Here was a clue, indeed! Sherlock quivered with renewed hope. The arm could not belong to Mr. Colby. Although he could not say for sure, he had never noticed that either of the Utway twins bore such a tattoo mark, and it was unlikely that they could have kept secret such a distinctive brand. Therefore they must have had with them an unknown accomplice whom Sherlock, in the confusion of the moment, had not caught sight of at the time of the raid.
Who could it be? He thought over all the names of the campers of Tent Fifteen. He could remember no one who wore on his arm the patriotic stamp of an eagle. Well, there was one way of finding out. He could examine every arm in camp. And this could be done quite easily when the entire strength of the Lenape campers gathered on the dock for swim.
The bugle-notes of Swim Call sounded over his head as he hastily cleared away his developing paraphernalia and hung the precious print to dry, hidden in a far corner. He put away the negative in his breast pocket and raced down to his tent to change into swimming togs. Within a few minutes he was on his way to the boat-dock at the edge of the lake. He had already decided to refer to the Utway case in the future as “The Clue of the Tattooed Arm.”
The life-saving crew was already on duty, although only two or three younger campers had made their appearance on the plank floor of the dock. As Sherlock watchfully stepped out toward the far end, Wally Rawn, the husky leader who directed swimming and was captain of the life-saving organization made up of expert leaders and older boys, was shouting to a black-haired boy wearing the crew emblem. This boy, Steve Link by name, was rowing a round-bottomed steel rowboat some hundred yards out beyond the diving-tower. Attached to the stern painter of his craft was one of the camp canoes, which he was towing across the water with heaving oar-strokes.
“Where did you spot her, Steve?” Wally was shouting.
Steve rested on the handles of his oars. “Way down almost to the dam!” he answered. “She must have got loose last night and drifted with the current. Had the dickens of a time finding her, too!”
“Carelessness!” Wally Rawn muttered, shaking his head. “Somebody played the dub and didn’t even tie up after using it. I’d think even a tenderfoot would know that a canoe should be brought up and turned over on the dock after a trip. A good way to lose a fine canoe!”
He raised his arm to blow the whistle that would begin the swimming period, and Sherlock made sure that Wally Rawn, at least, had no tattooed eagle on his left arm. The dock was now crowded with campers, and the shrill call had no sooner sounded than the air was full of diving bodies and splashing spray as the boys of Lenape took to water. The life-saving boats were now at their posts, guarding the safety of the swimmers.
Sherlock remained on the dock, where he had a full view of everyone. His head jerked back and forth as he tried to follow every move of the group of swimming boys, now grown to almost the full number of the camp. He caught sight of Jerry and Jake Utway, whose flying bodies curved through the air from the highest diving-platform and almost at the same instant cleft the rippling surface of Lake Lenape. He watched them moodily as they swung hand over hand toward the farthest lifeboat. At any rate, neither of them bore a tattooed eagle on his arm! He must find the mysterious accomplice. With renewed energy he swept the sportive, glistening bodies of the gay swimmers with an intent gaze.
When the final “All out!” whistle blew, the dejected Sherlock made his way up the hill. He was baffled. His vigil had not revealed an incriminating tattoo-mark on the arm of any of the campers or leaders present. He must be patient and watchful, trusting to luck and his skill at shadowing the suspected twins to bring forth some fresh clue.
As he entered Tent Ten, the only one of his comrades before him was little shock-headed Pete Lister, youngest and smallest lad in the tent-group. The kid looked up as Jones came up the step.
“Hey, Sherlock, look what I’m doing!” He squirmed over in his seat on the unmade bunk, and waved an indelible pencil in the air. “See? Making pictures, I am! Bet you never thought of this, Sherlock!” He stuck out one sunburnt leg. The calf and thigh were a mass of scrawled, deep-purple designs—crooked anchors, shaky outlines of American flags, hearts, daggers, skulls, and Pete’s own name in wavering characters. “You don’t need to worry—they come off easy. See? First you draw ’em, then you wet the picture a little, and I’ll bet you couldn’t tell ’em from a real tattoo-mark! Want to try it?”
“No. No, thanks,” said Sherlock Jones bitterly.
CHAPTER V
IN THE NAME OF THE LAW
“This is the place,” said Jake Utway. He indicated the trampled patch of bushes. “That’s the very tree that walloped me in the eye.”
“Funny I didn’t see him when the flash went off,” mused Jerry. “But I was busy, first with banging my head on the pole, and next in getting back home quick. What do you think he was after?”
Jake shrugged. “Search me! But after I tangled with him and he got away, he made for the path that runs down through Church Glade to the lake. No use trying to find any footprints now—too many of the campers have been along since last night.”
