lead sinker and caused it to melt and fuse around the
needle. Two or three applications of the hot screwdriver were
necessary before the job could be called complete, and then Garry
sat back and surveyed his work with satisfaction.

Now remained only the biggest question of all. Would this crude
contrivance work? Garry felt that it would, since it followed in
principle the theory of the detector.

The quickest way to find out if it was workable, of course, was to
try it out, and this he immediately did.

Noting that all the rest of the radio outfit was in good condition,
he adjusted the headpieces and tuned up back and forth over the
tuning coil to get the proper range. Soon he heard frequent buzzes
in the receivers and knew that everything was all right. Now came
the crucial test of the detector. He moved the needle point around
on the silicon and soon was rewarded by getting the proper
induction, and distinctly heard a voice. The forest-made detector
worked!

The voicing was chanting over and over again:

“Boone, Garry Boone. Calling Garry Boone.”

Garry laughed to himself as he thought how much it sounded like a
bellboy in a hotel paging one of the guests.

Turning to his sender he called.

“Boone talking.”

This he repeated at intervals, and after a few minutes, in which he
divined that Phil and Dick were probably working their tuning coil,
he established connection.

But the connection was faulty, and he was afraid that at any moment
the detector would fail to work. So he called briefly:

“Have found a clue to Ruth and am on her trail. Am safe. Tell Mr.
Everett everything is coming out O. K. What news have you?”

From the other end came this startling, to Garry, news:

“Simmons arrested this morning, and——”

Then all became silent. Only an indistinct buzzing came into the
receivers. He worked his tuning coil back and forth, but brought no
results. Then he tried switching the “cat’s whisker” to another spot
on the cup of silicon, and found that this, too, was futile.

Something had evidently gone wrong with his apparatus. So after a
few minutes more of vain attempt to establish connection again, he
gave it up as a bad job.

However, the vital thing had been accomplished. He had informed his
chums that he was safe, thereby freeing their minds from worry, and
he knew that they were on the job at their end. Also his message
would prove of great cheer to Ruth’s grandfather and Aunt Abbie.

He could not, of course, understand what his friends had meant by
Simmons being arrested. Simmons was the postal inspector, and should
be making arrests, rather than be subject to seizure himself.

There was no use, though, in racking his head to try and puzzle out
the situation. There was still the important part of his work ahead
of him.

He felt hungry and decided to make a hasty meal before going any
further. He produced from his supplies enough stuff for a cold
lunch, and was wondering if it would be worth while to search for a
few minutes for a spring.

Garry figured that five minutes could make no great difference, and
looking around for moist ground that would denote the proximity of a
spring, advanced a short distance into the woods. He had not gone
far when he heard the murmur of water, and pushing ahead, came to a
fair-sized brook.

Quickly he noted that there were footprints on the soft bit of
shore, and bent to examine them. After some scrutiny he could make
out distinctly at least three sets of prints. One set seemed to be
made by moccasins, for the prints were blurred and indistinct, and
another set was evidently left there by some man who wore a pair of
shoes with heels.

What made Garry’s heart beat quickly, was the sight of the third set
of prints that were of a certainty made by a girl.

The two sets of male footprints of course denoted two men, and since
it was a foregone conclusion that the moccasined walker was LeBlanc,
Garry wondered who his companion could be.

He searched about for more prints in an endeavor to find which way
the tracks led, but they soon broke back onto the hard ground,
covered with countless thousands of pine needles and spears from the
spruce trees.

He was about to give up the search and debate with himself as to
what course to pursue, when he saw, lying among the pine needles, a
dress button.

Garry seized it eagerly. It looked like an ornamental button from a
waist or dress. Since it lay some little distance from where he had
found the footprints, it must mean that the girl and her captor had
come this way.

It was new looking, and was undoubtedly dropped there not very long
before the time he found it. Had it been there for some time it
would show it had been exposed to the rain and ground.

Filling his collapsible bucket with water, he hurried back, and
having made his coffee, hastily ate his meal. The wireless was then
dismantled and along with the other contents of the knapsack
repacked quickly.

Shouldering his knapsack, and stamping out the remains of the fire,
also removing, as far as possible, any trace of having eaten at the
spot, Garry made his way back to the place he had found the button.

The discovery had shaped his course for him. It was probable that
the trail led up the brook. If LeBlanc had some hideout in the
woods, what was more natural than having it near a brook, both for
the fact that it was a supply of water and a place where a certain
amount of food could be obtained, since Garry, with an angler’s
instinct, had mentally decided that the brook abounded in fat trout.

The final reason for believing this to be the proper trail lay in
the fact that it was less brushy and thick along the bank of the
brook, making it easier walking. Garry walked along for some
distance, keeping his eyes glued to the ground in the hope of
finding “sign” of some sort to show that his quarry had passed that
way.

With a muffled exclamation he bent to the ground and picked
up—another button.

Carefully comparing it with the other, he found them to be exactly
alike. Then it dawned on him that Ruth in some manner must have been
able to detach them from her clothing and was dropping them for the
purpose of leaving a trail behind her.

Garry wondered if the locket might not also have been purposely
dropped with the same idea in view. The discovery made him hasten
his steps, and he fairly tore off yard after yard. The walking was
none too easy, for it was not the soft flooring of the forest such
as he had patrolled on his father’s land. Here the way was rough and
uneven, and as he walked he noted that the grade tended to rise, and
thought it would shortly get into hilly country.

Sometime later he found a third, and then a fourth button. After
that he found no more. Each time that he had made a discovery, he
had marked the spot carefully and made short detours from the path,
to see if at any time the party had turned off.

This had naturally taken a great deal of precious time, and peering
up into the sky through the branches of the trees, he discovered
that he could not see the sun, and judged that it must be at least
five in the afternoon.

Garry had gone nearly two miles after finding the last button, and
since he could find no more, wondered if he had lost the trail. By
the time he stopped to consider this, he found he was at the
beginning of a sharp rise in the ground, and figured that he was at
the foot of a hill. A few minutes’ hard walking convinced him of the
truth of this thought, and he came to what was evidently the top of
a high knoll or hill.

There was one thing left to do, and that was to climb a tree and
sweep the surrounding country through his glasses in the hope of
finding a clue. The brook which he had been following stopped at a
spring almost at the top of the little hill. This spring naturally
was the source of the brook, which likely ended in the Penocton
River.

He selected the highest tree he could find, and since the branches
did not begin for some feet from the ground, had recourse to the
method he and his chums used.

This consisted of taking a long piece of cord, or better still a
stout wire, and circling it around his person and the tree. By
alternately lifting this and bracing his heels against the tree, he
was able to edge himself up inch by inch till he could reach one of
the branches.

From then on climbing was a simple matter. He reached the top of the
tree, going as high as he dared before it would bend with his
weight. He had shown wisdom in picking the particular tree he had,
for it towered above its fellows for several feet.

Garry found he had a good view of the country around him. He was
surprised to note that he had made a considerable climb without
noticing how great it was, for although he was conscious while
walking that he was on rising ground, he had no idea that the
gradient was so steep. To one side he could see a little depression,
and then a sharp rise that led to a series of ever mounting hills.

At another point there was a depression as though some ravine
existed there. He watched this spot fixedly for some minutes, for
the sun was just dropping over the horizon, and the vicinity was not
perfectly visible. Then he gave a sharp exclamation. Rising from the
ravine, or depression, or whatever it was, was a thin spiral of
smoke, that grew a little thicker after he had watched it for some
moments.

He fished in his pocket and drew out his compass, noted the exact
point from which the smoke seemed to come, and then made haste to
descend the tree, scratching his hands in his hurry to get to the
bottom.

He got to the ground by “bending” one of the limbs. This is a simple
matter, as nearly every boy knows. It consists of crawling out on
one of the branches until the weight of the body begins to pull it
toward the earth. The farther one goes the nearer the earth comes to
the limb, until one can drop off and let the limb fly back to its
original position.

Calculating the direction by referring to the compass, he set off in
the direction of the place from which he had seen the smoke
emanating.

While in the treetop he had estimated that it must lay almost a mile
away, and the going was hard. The brush was tangled and thick, and
the ground rocky. Where there were scattered rocks, the roots of the
trees projected as though coming in search of nourishment that was
denied them in the rocky soil.

Here and there he noted places where the brush had evidently been
torn away to allow some one to pass through.

After almost an hour of tiresome toil, he approached a little
clearing, and then became exceedingly cautious and wary. He could
see that there was a slight ravine there, with an entrance between
two great rocks.

Creeping to this entrance he peered in, and saw that a crude shack
had been erected at one end. He must approach the shack without
knowing who was in it, or how many might be there. He divested
himself of his knapsack, sticking it in back of a pile of brush, so
that should anyone approach, they would not be warned of the
presence of a stranger.

Then with his rifle grasped firmly in his hand, he walked slowly and
noiselessly to the door of the shack. He half expected to be
challenged by LeBlanc before he could reach the door.

No one halted his approach, however, and he came up to the door. It
was half ajar, and holding his rifle so that he could instantly
cover anyone, he threw open the door.

There he saw a sight that made his heart leap.

In one corner of the shack was Ruth, tied hand and foot, and a dirty
rag stuffed in her mouth for a gag. In addition to the bonds on her
wrists and ankles, she was tied to a projecting log.

He ran over to the girl, whipping his knife from his pocket as he
did so.

It was the work of a moment only to cut the bonds that tied her and
release the gag from her mouth. Ruth let him free her, and then
stood erect for a moment, and being only a girl, dropped over in a
dead faint.

The inside of the cabin was nearly dark, and he was searching about
wildly to see if there was any water within, when he heard a muffled
groan from another corner.

Garry ran to the corner and was astonished to see that a man, tied
and gagged in the same manner that Ruth had been, was lying there.

The boy hesitated for a moment before releasing him, and then
reflected that he could not be inimical since such drastic measures
had been taken to render him helpless.

His indecision was only momentary, and then with a few swift strokes
of his knife, he freed the man.

The stranger rose weakly to his feet, and for a moment could not be
understood. Garry thought that he must have been gagged for some
little time, as his thick speech indicated that his tongue was
probably swollen.

“Guess you came just about in time,” he finally managed to utter.

“From the looks of things here you’re right,” answered Garry. “But
who are you?”

Then came the astonishing answer:

“Name’s Simmons. I’m a United States postal inspector!”




CHAPTER XI

GARRY FINDS RUTH


“You’re who?” asked Garry, so astonished that he almost stuttered.

“Simmons, I told you; but first, have you any water?”

Garry had been so flustered by Ruth’s fainting that he had forgotten
his canteen, which lay outside with his knapsack. He dashed out of
the shack and in a moment returned with it.

He gave the man a little, cautioning him to be careful and not drink
too much. The man realized the sense of this, and drank sparingly.

The boy then turned his attention to Ruth, and after spattering some
of the water on her face, forced a small quantity of it between her
lips, and then fell to chafing her and hands and wrists. In a few
moments the color returned to her face and she opened her eyes.

She cast a frightened glance around, and then seeing that Garry was
standing over her, laughed weakly.

“Guess that’s the first time I ever fainted in my life. Oh, I’m so
glad to see you, but I kept up hope all the time that you and the
boys would come. Are they with you?”

“No, I’m here alone; but that doesn’t matter as long as you’re safe
and sound. Just tell me one thing. Who brought you here?”

“It was Jean LeBlanc,” answered Ruth.

“I was pretty sure it was,” said Garry, “I just wanted
corroboration.”

The man who called himself Simmons was stirring around, easing his
cramped muscles and restoring the circulation to his arms and legs.

Now he approached Garry and said:

“Look, young chap, have you anything to eat with you? I haven’t had
a bite since yesterday noon, and neither has this girl here.”

“Yes, I’ve plenty. Just wait until I get my knapsack outside.” And
Garry was about to get it, when he was interrupted by Ruth.

“I’m hungry, too; but you aren’t going to stay in this dreadful
place another minute, are you? Can’t we get away from her right
now?”

“Guess that would be the wisest course, Miss,” said the man. “But
I’m pretty weak, and you must be also. We couldn’t do much unless we
had something to fortify ourselves with. We must be a good many
miles away from civilization.”

“Yes, we’re about eight or nine miles all told from the river, and
it’s getting too dark to go wandering back through the woods,”
answered Garry. Then as an afterthought he asked:

“Can you handle a gun, Mr. Simmons? I’m calling you Simmons because
you say that’s your name; but later on I’m going to ask a lot of
questions.”

“You bet I can,” was the quick response, “and the first time I see
that snaky Frenchman I’m going to handle one if it’s handy.”

“Well, there’s seemingly only one plausible entrance to this place,
and that’s by the mouth of this ravine. You take the rifle and stand
guard there, and I’ll get some supper. After that we can decide on
the next move. From the mouth of this ravine here you could pick off
a half a dozen men should they approach, and so we’ll be safe
enough.”

This being settled, Garry went out, to return a few moments later
with his knapsack.

“Do you know if there’s any water anywhere around here?”

“Why, the old Indian woman used to be gone only a few moments and
she’d come back with some in that old tin pail there,” answered
Simmons.

“The old who? But never mind; questions can wait for a while,” and
Garry took the pail and went out. He found that there was a spring
outside the entrance. He filled his pail and hastened back to the
shack.

In a little while he had coffee, bacon and spider bread cooking in
the crude fireplace. A great log had been thrown on that morning, he
found, and it was this that burned and smouldered through the day,
making the smoke that guided him to his destination.

Simmons kept watch while Garry prepared the supper, and then Garry
took his turn at watching while the others ate. In turn he was
relieved by Simmons and made his own supper.

The meal over, they gathered at the mouth of the ravine, and
discussed the situation. First Garry asked for an account of what
had happened.

Simmons told his story.

“As I told you, my name is Simmons, and I’m a postal inspector. I
was detailed from Washington several days ago to go to Hobart to
investigate alleged irregularities in the mail there, and reached
the town by nightfall. I got my supper at a restaurant there, kept
by a French chap, and was taking a walk around just to get the lay
of the land.

“I walked out of the town just a ways, and next thing I knew, I was
set on by three men, and though I fought as best I could, I was
overpowered. They hustled me to a farm not very far from the town,
and kept me there for a couple of days. Then one night I was bundled
into an automobile and carried some miles.

“When the auto left me, my captor made me march at the point of a
gun to the bank of a river. My hands were tied behind me, and I
could make no break for liberty. It was night, and there was never a
person to be seen. The chap who was leading me, a big, burly,
black-haired Frenchman, tripped me up when I got to the river bank
and proceeded to tie my feet and gag me. Then he disappeared and
came back after a while, and picked me up as though I were a
child—I’m not a very hefty person anyway—and carried me to a canoe
on the water’s edge.

“He paddled over the river. I’m going to call this chap LeBlanc.
Isn’t that what you said his name was, Miss? The same one that
brought you was the one that guided me here.”

“Yes, that was LeBlanc,” said Ruth.

“Well, to make a long story short, I was brought here and kept tied
hand and foot. There was an old Indian man and woman here, and they
guarded me. When they fed me, one hand would be untied, and the old
man kept me covered with a rifle. I’ve worn my wrists raw trying to
work out of my bonds, but never with any success.

“Then yesterday afternoon the Indian went away, and about two hours
later this LeBlanc arrived here with the girl. She was tied up, and
the old woman was given some instructions in French. I don’t speak
the language, so I don’t know what it was all about.”

“He told her to wait until morning and then go back home,” put in
Ruth. “I can understand French enough to know what he was talking
about.”

“Well, the woman went this morning after cooking her breakfast and
eating it in front of us without even giving us a bite, and that’s
all there is. Nothing happened until you came here and saved us from
what was probably certain death, for I believe it was meant that we
should be left here to starve to death.”

Simmons concluded his story, and then Garry asked Ruth to add hers.

“I don’t want to tell you, because I know now what a silly, foolish
girl I was to do what I did; but I suppose you will find out
eventually, so I might as well own up. I wanted to do something to
help you boys find what you were after, and when I heard Lafe Green
had come back to town, I felt sure he was mixed up in this. I
remembered how you boys had gotten your information the time you got
the smugglers. So I went over to the Crombie’s to see my girl
friend, and made up my mind that when I left there I would go out to
Green’s and go through the secret passage and discover what I could.
I wanted to find some clue to show you boys that a girl could do
things too, and everything would have been all right but for a
sneeze. I got into the kitchen all right, and was going to go
upstairs, as I remembered your telling about doing, and just as I
got to the middle of the floor I sneezed.

“I knew that everything was all off then, and started to run for the
back door, for I didn’t want them to know I had come through the
passage, when Green and LeBlanc rushed out into the kitchen and
caught me.”

Ruth stopped and shuddered.

“Then they tried to make me tell them why I came and how I got in,
and LeBlanc twisted my arm till I thought he would break it, but I
shut my teeth and wouldn’t say anything.

“Finally they locked me in a closet, and a little while later put a
nasty old cloth in my mouth and brought me by automobile the same
way they did Mr. Simmons. It was LeBlanc’s brother who came with
him, and they hid in the woods with the machine while Jean went
away. He came back with his arms full of bundles, and they put a
pistol so it stuck in my ribs and warned me to make no sound and
marched me to the canoe. When they got me in, I was tied up and then
Baptiste went away and Jean brought me across the river and here.”

“How about the buttons and the locket that I found?” asked Garry.

“Why, I didn’t know about the locket for quite a few minutes after I
lost it. It must have been while we were eating. We stopped and
LeBlanc built a fire and cooked some food. Just as soon as I missed
the locket I thought that someone might find it, and so I thought
then about leaving other things behind. The only thing I could get
at were those buttons, and there were only four of those on the side
of my dress. I put them there for a little ornament, and when I did
it I never thought that they would lead you to me. There, don’t you
think I was very foolish?”

“Yes, I think you were,” said Garry with a laugh.

“That isn’t the right answer at all,” she pouted. “You should have
said I wasn’t.”

“You should be mighty thankful that this young man had brains enough
to find us, young lady,” said Simmons sternly. “By the way, there
are two questions I should like to ask you, young man. First, how
did you find us?”