“Funny, all right.” Jerry strode back and forth through the low brush, kicking away the branches and examining the soft ground closely. “Nothing here, I guess. Let’s go, or we’ll have that snooping Jones following us around again. Hold on—what’s this?”
A bright bit of paper wrapper had caught his eye. He lifted the object from beneath the tangle of leaves that had concealed it from all but the sharpest scrutiny. “Huh,” said Jerry. “What’s a can of condensed milk doing here?”
Jake looked at the small can and its bright label. “Funny! That’s the same brand Ellick uses in the kitchen!”
“Do you think your bald-headed friend dropped it?”
“Boy,” replied Jake with feeling, “if he was half as scared as I was, I wouldn’t blame him for dropping a few arms and legs! Come on—stick that can in your pocket and let’s stroll on. Just like you said, that Sherlock kid is tagging after us again. I just saw him dodge behind a tree. He’s been acting awful crazy ever since yesterday afternoon.”
“I’ve’ got a better idea,” put in Jerry. “I’m sick of being shadowed around every minute of the day by a goofy cluck with four eyes and no brain! Detective, is he! Huh! We’ll give him something to detect.” He set out through the woods at a rapid gait.
“What’s up?” Jake had to take long strides to keep up with his brother.
“He wants to shadow us. All right—but he’ll have to go some to keep us in sight this afternoon! We’ll lead him a merry chase through the woods, and by the time he gets back to camp he’ll be so sick of shadowing he won’t bother us for a month!”
“Swell! I tell you, we’ll take him up the side of the mountain and lose him. Bet he don’t know the short-cut down; and it’ll take him until after swim-time to find his way back!”
The Utway twins were masters of woodcraft, and on various hikes had explored the mountainous country west of Lenape so that they knew every trail and landmark. It would be no difficult task for them to mislead the blundering Sherlock. Jerry led the way cross-country with an easy stride, taking care always to keep in the sight of the amateur detective so that he would not lose hope thus soon, give up the chase as a bad job, and return to camp. With Jake at his elbow, he cut through the low pines and mountain maples beyond the Council Ring, crossed the wagon road just below the bend, and skirting the marshy meadows below the Hermit’s house, gained the base of the steep slide of boulders that scarred the mountainside.
“He’s still coming,” Jake assured his brother. “I saw him a minute ago, down in that birch swamp. He was having a heap of trouble getting through. Wait till he hits this patch!”
It was dangerous going now. The rock-slide was an ancient glacial moraine, that cut fan-wise down the face of the mountain. The two boys crawled, leaped, and climbed from one huge, lichen-encrusted boulder to the next, keeping a watchful eye for lurking snakes. They made a labored progress diagonally across the slide, now and then covertly glancing over their shoulders to keep watch on their victim. Sherlock, panting heavily, had stopped to rest in the shade and wipe away the moisture that had dripped from his brow to cloud the lenses of his spectacles.
“He won’t come on here until we get across,” Jake muttered. “We could spot him too easily, he thinks—as if we didn’t know every step he’s taken since we started! Hurry up and get into the woods again; then we can swing around to the short-cut and be back in camp before he gets wise!”
In ten minutes they had left the hapless Sherlock far behind. They were now circling around the top of the rock-slide; far below toiled the weary form of the detective, slipping and sliding across the rocks. Not long after, their unerring trailing instinct led them through the scrub-oak of the summit and brought them out on a little-used pathway that ran straight as an arrow from the mountain-top down to the Lenape lodge. It was, in fact, the line down which the water-supply for the camp was piped, from a collecting reservoir below the spring near the crest of the first mountain. A track had been cut through the woods when the pipe was first laid, and although the way was still open, it was seldom used, most of the campers preferring to take the road, which made a more easy ascent. The Utway twins had discovered the overgrown path by accident, and now made good use of their knowledge.
They picked their way slowly through the forest, following the line of leaden pipe which ran down the hillside, now stretching for yards along the surface, now buried a few inches beneath the brown, needle-carpeted soil. Knowing that hiking down a steep incline is more dangerous than climbing, the twins, having no desire to lose any precious camping days by being laid up with a sprained ankle, stepped cautiously with a slow, woodsman’s pace. Once or twice they had to make their way around a fallen tree trunk, and for some distance they lost sight of the pipe-line altogether as they gingerly circled about a marshy bit of ground where the hillside began sloping off above the wagon road. Deer-flies buzzed in a cloud about their heads, and the stinging little pests were so bothersome that both boys hung their handkerchiefs down from their hats to flutter in the air and keep off the humming insects.