Garry explained about the visit they had made to Lafe Green’s and
the confession they had obtained from the tramp.

“The rest was just a hunch, and it turned out to be a lucky one,”
concluded Garry.

“That’s all right, then. Now what made you look so funny when I told
you my name, and what made you appear to doubt me?”

“Nothing very much, unless you can call it funny when I tell you
that we have seen and talked with a man who says he is a United
States postal inspector whose name is Simmons, and who is now at
Hobart investigating the robberies.”

“What?” exploded the man. “Some one parading under my name?”

“Exactly,” answered Garry dryly. “One of the pair of you must be
wrong.” Just then a thought struck Garry. “I guess you’re the right
one, and something that puzzled me for a while has been explained.”

Garry had remembered the puzzling sentence that was broken off when
the radio failed to work. What was it his chum had said? Yes,
something about Simmons being arrested. Evidently the boys had
detected the fraud—for fraud the man posing as Simmons must have
been—and had him seized before he could do any more damage.

“Guess we’ll find the impostor safe in jail when we get back to
Hobart,” he told the real Simmons. Then he related all that he knew
of the supposed inspector, and concluded by giving him a description
of the man.

“Why, I think I know who that is,” said Simmons excitedly. “That
description fits perfectly a man named Sullivan, who was discharged
from the service about a year ago. There was never anything proven
on him, but circumstances surrounding certain actions of his were
suspicious, and he was let go for the good of the service. In the
post-office department, a man must be above even the breath of
suspicion.”

“Well, we can’t tell what the outcome has been until we get back to
Hobart,” said Garry. “Which reminds me, when are we going to start?
I am afraid that we will have to stay here until morning. It would
be a treacheorus job finding our way back through the woods, and
besides I need some rest, and it is likely that you people do. You
must be all cramped up from being tied the way you were. Now I
suggest this: I have a blanket with me, and Ruth can have that and
sleep in the cabin. And you can use our coats and sleep out here on
some boughs that I will cut. If you go to sleep now, I will keep
watch at the mouth of the ravine till about one o’clock. Then I will
wake you and you do sentry till morning. When dawn comes, we will
hike back to the river and get across. There we’ll telephone to
Ruth’s grandfather and then get an auto to take us around the out of
the way road that takes us to Hobart.”

This was accordingly agreed on, and soon Garry was alone with his
thoughts. The minutes dragged into hours, and each snapping of the
twigs or the fall of an occasional dry branch quickened Garry to the
alert and prevented him from nodding, as he was fairly tired after
his hike to the cabin in the ravine. It was about midnight, he
thought, when he heard a crashing through the undergrowth, and he
jumped to his feet. There was silence for a moment and then more
noise.

Garry wondered whether it was one of the Indians or Le Blanc that
was coming, and he gripped his rifle tensely, awaiting the approach
of the intruder. For a time all was still, and he decided that it
was some woods animal.

Some instinct must have warned him to look up to the edge of the
ravine, and he saw a pair of eyes gleaming in the darkness. Just
then a form launched itself from the overhanging rocks, straight
toward him!




CHAPTER XII

NATE WEBSTER CALLS ON THE BOYS


Garry waited not to discover what the flying shape might be. Raising
his rifle to his shoulder he fired straight at the black mass,
pumping the shots from his magazine as fast as he could work the
mechanism.

He retreated hastily as he fired, and at the second shot heard a
scream of pain, then there was a thud as some body struck the ground
and writhed and clawed.

Garry fired two more shots at the screeching mass and then all was
quiet and the struggling ceased. The sound of the shots had, of
course, wakened Simmons, and he rushed forward to where Garry was
standing.

“What is it? Are we attacked? Did you kill him?” The questions were
shot out rapidly.

“Don’t know yet what it is, but if you wait a moment I’ll have a
look,” said Garry.

Just then Ruth came hurrying out. She had snatched a burning stick
from the fireplace and held this as a torch. It must be remembered
that this entire occurrence took far less time than it takes to tell
it.

Taking the flickering torch from the girl, Garry advanced to where
the dark mass lay, and looked it over. The others crowded around
him. It was a dark animal built something like a lioness, and as it
lay stretched out looked to be almost seven feet long, measuring
from tip of the nose to the tip of the tail.

“What is that, a lion?” asked Simmons.

“Why, yes, it is a specie of lion; I suppose you could call it
that,” answered Garry. “It’s generally called a mountain lion;
sometimes a panther, and by the natives a ‘painter.’ Its correct
name is Puma. Say, he is sure a beauty, isn’t he? Good thing he gave
warning of his approach and put me on guard, for if he had dropped
on me from the edge of the cliff, he would have made mincemeat of me
with those terrible fangs and sharp claws.”

“Are they generally to be feared?” asked Simmons.

“Of course they’re nothing you would want to take into your cabin
and lay down beside,” answered Garry, “but as a rule they are not
very courageous. This one must have been ravenously hungry to have
even thought of attacking a human being. Generally they prey on deer
in the forest, and if they summon up enough courage, will go on farm
land and raise havoc among sheep and young cattle. This is such wild
land here, that it had probably had nothing to eat for some time,
hence its attempt to light on me. I wish there were more time and no
element of danger around here, for I would like to skin it and take
the pelt back with me as a souvenir of the night. Perhaps we can
come here after we have taken Ruth home and get it.”

Garry had still an hour to stand on guard, and so Simmons went back
to sleep. The boy was tired himself, and welcomed the coming of the
hour when he was to be relieved.

At the appointed time, he roused Simmons and handed over the rifle.

“Don’t hesitate to shoot if there is anything suspicious, and that
will wake me to come to your aid. However, I don’t think there is
much chance of anyone coming at this time of the night.”

Garry was asleep almost as soon as he had touched the boughs, and
knew nothing until he felt a hand shaking him. He looked up and saw
that it was just getting light.

“Now for a quick breakfast,” he cried, leaping to his feet, “and
then back to civilization and safety.”

The breakfast over, they hurriedly left the place.

“We won’t have to bid any tearful farewell to this place, will we
Garry?” said Ruth.

All felt fresh and they made fine time in returning over the course
they had come. Since there was no need for stopping and searching
for trail, they covered the distance in much less time than it had
taken Garry the previous day.

The worst of the going was the track from the cabin in the ravine to
the brook, but from there the walking was comparatively easy. They
had started about six o’clock and by half-past nine reached the
point where Garry had discovered the campfire the day before.

“That reminds me,” said Garry to Ruth, “I haven’t given you back
your locket yet. You should keep that as a prize, for it was the
first clue that eventually led me to where you were imprisoned.”

“I shall keep it all my life,” declared the girl.

Simmons kept urging the others to hurry, for he wanted to get on the
ground and see what had been done by the impostor who had paraded
under his name. He did not seem to take much comfort in the
statement of Garry that the false Simmons had been arrested, so
Garry kept silence.

At the river bank, Garry bade the party wait while he looked at the
place where the birch-bark canoe had been secreted.

The canoe was gone.

He hastened to the place where he had concealed his own craft, and
was relieved to find that it was still there, safe and sound, just
as he had left it.

He drew it from its hiding place and let it down into the water and
paddled swiftly to where Simmons and Ruth were waiting. They
embarked and then Garry pushed out into the river, plying his paddle
with long, swift strokes, that fairly set the canoe dancing on the
water.

“There,” murmured Ruth, as she sank back against one of the thwarts.
“Now I feel really safe. I was afraid any minute that I would see
the horrible face of LeBlanc and have him pounce on us out of the
woods.”

“Twenty minutes more now and we’ll be in an auto, provided we can
hire one, and speeding toward Hobart,” said Garry.

He was as good as his word, and soon the little party were at the
hotel, where he arranged for the hiring of a flivver to carry them
home. The hotel keeper evinced some surprise at the sight of the
others, but Garry did not take the trouble to enlighten him.

“By the way,” said Garry, “do you happen to know of any boys around
here that own a birch-bark canoe? I happened to damage one that I
found on the other shore, and would like to leave my name in case
you should hear about it.”

“Nobody in these parts owns a bark canoe,” declared the hotel man
positively, “but I’ll take your name if you want me to.”

“It will take us almost as long to go by auto as it would to walk
across through the woods,” said Garry, “for this is a mighty
roundabout way; but it will be easier than walking, and I think we
all have earned a little rest.”

“If you don’t mind a little bumping occasionally,” said the
chauffeur, “I can get you to Hobart in about two hours; but it’s
over a long stretch of road that is hardly more than a lane.”

The party was unanimously agreed on preferring the bumps to the
extra time, and accordingly the driver changed his direction and
took a course that led him to what seemed to be nothing more than an
abandoned tote road.

The driver spoke the truth when he said it might be a little bumpy.

“Whew!” said Garry, as he was lifted almost a foot out of his seat
and came back with a thud that jarred nearly every bone in his body.
“I’m beginning to think that we are getting more than we bargained
for.”

“I told you there were a few bumps,” said the driver, grinning.

“You’re right,” declared Simmons, “only it seems that we are missing
the road altogether and just jumping from bump to bump.”

“Never mind,” consoled Ruth, as she hung on to the side of the tin
chariot. “We are getting to Hobart all the quicker.”

Finally they struck decent road again, and the driver stepped on the
gas and fairly made the car fly over the road.

When they reached the outskirts of the little village, Ruth directed
them to Aunt Abbie’s house, and in a few moments she and her
grandfather were clasped in each other’s arms. Good old Aunt Abbie
was fluttering around, alternately patting Ruth on the shoulder and
then Garry.

“Now we’ll have dinner right away,” she declared. “You people must
be starved.”

Aunt Abbie’s idea of a panacea for all the human ills of the body
was a “good meal.”

“Where are Dick and Phil?” asked Garry.

“Oh, they went traipsing off to the postoffice a few minutes ago,”
said Aunt Abbie. “If you just ring up there on the ’phone you may
find them there. They flustered all around the house this morning
worrying about you, and then went out.”

Garry manipulated the telephone, for as in most small villages, the
telephones are old style and one has to turn a crank or generator to
call central.

Denton himself answered the ’phone. He was mighty pleased to hear
Garry’s voice and expressed himself as “being plumb tickled to death
to talk with him.”

“Yes, your friends are here, and some time they’ve been having while
you were gone. Want to talk to one of them, or shall I tell ’em to
hike over to Aunt Abbie’s right away?”

Garry told the postmaster to do the latter thing, and then went back
to where the others were assembled.

“Now let’s hear all that’s happened,” he said to Mr. Everett.

“I guess perhaps we’d better wait till the boys get back, and let
them have the fun of telling you themselves. It’s been pretty
exciting, though, what with bank burglars and masqueraders of the
law.”

Just as Aunt Abbie called that dinner was ready, Phil and Dick came
tearing in. They leaped on Garry, shaking hands with him and
pounding him exuberantly on the back.

“I told grandfather here,—yes, we call him that now,”—said Dick as
he saw the look of wonder on Garry’s face. “I told him you would
bring home the bacon.”

“Well, I like that,” put in Ruth indignantly. “Are you insinuating
that I’m fat, Mr. Dick? Bacon yourself!”

Everyone laughed at Dick’s stuttering apologies, and then Garry
demanded that they tell the story of their adventures since he left
them.

Phil and Dick in turn recited what they had done, their stories
being constantly interrupted by exclamations from Aunt Abbie, who
became more and more excited as the stories were told, even though
she knew what had transpired during the preceding hours.

“And, so we decided not to wait for you to come back,” said Phil, as
he took up the concluding events. “We went and got the sheriff and
brought him to the postoffice, where we laid the whole matter before
him. He didn’t want to take any steps at first, because he could not
conceive of a U. S. officer not being straight. Then Mr. Arthur, the
bank president, came in, and Denton called him in and asked his
advice. He took our side immediately, and told the sheriff to go
ahead and get Simmons. I wouldn’t say for sure, but I guess that
Arthur has a lot of political influence in the county. At any rate,
the sheriff went ahead on his say so, and came back with Simmons.
There the whole thing was put up to him, and say, you should have
heard him explode. He threatened everyone with all kinds of
things,—said he’d have the whole postoffice department here, and
hollered about country sheriffs interfering with Federal officers
and all that sort of stuff. And the more he hollered, the madder the
sheriff got at being called a ‘hick,’ until if Simmons, calling him
that for want of a better name, had proven his innocence then and
there, I don’t believe the sheriff would have let him go without an
order from the President.

“Finally Dick came to bat with an idea that was seized by all hands
as the only sensible thing to do. He suggested that Denton send a
telegram to the postal authorities at Washington with a description
of the man and asking if it checked up. The masquerader shut up like
a clam then. The sheriff wrote out his description and Denton sent
the wire. About two hours later he got an answer saying that no man
in the postal service with the name of Simmons answered that
description, and ordered him held pending an investigation. My guess
now is that there’s another inspector hot footing it here from
Washington about this time.”

“Good land of liberty. Will you people come in and eat? That dinner
must be stone cold by now,” said anxious Aunt Abbie.

“I’d rather get a look at this chap before I eat,” said Simmons. “I
want to know who’s been using my name and papers that were taken
away from me when I was captured.”

“Well, if that’s all you want, go in and eat till I run upstairs. I
have his picture up there,” said Dick.

The party marched into the dining room, and in a moment or two Dick
was back with the group picture he had taken the first day they
arrived.

“There’s your man there,” said Dick, pointing out the impostor.

“Yes, I’m right,” said the inspector, after a hasty scrutiny. “His
name is Sullivan and he’s been discharged from the service for some
little time now. I’ll go down and rescue my badge and papers after
awhile.”

Dinner was a merry affair, since it was in the nature of a re-union.

“Now,” said Aunt Abbie, when all had finished, “I’ll get that big
dog of yours something to eat. I’ve had to keep him down in the
cellar while you boys were out, else he’d have chased himself to
death all over town looking for you.”

“I’ll take it to him,” volunteered Garry. He had no sooner opened
the cellar door than Sandy leaped on him with a bark of delight, and
the two friends, boy and dog, had almost a rough and tumble.

There was little to do for the real Simmons. He held a conference
with Denton, and then proceeded to the lock-up, where Sullivan was
waiting before being taken to the county jail.

Here he succeeded in getting a full confession from the impostor,
who saw that since he had been caught, there was nothing to be
gained by concealing anything. Knowing what he did of the service,
he knew that the authorities would work relentlessly until they had
searched out every fact and pinned it on him.

Simmons then wired an account of the affair briefly to his superior,
stating also that complete report would be mailed. He prepared this
report and then allowed the boys to read it.

They protested when they finished it, for it was largely a glowing
account of their ability and bravery in doing the work they had
done. Simmons, however, silenced their protests by stating that
whatever they thought, that was his idea, and that was the way that
the report was going.

But one thing did Sullivan refuse to tell, and that was the writer
of the threatening letters. Simmons caused fingerprints to be taken
of all the captives, and though not pretending to be an expert, knew
enough of the science to be able to declare that none of them
compared with the print on the letter.

It happened that Dick’s photography stood in good stead at this
time, for Sullivan had destroyed the originals, and but for the
photographs, there would have been no evidence.

“I take that to mean only one thing,” declared Garry. “There is no
one left on whom suspicion could rest except Jean LeBlanc, and when
LeBlanc is caught, I am sure you’ll find that is his fingerprint. It
is probable that Sullivan knows that LeBlanc is still free, and
thinks that by keeping silent he may aid his confederate in crime to
some degree. Now we seem to have this gang pretty well rounded up.
Only Jean and Baptiste are at large, and I’m hoping that they will
soon be under lock and key. That pair are not fit to be free and are
a menace to any community where they may be located.”

Later on in the afternoon, as they sat about relaxing after their
strenuous adventures, the ’phone rang and Aunt Abbie said that Dick
was wanted. He came back a few moments later and remarked:

“Cut down that list of our enemies to one. The sheriff says he sent
out word to all the authorities in the county last night, and one
caught Baptiste this morning at the railroad station. Wonder if
there isn’t some way we can get Jean? That would sure be a complete
round-up then.”

“I don’t know what we can do,” said Garry. “Only thing to do is to
be vigilant every moment and wait for him to try some trick, as he
undoubtedly will. Then we can muster a posse if necessary and run
him down. He’s such a slippery customer, though, and seems to find
out what’s going on so quickly, that now his whole gang is arrested,
he’ll probably seek safety for a time in hiding.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Phil. “I’ve got a strong hunch
that he’ll be coming after our scalps pretty soon. We’ve been lucky
enough so far to thwart him in every nefarious move that he has
made.”

“Well, time alone will tell that,” said Garry. As he spoke, there
came a knock at the door, and the boys nearly fell off their chairs
when they heard Aunt Abbie say in the high-pitched voice that she
used when excited:

“Well, great land o’ Goshen. Nate Webster! I haven’t seen you for
years!”




CHAPTER XIII

DICK’S FOREST STUNT


“Do you suppose that’s our Nate Webster?” inquired Garry.

“Quickest way to find out is to go and see,” answered Dick, and
suiting the word to the action started for the front hall.

It was the Nate Webster they knew, and he greeted the boys heartily.

“How do you happen to be in this part of the state, Nate?” asked
Garry.

“Why, I thought I’d like to see some of my old friends up this way,
and I found out from your father where you were, so I just put a man
in charge of my place for a while and came up. We’re going to get a
couple of good rainy days and that will stop any chance of fire for
a time. In fact it was lowering this morning when I started. You
know I used to be around here a spell of years ago, and this is a
bit of a vacation for me.”

The story of their adventures and those in particular that related
to the doings of LeBlanc were retailed for Nate, and at the
conclusion he asked what they were going to do.

“I thought perhaps we’d wait for orders from the Chief Ranger, and
in the meantime just take it easy for a day or two,” answered Garry.

“Might just as well, at least till the rainy days are over,” agreed
Nate.

They took a walk during the afternoon and met some of Nate’s old
friends, enjoying the reminiscences that were started when old
cronies of the guide got to talking old times with him. They brought
Nate back to supper with them, and Garry found a letter waiting for
him.

He read the letter over, and then called his chums together.