Jerry first came in sight of the road, and broke into a run. The road was cut in this place right across the hill, so that it was necessary, in order to gain it, to drop down a low cliff-edge about the height of a man. With a glorious leap Jerry surmounted the fringing brush and flew downward through the air. He landed in a heap, missing by a hair’s breadth the body of a man who squatted, hidden, in the shadow of the overhanging edge.
Jerry cried out to warn his brother. The man whose body he had barely missed in his blind leap was on his feet in an instant. Jerry Utway looked up, straight into the muzzle of a double-barrelled shotgun aimed directly at his head.
“Don’t move!” warned the stranger in grim tones. “You, there, up above—hands up! Come out of those bushes! I’ve got you both covered!”
Jake’s upraised hands appeared above, followed by his face, open-mouthed with surprise. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Never mind. Come down here where I can see you!” There was no mistaking the urgency of that hard voice. “Now, you there, stay right where you are on the ground. Not a move!” The man was dressed in some sort of a blue uniform. He wore a shapeless, broad-brimmed felt hat, and his trouser-legs were tucked into the tops of a pair of leather leggins. “Why, you must be twins!” he exclaimed in astonishment.
Jake slid down the slope in a cloud of dust and a shower of gravel. “That’s right. But what’s the idea of the hold-up?”
“Yes, what’s the idea?” added Jerry. “Look out that gun don’t go off. You better not try anything with us, or you’ll have everybody in Camp Lenape after you, Mister!” The boy’s bold words were somewhat belied by the shakiness of the voice in which they were delivered.
“Oh, from the camp, are you?” Slowly the man in blue lowered his weapon. “Anybody else with you?”
“No, sir. Hear that?” Through the woods drifted the familiar bugle-notes of Swim Call. “We got to get back for swim, or we’ll be missed.”
The stranger chuckled. “I see. Well, guess I won’t keep you.” He grounded the wicked-looking shotgun. “Just a word of advice to you, buddies, before you go. Be a little more careful how you drop on a fellow’s neck right out of the sky. ‘Look before you leap’ is a motto that still holds good.”
Jerry rose and straightened his dusty clothing. “Yes, sir.”
“And I further order you, in the name of the law, not to tell anybody at the camp that you saw me. They’ll learn soon enough. Now, hop it!”
The twins had no mind to argue with the law, backed by a gun. They hopped it. They were twenty yards away before the man in blue called out to them.
“By the way, you haven’t seen any strange men around here in the last day or so, have you?”
“You’re the only one.” It was Jerry who replied. Jake caught his breath, and reflectively felt the damaged flesh over his left eye.
“Right. So long!”
The twins did not speak until they had crossed the cleared ground above the tents. As they approached Tent Ten, Jerry broke the silence. “It’s too much for my feeble brain,” he said. “Wonder if he was after your bald-headed friend?”
“I give up. Come on—we’ll be late for swim. Wonder where Sherlock is now? Hope he don’t get shot. If he don’t turn up for supper, maybe we’d better go look for him.”
Within the empty tent they quickly slipped into swimming suits and made for the dock. The water was already alive with plunging bodies. At the landward end of the dock, where the lake bottom sloped gently in a sandy beach that was a favorite spot for the younger and more timid swimmers, who could here sport about without getting beyond their depth, the twins paused to watch a scene that never failed to arouse laughter.
Billy the Crow was taking his daily bath. Billy was an aged black ruffian who made Lenape his home, and was often to be seen hopping about the tents or perching in a near-by tree, giving vent to his feelings in no uncertain tones. At some time in his life Billy had been caught by the hired man on a neighboring farm, who had, by slitting his tongue, bestowed on the rascally bird the doubtful gift of speech. Billy knew only a few words, but he made the most of them. This ceremony of taking a bath at the edge of the lake was a stunt of which Billy was especially proud. He now teetered on a flat rock at the water’s edge, urging himself to overcome his timidity and bravely take the plunge.
“Go on in, Billy!” said Billy with a squawk. “Go on in, Billy!” With one pointed claw he gingerly tried the water. The laughing ring of boys about him imitated his words and splashed the rock with water. Mr. Carrigan, camp naturalist, sat on the planked floor of the dock, on life-saving duty, his warning whistle dangling by its thong in his hand.
“Mr. William Corvus Brachyrhyncos doesn’t seem to be fond of bathing,” he observed.
“Is that his full name?” Jerry Utway chuckled as Billy finally made up his mind, and with a last “Go on in—aww-crk!” doused his rumpled feathers into the rippling waters. “He’s taken enough baths to wash himself white, but he still has to go through all that rigmarole first.”
“Crows are funny birds,” said Mr. Carrigan. “He certainly is a pet around here. Ellick must feed him crumbs from the kitchen.” Billy finished his brief swim-period, and fluttered across to the dock to dry and preen himself in the sun. “Here he comes, shaking water all over the place. Hello, Billy! Oh, you would, would you?”