“This letter is going to cause rather a change in our plans. From
what I gather, my mother and yours, Phil, are rather worried; and,
furthermore, Mother wants us to have a short vacation at the beach
with her before we go to school. Dad suggests that we stay here a
week or two, if we want, and have a little fishing and swimming and
so on, without feeling that there is any work to do and halt us from
just enjoying ourselves.”

“Say, why wouldn’t this be a good time to go and visit the mine, and
see if after all it is really a good one, or was just a vain hope,”
said Phil.

“You know, I hope that there are some real tourmalines there, for
they are valuable things. You know the last time that we were in
Bangor, when I slid out for awhile and you wondered where I was. I
was at the library, reading up on the stones. I find that they are
valuable for more than gems; something I didn’t know before. They
are used a great deal in delicate electrical instruments, as they
are responsive to electricity and are used to measure the intensity
of radium emanations. Then they are used by oculists to test lenses
with. The finest specimens are the ones that are used for gems,
after being cut, and the others are used in the electrical
apparatus. You know, I’d give most anything if we could make some
money out of the mine,” he concluded wistfully.

Garry was about to answer, when he caught a significant expression
on Dick’s face. He did not know what it was all about, but took it
as an indication that he should keep silent.

Soon after that Nate engaged Phil in conversation, and perceiving
this, Dick left the room, motioning Garry to follow. They left the
house and walked down the street, and as soon as they were out of
hearing, Garry asked:

“What kind of a high sign were you trying to give me, Dick?”

“Garry, if it’s the last thing we ever do, we’re going to start for
that mine right away. I see the whole idea in the back of Phil’s
head.”

“I don’t get your meaning yet,” responded Garry in a puzzled tone.

“Dunderhead! It’s as simple as the nose on your face. First thing
that started him off was your reference to our going away to school.
You know Phil hasn’t said a word about it to either of us since the
day we first mentioned it, except to refuse Dad Boone’s offer to
stake him through and let him pay it up later on. But you can bet
you that he’s thought about it a lot. Now he has built up a lot of
hope on making money out of this mine. If it is anywhere near
successful, he could easily afford then to go to school with us. Now
does the idea percolate through that thick skull of yours?”

“Thick is right, Dick,” admitted Garry, as he rapped the offending
skull with his knuckles. “We’ll outfit up and start tomorrow. In the
meantime I’ll write Dad and explain matters to him, and get him to
secure our release from the State Forest Ranger at Augusta. I think
perhaps we’ve been of enough service so that we can be let off.
Anyway, we would have to be released to carry out Dad’s wishes about
our vacation with Mother.”

They returned to the house and there broke the news to Phil.

The boy said nothing, but the chums could tell from the look on his
face that the news was the most welcome he had heard that summer.
Both Garry and Dick tactfully forebore to intimate that they had
discovered Phil’s secret, and stated that they were off to the mine
solely because it was a lark, and would be an interesting conclusion
to their summer.

“There’s one thing, however. Once we start operations at the mine,
it will mean that the news will spread about and as soon as we leave
we will have to hire a guard to take care of it for us, or perhaps
someone to work it until we have exhausted the mine.”

“I have a bright idea,” exclaimed Phil.

“All right, little brightness, shoot it,” said Garry laughing.

“We’ll just hire Nate Webster here; or better than that, I propose
that we give him a share in the mine, and let him get a couple of
trustworthy friends of his to help him, and he can operate it after
we leave.”

“That’s a first class suggestion, Phil. What do you say to it,
Nate?” asked Garry, turning to the old timer.

The question struck Nate rather by surprise, and he made them tell
him some more details of the mine. When these had been furnished
him, he answered:

“Well, I’d be willing to take a chance at it. I’ve done a little of
everything but mining, and so I can try that once. But I won’t take
any share in the mine. If you boys want to hire me at day wages, all
right; but the mine’s yours, and I don’t feel that I should take a
share when I’ve done nothin’ towards findin’ it.”

“That suits us all right, Nate, if it does you; for we are not sure
that it will pan out. If we were sure it was O. K. I’d insist on
giving you a share, for you’ve helped us wonderfully mainy times
this summer.”

Some discussion ensued after this, and it was finally terminated by
Nate’s reluctantly agreeing to take a share in the mine. He
insisted, however, that if they went on this basis, he must be
permitted to share and share alike in all expenses and take his
chance of luck along with the boys. After some talk this was agreed
to, and the boys wrote out a business-like memorandum, making Nate a
partner in the venture.

Plans were then made for the outfitting. It was decided that since
all were anxious to get at the business of mining, it would be a
waste of time to build a shack, and the weather might not continue
fine enough to use only a brush house. So a tent was to be
purchased. They found that Denton had a large wall tent among his
numerous articles in the general store.

There was little to be bought except necessary provisions, and these
could be secured at Chester. The essential thing to be purchased was
dynamite, and this too they found at Denton’s. It was something that
he had occasion to sell often to the farmers, who used it to blow up
stumps on the land that was gradually being cleared and used for
farming.

Bright and early next morning they started for their mine. An auto
was hired to carry them, and on account of the dynamite the long way
around was taken.

“If we ever hit one of those bumps the way we did coming from
Chester with Ruth and Simmons, we’d wake up in another world,”
declared Garry. Goodbyes were said, and arrangements made for Ruth
and her grandfather, together with Aunt Abbie to visit them and see
the mine in operation.

They reached the mine about noon, and a camp site was selected about
a hundred yards from the stony face where the tourmalines, if there
were any really there, lay hidden. This spot was chosen because of
the proximity of a forest stream; that would at once provide them
with clear cold water, and a chance for a bit of trout fishing now
and then.

Camping meant outdoor cooking again, and so Dick’s first thought was
for the building of a proper stone camp fireplace.

Also he dug a hole, for they had brought shovels with them to use in
the mining, and prepared a “beanhole” to use the next day.
Practically all the afternoon was taken in making camp, and a visit
was paid to the ledge and tomorrow’s operations were planned.

Phil was made “engineer in charge,” for his hours at the library had
told him nearly all there was to know about the mining of
tourmalines. As they sat around the campfire after supper, Phil
explained the process.

“It shouldn’t really be called mining; it’s almost too simple an
operation for that. Tourmalines are generally found in pockets in
crumbling places in a ledge of rock, or are often found in the sandy
subsoil. No instance in this country has been known where they were
found at a greater depth than eight feet. Also there is little or no
way of determining where there is a geological likelihood of their
being located, as in the case of oil, when a geologist can tell
whether the formation is that which denotes the presence of oil.
Lepidolite, followed by smoky quartz and feldspar is a pretty good
indication, however, of their presence.”

“I suggest that we take and dig a bit along the front of that ledge
and perhaps find some pockets. Then after we have tried that for
awhile, we can pick out likely spots in the face of the ledge which
indicate that it is crumbling there, and by using very small charges
of dynamite break it away and screen or wash the contents of the
pockets until we find our tourmalines.”

Phil never gave thought to a chance of failure. They had found one
tourmaline there, and the old map that had guided them to the spot
had hinted at riches. Also the faith of the first owner of the map
had transferred itself to Phil.

Work started in earnest the next morning, and the four of them, the
three chums and Nate, shoveled away until their hands were
blistered. It was not until the fourth day that they were rewarded.

Nate was the one to whom the honor of finding the first pocket was
given. He gave a shout and the chums ran to his side.

“I swan, but thar she is,” and he pointed with his shovel to a half
a dozen glinting objects that sparkled in the sunlight.

All four dropped on their knees and investigated. They gathered up
handfuls of the earth and sifted it through their fingers. Nearly
twenty specimens were obtained, while their excitement was
unbounded. Pale pink and green were the different stones. Four in
particular were beauties, being a pale green, translucent and
sparkling. These were the ones that could be laid aside to be
disposed of as gems for rings or pins.

The next step was to start a more scientific way of getting at the
gems. To this end, Dick and Phil were set to bring pails of water,
while Garry and Nate procured flat tin pans that had been provided
for the purpose. The method used was that which is used in placer
gold mining. A quantity of the dirt was scooped up, and water poured
in. Then the pan was gently tilted back and forth; “rocking” it is
called by the miners, and the dirt gradually was washed away,
leaving the pebbles and gems in the bottom of the pan. Then it was
an easy matter to pick from the pebbles the real gems. Sometimes
they would pan a dozen times before they would pan a gem, and then
they would be lucky and pick a half dozen, sometimes half a score of
the glinting mineral.

The kind that could be sold for gems were a rarity, but the
specimens were all good and could be used for commercial purposes.

After two days of panning they apparently exhausted this particular
pocket, and considered moving a few feet and trying again.

Phil suggested that since they had found gems in this particular
spot, they blast away a small section from the ledge. He pointed out
the fact that there was a fissure at one spot, and this might be the
place where a pocket was concealed in the stone.

As it was nearly nightfall, they decided to postpone the blasting
until the morning.

Around the campfire, after supper, they chatted and listened while
Nate told stories of the forest. One of Nate’s stories was about the
search that he had once led for a camper that had gotten lost in the
forest, and how he had been found just in time to prevent death from
starvation and exposure. This led to a discussion on the part of the
boys as to the foolishness of campers in straying so far away from
their party as to become lost.

“It’s a crazy thing for one unused to the woods to do,” declared
Dick. “And yet it seems such a simple thing to do to keep from
starving in the woods. I know I wouldn’t suffer.”

“That’s a pretty broad statement to make, young fellow,” warned
Nate.

“I know I could do it,” persisted Dick. “First place I’ve learned a
lot of things from practical experience since I’ve been in the
woods, and second place, ever since I was a kid and in the Boy
Scouts, I’ve studied about it.”

“You might make it for a couple of days, but that’s a long time
unless you’re used to the woods and know them end for end and
backwards and forwards,” said Nate.

“Could live a week easy, and if I could live that long, will you
concede that I’d spend a summer safely and without starving?” asked
Dick.

“Don’t believe you could,” said Nate.

“Say, listen, I’ll wager anything I’ve got that I can do it, and by
gosh, I’m going to do it anyway, whether you fellows take me up or
not,” he announced stubbornly.

They ragged him for awhile and then saw that he was in dead earnest
about the matter. From that point the talk developed into whether or
not the trick could be turned, and finally they agreed to let Dick
try if he wanted to. To make it a fair test, however, they made him
agree that if twenty-four hours passed without his being able to get
a meal in the woods, that he would come out and admit it was a
failure.

“All right, that’s a go. Now what will you allow me to have?”
inquired Dick.

“Nothing at all; you’ve got to use Nature’s weapons all the time,”
promptly answered Phil.

“No, that’s hardly fair,” protested Nate. “The average camper that
got lost would have his knife, and he’d likely have a hatchet stuck
in his belt. ’Tain’t likely, though, that he’d have any food with
him; and if he were only out for a short stroll, and got twisted in
direction, and then lost, he wouldn’t have his gun with him. Suppose
we put it this way: You’re in the woods lost, and through an
accident you lost your pack and rifle. That leaves you just as I’ve
seen you three or four times. You’d have your hatchet and your
lariat and that’s all. We’ll even make it easier than that. You can
go in as you are now. I don’t know what you have in your pockets, so
we’ll let you have that much. You can’t have your matches, though.
Say you fell out of a canoe when you lost your pack and rifle, and
wet your matches so they are useless. That makes it harder.”

All agreed that this was a fair proposal, and Dick planned to start
the next morning. He determined to take to the Forest Reserve, first
because he wanted to see it, and second because that seemed to offer
the best place to try the experiment. Dick agreed to blaze a trail
from where he started so that in case of accident he could be
followed.

Next morning all went with him to the river to see him off, and
Garry paddled him across the river, using a canoe that he hired from
a youngster who was passing that way. They agreed that one of the
boys should come to the river at noon and at six o’clock every day
to see if he would be back, having concluded the experiment was a
failure.

Dick fell into the spirit of his own adventure, and walked half a
day into the forest, blazing a trail as he went, and occasionally
leaving some of the usual trail signs and messages such as all
scouts and woodmen know. Then he pretended that he was lost and
started in to make plans for his living. He cast about until he
found a brook and set at his first plan.

The first thing was a fire, and he had no matches. That meant using
the Indian method of firemaking. The plan that he was to have
anything that was in his pockets the night before stood him in good
stead, for along with a few minor articles was a stout piece of
cord.

He procured some dry moss and tindery substance and made a little
heap of it. Then he found a piece of dry bark, and inserted this in
the tinder after having made a small hole with the point of his
knife. Next he procured a dry stick and sharpened this at both ends.
Now all he would have to do was insert the point into the hole in
the bark, and twist it briskly between his palms until it started
the blaze. This process, however, takes quite a bit of time, owing
to the fact that a great speed cannot be attained, hence there is
less friction, and so the tinder will not ignite quickly.

There was a way that this could be done quicker and easier. He found
a flat piece of wood and bored a small hole in that. Then he
searched until he found a crooked stick, and tied his cord loosely
at each end. Making a loop in the cord, he slipped it over the stick
with the pointed ends. Now all that needed to be done was to put one
end in the tinder, and cap the other end with the piece of wood.
Holding this bit of wood in one hand, and the “bow” in the other, he
sawed back and forth, the string causing the stick to revolve back
and forth with great rapidity.

In a very few minutes he had his fire going briskly. Now the next
question was something to eat. He heard a slight splash in the
stream near him, and thought at once of trout.

How to catch them was the next question. That was soon solved.

What boy does not have a pin or two sticking somewhere in his
clothes—generally in his coat lapel. Dick found one, and after some
trouble, succeeded in turning the point back about a sixteenth of an
inch. This corresponded to the barb of a fish hook. Bending the rest
of the pin into a hook was simple.

Now for a line. His cord that he used in the fire making was too
heavy, and not long enough. However, Dick soon remedied the lack. He
fished out the tail of his cotton khaki shirt, and after a few
minutes’ work with the point of his knife, succeeded in drawing out
a few of the strong threads. Knotting these together, he had a line.

Bait was now the only thing needed, and a few seconds’ search under
the rocks along the shore of the brook uncovered several slugs such
as cling to the wet bottom of rocks. Baiting his hook, he threw it
in, and in a few minutes had a fine trout. Of course this kind of
fishing was crude. Instead of delicately playing the trout, he
simply snapped the line back, and landed the fish on the shore in
back of him. He cleaned the fish with his knife, stuck it on the end
of a stick and roasted it. There was one dinner, he thought.

A drink from the stream completed the meal. Not a heavy one, but
still it would have kept starvation away had he been really lost. He
spent the afternoon in exploring, and in the course of his
wandering, always taking care to notice his trail so that he could
get back to the stream and his campfire, he came upon a moist bit of
ground.

Dick spied something that meant an addition to his supper.

He bent closer to examine the find. It consisted of mushrooms. He
was familiar with the various kinds of poisonous and edible fungi,
and an examination of the pink gills and shape of the mushroom
convinced him these were all right to eat. Beyond the swampy place
was a clump of birches, and here he supplied himself with a quantity
of bark.

This would come in handy at a later time to make receptacles of.
Dick gathered a quantity of the mushrooms, and returned to his
campfire. Now he determined to try an experiment of which he was
somewhat skeptical. He had read of the Indians doing it, and so set
to work to try it.

He piled on wood until he had a good heap of coals, then made a cone
of birch bark, fastening it by sticking a twig through at intervals.
Filling this with water, he imbedded the cone in the coals, and
threw in some of his mushrooms.

The theory of the bark kettle is that the water will keep the bark
wet enough at all times so that the coals will not quite burn
through. It cannot be lifted from the coals; the water or stuff that
is cooking must be dipped out. Eventually the bark will be consumed,
but not before the water or food has been heated sufficiently to
use.

Dick had to admit that he was surprised when he found that the
contrivance worked, for he had doubted whether or not it would be a
success. Having cooked his mushrooms, he sought the rocks again for
bait for a fish, and made another discovery. Under some of the
biggest rocks were crawfish. He knew that these could be roasted and
eaten.

These, however, would do for another day. Then there were roots and
berries of various kinds that could be used as sustenance.
Altogether there was a quantity of foodstuff that he could use.

He rolled in that night close to the fire, satisfied that he would
live the week out in comfort and have the laugh on his friends.

Next morning, after another breakfast of fish and mushrooms, he
determined to push up the stream and seek out a new camp place.
After a walk that took him nearly half the morning, he branched away
from the stream and lay down for a rest. Here he made a discovery
that set him thinking. The find was nothing more nor less than a few
feathers. He knew after a brief examination that these were from
wild turkeys who probably roosted in the trees during the night. The
finding of the feathers convinced him that this was perhaps a
natural roost for the birds.

After an afternoon of exploration, during which he found some wild
raspberries, he came back to the turkey roost spot as he called it.
He found he was right in his first conjecture. There were several
turkeys roosting on some of the lower branches. Dick procured
several good-sized rocks and hurled them at the birds. Two good
shots each brought down a turkey, partially stunned. It was the work
of a minute to wring their necks.

He cleaned them and roasted them in the coals, and after eating what
he wanted, wrapped the cooked flesh in bark and put it by for the
next day.

The third morning found him exuberant and cheerful, and he decided
to take a long trek in the woods. Twice during the morning he found
signs that the mounted Rangers had passed that way, and figured that
he was in the line of patrol. He did not want to meet the Rangers so
early, as he wanted to subsist entirely on his own discoveries. The
afternoon brought him to the foot of a good-sized hill, almost a
young mountain.

He noted the location of a spring for use that night, and decided to
utilize the remaining hours of light in climbing up the big hill to
get a look at the surrounding country.

The climb consumed a good hour of hard work, and he had almost
reached the top when he found that he was looking at a cabin. It was
perched near the edge of a cliff, and looking out, he figured that
there must be a sheer drop of perhaps a hundred feet or more.

At first Dick thought this was the lookout of a Ranger, and entered.
There were no maps, however, nor anything else to indicate that the
cabin was a lookout. Someone had built a fire recently there,
though, and he looked about the cabin. There was a crude cupboard at
one end, and in this he found several packages of food.

Dick had some loose change in his pocket, and he was debating on
whether a lost man would have the right to take some and leave the
money in return.

As he pondered over the ethics of this, he heard something that
caused a flutter of excitement.

Someone was nearing the cabin. This in itself would have caused him
no great concern, except that whoever was coming was singing softly
to himself an old French chanson.

Dick darted to the cabin door, and there, facing him, stood the last
person in the world that he wanted to see—Jean LeBlanc.




CHAPTER XIV

THE GREAT SECRET


Left to pursue their mining, Nate and the two Ranger boys worked the
remainder of the morning, and mined several handsome specimens.
These Garry had been carrying loose in his pocket, but now they had
become too bulky, and so they were transferred to a canvas bag.

Phil suggested that they be secreted in the tent, and so a hole was
dug and the bag inserted. Then the dirt was replaced, and the boughs
that made one of the bunks thrown back there.

About midafternoon, another rich pocket was unearthed by Garry, and
when this was panned, revealed a score of fine commercial gems.

Phil was detailed to take them to the tent and add them to the
others. This he did, and had barely uncovered the gems and was
putting the latest find with their companions, when he was struck
over the head with a heavy club. His last remembrance, as he floated
away into unconsciousness, was the sound of a mocking laugh that
belonged to none other than their deadly enemy, the halfbreed.

Garry waited several minutes for Phil to return, and when his chum
failed to come back, walked to the tent to see what was delaying
him.

He opened the tent flap and was shocked to see Phil lying
unconscious on the ground. He raised his voice and called to Nate,
who came rushing from the ledge.

“Someone’s knocked Phil out,” he told Nate. “Run and get a pail of
water.”

Nate didn’t stop to ask questions, but hastened to do Garry’s
bidding.

He had hardly gotten outside the tent, however, when Garry called
him back.

“I was so startled I forgot what I was doing for a minute. We don’t
need water. Grab a blanket, Nate, and we’ll roll him up in that. A
person knocked unconscious suffers a bit of a shock. What he needs
now is warmth. There, now he’s covered up. Chafe one of his hands
and arms, Nate, and I’ll take the other. We want to start the
circulation flowing rapidly.”

They worked swiftly for several minutes, and finally Phil’s eyelids
fluttered weakly. Then, as returning consciousness dawned, he
struggled to sit up.

“Lie back there quietly and keep still,” ordered Garry.

“No, I’m all right,” protested Phil weakly. Then he thought of
something.

“The tourmalines,” he gasped. “Look for them.”

Garry ran to the hole made for the canvas bag.

The bag was gone!

But in searching about the tent to see if perchance they had been
misplaced, Nate came upon a piece of paper, weighted down by a
pebble.

“There’s your thief and the man who knocked out Phil,” he said.

There was nothing on the paper but the crude representation of a
bear.

“The Bear,” said Garry disgustedly. “Jean LeBlanc’s nickname. Oh,
Nate, what a lot of fools we’ve been. We should have kept a watch
for him every minute. Now here’s all our time gone, and our valuable
gems. Of course we may get others, but suppose the pockets give out.
All gone.”

Phil said nothing, but Garry knew that he saw his visions of going
to school with his chums in the fall going a-glimmering.

He strove to console Phil, who remained silent.

Finally Phil began to recover fully from the effects of the blow,
and with the recovery his spirits rallied.

“Well, that’s just our hard luck for the present,” he said
philosophically. “It means that we’ll have to get out and hustle a
bit harder to make up. I know that there are more tourmalines there.
I believe we have only just begun on the mine.”

Both Nate and Garry insisted, however, that Phil stay quiet for the
rest of the afternoon, despite his protestations that he was all
right.

“I wouldn’t have gone out that time, if it wasn’t that the club
LeBlanc used hit me on the tender spot that was left from the bump I
got when I fell off the train. That and my game ankle have almost
made a blooming invalid out of me.”

He was insistent about getting up, and it is probable that his
friends would have yielded to his demands, except that at that
moment a shadow darkened the doorway of the tent, and they looked up
to see the figure of their friend, the Hermit.

They would hardly have recognized him except for his clothing, for
he had had his hair cut and his beard shaved off.

They bade him a hearty welcome, and asked how he had found them. He
explained that he had found that they had come to Hobart and had
walked there, taking almost a week to make the trip, and arriving at
Hobart had been directed to Denton, who told where the boys and Nate
might be found.

Garry caught himself gazing at the Hermit all the rest of the
afternoon. There was something puzzling, something that lurked in
his mind that he could not quite uncover. Then a wild thought came.
He went outside the tent, and called Nate out.

“Listen carefully now, please, Nate. I may be crazy, and then again
if I’m right, it may be the biggest thing in life for two people. I
haven’t time to explain now. But on no condition let the Hermit out
of your sight until I can get my father here. Keep him if you have
to tie him to do it.”

Garry dashed away toward the town, which lay some four miles
distant. He arrived at the station and found that it was closed. The
next objective was the hotel, and here he inquired for the residence
of the station agent. To his dismay he was told that the station
agent lived some twenty miles down the road, and had gone there for
a short time. He had taken the last down train, and a relief
operator would come in the morning to take his shift during his time
off.

“You see, there are no trains here after nightfall, and so there’s
no need for a telegrapher or station agent,” explained the hotel
owner.

“But this may be a matter of life and death,” cried Garry. “Look
here, I can send a message myself. Can you suggest any way of
getting into the station?”

“Well, young man, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. There isn’t any chief
of police or the like of that here, but I’m a Justice of the Peace,
and maybe that will give me authority to bust a window in the
station and let you in.”

“That will be the ticket,” said Garry.

The hotel man got his hat and a screwdriver, and they repaired to
the station. Here the hotel man stuck the screwdriver under the
window latch, and with a quick snap forced it open.

“Guess I could qualify for a good burglar after this, and I’ll
probably catch merry blazes in the morning, but I’ll take a chance,”
he said.

He boosted Garry in through the window and followed himself. Once at
the instrument, Garry opened the key and began calling for any
station. Stations have each a particular letter combination, and
there is, in addition, a code combination that calls the nearest man
on the line to answer. In a few seconds he got a reply and ticked an
explanation that he was at Chester and desired to send an urgent
message.

“Who are you, you’re not Campbell,” ticked the man at the other
station.

Telegraph operators who are acquainted with each other, can tell the
“send” of a telegrapher as easily as a person can recognize the
handwriting of a close friend.

Garry explained that he was only an amateur and that he had to get
off this emergency message. The explanation evidently satisfied the
man, who told him to “shoot” his message, promising to relay it
promptly to Colfax.

Here is what Garry sent to his father:

“Come to Chester at once. Most urgent. Please let nothing delay you.
Matter of grave importance. Answer immediately.”

He signed his name to it, and then inquired how long the other
operator would be on duty. He learned to his gratification that the
man would be there until midnight, and promised to relay immediately
any answer that would come.

The hotel proprietor, Graves by name, when he saw Garry’s
familiarity with the telegraph, was convinced that everything was
all right, and agreed to let him remain and see if a message would
come in answer.

Garry fretted and fumed with impatience for nearly two hours, and
then the ticker started, and he got the following message:

“Am in Bangor. Mother ’phoned me about message. Don’t understand
your wire, but will start in morning and arrive Chester tomorrow
evening. Meet me.”

With a sigh of relief Garry ticked his thanks to the other operator
and prepared to go. He insisted on paying Graves something for his
trouble, and after consulting a rate book that hung on a nail over
the telegraph instrument, left the costs of the telegram on the
table.

It was almost eleven o’clock when he came back to the tent. The
hermit was asleep on a bough bed that he had fixed, and did not wake
when Garry entered, as did Phil and Nate. He whispered to them to
come outside, and they did.

“Now,” said Nate, “what’s all the shooin’ for?”

“Not so loud,” cautioned Garry. “Here’s the answer.”

Then he bent closer and whispered something. It made them utter
surprised exclamations which they immediately muffled after a
warning nudge from Garry.

“So, now,” concluded the Ranger leader, “all we can do is wait until
Dad gets here tomorrow night.”

For Nate and the two boys the next day passed on leaden feet. They
went about their mining, as usual, and were aided by the hermit, who
displayed a remarkable knowledge of geology, and when told that they
were mining for tourmalines, told them something of the early
history of the stones,—astrekkers or “ashdrawers” as the Dutch
called them, because of their magnetic property in picking up bits
of straw or ashes. The boys learned for the first time how they had
been discovered on Mount Apatite in Paris, Maine, by two boys who
were out hunting.

About half-past three Garry departed for Chester to meet his father
on the five o’clock train. He arrived several minutes before train
time, and chatted with the agent and explained what he had done the
night before.

When the train arrived, Mr. Boone was the first to alight, and Garry
rushed forward to meet him. After they had shaken hands, Mr. Boone
demanded to know if anyone had been hurt.

“No, everyone’s all right. Dick is away in the woods doing a Joe
Knowles, but what we wanted is to find that I’m right on the biggest
hunch I ever had, or else crazy as a loon. Now I’m not going to say
anything more till we get to camp, for I want to see your reaction
to what I’m going to show you without having influenced you.”

They reached the tent, and Garry called out:

“Oh, Hermit, come out just a minute.”

The hermit parted the flap and stepped outside. He looked blankly at
Mr. Boone and bowed.

Mr. Boone stared at the hermit, however, as though he were looking
at a spirit from the world beyond. Then he cried:

“Great Heavens! It’s Dick’s father!”

“Hurrah,” shouted Garry, and he was joined in his jubilation by
Phil. Even Nate shared in the exuberance.

All this time the hermit looked puzzled at the uproar. Finally Mr.
Boone turned to him, and stretching out his hand, advanced and said:

“Don’t you know me, Richard?”

“No, sir; I don’t think I ever saw you before.”

Garry looked significantly at his father and, unobserved by the
hermit, slightly tapped his forehead.

“You know young Dick, don’t you?” pursued Mr. Boone.

“Of course I know Dick; he’s a fine young man, too,” answered the
hermit, who we will now call Prof. Wallace.

“Well, you are Professor Richard Wallace and Dick is your son.”

A look of wonder spread over the professor’s face.

“Perhaps you are right. I don’t know who I am or where I came from
years ago. All I know is that I have lived in the forest for many
years.”

Very slowly and gently Mr. Boone explained about the previous
accident and the escape from the hospital before the operation. When
he had concluded, the professor asked:

“You say there was to have been an operation? Is there anything to
prevent that being done now?”

“No, we will take you back in the morning to Boston and have the
best surgeons there do it.”

So the matter was arranged. However, knowing the peculiarity of the
Hermit, as they still thought of him, Garry and Phil alternated in
keeping watch that night. They figured that his talk with Mr. Boone
might have been during a particularly lucid moment, and that the old
trouble would come back on him, and he would disappear as he had
done on so many other occasions.

However, nothing happened, and the next morning Mr. Boone took him
to Chester to board the train that would eventually take them to
Boston. It was agreed that Dick should not be told of the visit of
the hermit, and that the matter should be kept a secret to be sprung
on him after the operation.

“And believe me, Nate and Phil,” declared Garry, “Dick will be the
happiest boy in the world, when he learns he has found his father.”




CHAPTER XV

CONCLUSION


LeBlanc stood there facing the astonished Dick, and a cruel leer
spread over his face. He reached for a knife that stuck in his belt,
and said softly in a whisper, as sibilant and venomous as the
hissing of a snake:

“Ah, mon ami, we meet again. The last time.”

Long after that, Dick used to ask himself how it was that he managed
to capture the halfbreed. The only solution that he could find was
that he had acted solely on pure instinct.

As we know, Dick had been rummaging through the cupboard when he
heard the singer approach. In his hand he still held a large can of
tomatoes which he had contemplated opening.

He saw LeBlanc’s leering grin, then quick as a flash and straight as
a die, he cast the heavy can straight at the halfbreed’s face.

The can struck LeBlanc on the forehead, just above the eyes. With a
groan he slipped to the ground, the knife falling from his hand and
clattering on the pebbles on the ground.

Never waiting to look to see whether the blow had killed or merely
stunned “The Bear,” Dick whipped his lasso from his belt where it
hung, and flopping the limp body of the halfbreed over, slipped the
noose over his wrists and drew it tight. He took several turns, and
then bound the tied wrists to the body. Just for safety’s sake he
threw a turn of the rope over the unconscious Frenchman’s feet and
then waited to see if he would come to.

In a few minutes the man groaned and then stirred, trying to get up.
He found that he was solidly bound, and when he recovered his voice,
hurled imprecations at his captor.

Dick then searched the man and found a revolver, and then noticing a
lump in his shirt, ripped it open and drew forth a canvas bag.

He opened it and looked in, and found to his great surprise that it
was filled with rough tourmalines, among which he recognized some
that they had mined, and noted particularly for some distinguishable
mark.

He began to worry about the safety of his chums, wondering whether
LeBlanc had stolen the gems by stealth, or whether there had been a
battle and some one at the mine had been hurt.

He questioned the halfbreed but received only threats and curses for
answers.

“All right; if you won’t talk, best thing to do is to get there
without delay and see for ourselves. Now, LeBlanc, we’re going home
on the double trot. Anytime you make a false step, or attempt to
escape, or lessen your speed, I’ll not have the slightest hesitation
in putting a bullet in you. Now, en avant, understand that? It’s
good French for get a wiggle on you.”

Dick and his captive set off down the mountain. Dick knew that there
would be no sleep that night, but he intended to rest, and figured
on binding LeBlanc tightly to a tree during the dark hours. If he
had known the country, he would have marched through the night, but
it would be fatal to get lost at this point in the game.

Just after dusk he prepared to tie LeBlanc up, when he heard the
thud of horses’ hoofs in the distance, and set up a whoop. In a
moment or two a mounted Ranger appeared.

He looked in surprise at the pair before him, and then in a brisk
tone demanded to know the meaning of the sight.

Dick drew from his pocket the Ranger badge and explained who he was.
He told the Ranger that he was taking LeBlanc, who was wanted for
half a dozen or more serious crimes, back to Chester and thence to
Hobart to turn him over to the sheriff.

When Dick told of his plan for the night, the Ranger told him that
would be unnecessary, for he had a cabin about two miles and a half
away.

“You hop up here behind me, and we’ll make the critter with you use
Shank’s Mare.”

Dick had now given up all idea of his week in the woods. All he
wanted to do was to get LeBlanc in the hands of the law and see how
his chums were faring.

At the Ranger’s cabin he found a second waiting, for occasionally
the men on the patrol in the Forest Reserve travelled in pairs.

A good hot meal was waiting, and he enjoyed it to the limit.
LeBlanc’s hands were loosened sufficiently for him to eat, but with
two sizable men and a boy to watch him, he knew it would be futile
to attempt to escape.

Dick entertained the Rangers vastly during the meal with his account
of how he had subsisted during his stay in the forest.

“I don’t know that I would have gotten along so well,” said one of
them, “and I’ve been in this Reserve here for four seasons now.”

The next morning was gloomy and drizzly, and so it was arranged for
Dick to make time by riding double with the Ranger, while LeBlanc
was tied on a led horse.

They reached the river bank an hour before noon, and here Dick had
figured he would have to wait until his chums kept the agreed upon
noon-time rendezvous.

This was rendered unnecessary, however, when they saw a boy rowing a
flatboat down the river. They hailed him and arranged to have him
stay and watch the horses for a couple of hours, while the Ranger
and Dick rowed LeBlanc across the river and lodged him in the
lock-up.

Dick then got into communication with the sheriff, who charged the
constable to guard the prisoner with every precaution, and under no
circumstances was he to be allowed bail by the Justice of the Peace,
should any be offered.

The Ranger left after receiving the hearty thanks of Dick, and he
set out in a hurry for the mine. He found his chums just on the
point of heading for the river, and then ensued many explanations.

Great was the delight of the chums when Dick produced the bag of
tourmalines, which he kept until the end of his story, and then
displayed with a dramatic gesture.

Not a word was said to Dick about his father’s having been found,
but the fat boy could not help but notice the tension that prevailed
about the camp. Twice Garry left the mine to go to the telegraph
office, but with no result. The next day at noon, however, he
received a brief wire from his father. It said:

“Operation a success. Bring Dick and hurry to Boston. Come to
Massachusetts Homeopathic Hospital.”

Arrangements were hastily made to close up their summer’s stay. Dick
was still in the dark, but his chums would not yet enlighten him.
Nate Webster was to remain in charge of the mining, and when Garry
proposed that he hire George Washington Dudley, the gum-hunter, and
any other help that he needed, Nate agreed enthusiastically, for he
and Dud were old friends of years ago.

The long trip to Boston was finally ended, and guiding the perplexed
Dick, they got a taxi at the North Station and rushed to the
hospital. Here they were met by Mr. Boone. He took Dick to one side
and quietly told him that the Hermit was his father and that he had
recovered his mind and memory after the operation. Dick was led to
the private room, and there Mr. Boone left father and son together
for a few moments. When the doctor finally shooed Dick out of the
room, he silently grasped the hands of Mr. Boone and his chums, but
his voice was too choked for utterance.

And so we leave the Ranger Boys, who had displayed real nerve and
bravery throughout their summer. Dick received his reward, in the
finding of his father. Phil’s share of the mine would permit him to
attend Farnham Hall with his chums that year.

“But what good thing has come to Garry?” demanded Dick.

“Why, I’ve got what I wanted most,—the thing that I wondered all
summer how we could bring about. That is the knowledge that the
Three Ranger Boys will be together for some time to come, and the
knowledge that I have two of the finest friends that could ever be
given a fellow; and last but not least, I have a share in the Ruth
mine, one of the richest things in the state. What more could I
have?”

“Well,” whispered Dick to Phil, “If I’m any good at reading ‘sign,’
when he’s a little older he’ll have something else besides the mine
that’s named Ruth.”

And here we leave the Extraordinary Unit of the Maine State Ranger
Service.

THE END


Transcriber’s Notes:

  1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
     spelling.
  2. “...how he had subsided during his stay” changed to use "subsisted".
  3. Retained other archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
  4. Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _example_.



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