“Hello, Billy!” mocked the bird. His bright eye had caught sight of the dangling whistle, its metal bowl twinkling as the sun’s rays caught it. A few hops took him to the councilor’s side. A sharp beak caught at the thong, tried to drag the whistle from its owner’s hand.
“Natural-born thieves, crows,” said Mr. Carrigan. “They’ll steal anything that happens to catch their eye. Here, let go, Billy!”
Billy, insulted, uttered a final scolding squawk and flew noisily to a perch on a near-by tree.
CHAPTER VI
BRAVES IN COUNCIL
First Call for supper had already sounded before Sherlock Jones returned to camp. He limped into Tent Ten weary, scratched, and footsore, and in a dejected mood. It was a thankless task for a detective to try to shadow a pair of expert woodsmen through the mountains. He had barely time to wash his face and comb his rumpled hair before the camp was called to stand Retreat at the regular sundown ceremony of lowering the flag. His thoughts, as the buglers played To the Colors, were not friendly toward the two spruce, innocent-looking brothers who stood stiffly to attention at his side. It was beginning to look as though Sherlock Jones, the great detective, was baffled.
After the evening meal, Lieutenant Eames, officer of the day, announced that Indian Council would convene that night at the usual summons. Twilight found the braves assembling for the pow-wow. Figures of boys and leaders, draped each in his blanket, trooped solemnly toward the Council Ring on the north side of the campus. A hush fell upon the circle of listening tent-tribes as they awaited the call that was always, by long tradition, the signal for the ceremony to begin.
Through the hush of the dusk came the soft, whistling call of the first whippoorwill. Answer came from a near-by thicket. Amid the liquid chorus the Chief rose from his seat, pulled his blanket about him, and spoke.
“Braves and sagamores of the Lenape tribe, you have been gathered in council by the call of the whippoorwill. Brave Sunfish will now light the friendship fire in Indian fashion, with rubbing sticks.”
Sunfish Linder stepped forth from his tent-group, and took his place on the windward side of the fire, laid four-square in the center of the ring to supply light rather than heat. He put one foot on the cedar hearth-stick of his outfit, twisted the thong of the bow about the spindle and placed the drilling-point into the point of the notched hearth-stick. Holding the drill steady at the top with a soaped drill-stone in his cupped hand, he began sawing the bow back and forth, at first slowly, then with increasing speed. Friction of wood upon wood caused a trickle of hot, powdery splinters to drop into the tinder-pan. A few seconds of rapid action, and the pan held a glowing coal of powder, which was dumped upon the prepared tinder. Sunfish swayed the bunch of tinder back and forth in his cupped hands, breathed upon it slightly. The glowing mass burst into a golden flame. The firemaker thrust the blaze between the logs. As it caught, climbing yellow tongues licked upward through the pile, and the friendship fire was alight. The silent campers broke the spell with a chorus of approval in Indian-talk. “How, how!”
“Good medicine! May the spirit of the Great Manitou watch over and guide our councils as we gather in peace this night,” said the Chief, and sat again upon his stone dais.
The Utway twins never failed to enjoy the council in the woods. Something there is in the heart of every boy and man which only finds itself when a close-knit band of their brethren gather together in friendship beneath the star-sprinkled lodge of the great outdoors. The two boys sat with one blanket thrown over their sturdy shoulders, looking about the circle of faces thrown into bold relief by the ruddy glare of the fire. The tent flares were now lit, each small fire glowing in its brazier at the end of a pole marked with the tent totem. The great totem pole of Lenape towered above the huddled groups on the south side of the fireplace, its carved and painted emblems glaring forth awesomely from time to time as a shower of sparks flew upward. Opposite, on the north side, was the stone seat of the Chief, with its tall back of silvery birch trunks, shaped in the form of a gigantic “L” standing out from the blood-red blanket that curtained the majestic dais. The fine-cut head of the Chief rose above his blankets, calm, powerful, serene. At his side sat Sagamore “Happy Face” Frayne, Lenape scribe and keeper of the birch-bark scroll.
“We are now ready to hear the report of scouts of the Lenape tribe,” announced the Chief.
This was the time for any member of the group, if he wished, to rise, bespeak the attention of the Chief and the assembled braves, and relate the discovery of anything which might be of interest to the tribe. Mr. Carrigan, now recognized under the title of “Sagamore Wise-Tongue” because of his wide knowledge of nature-lore, rose and after addressing the Chief, reported that he had seen a covey of spotted snipe, and that the braves newly come to camp would soon have the rare chance to hunt these nimble birds with bag and lantern. Brave Rolfe rose to ask the name of the constellation of stars now riding overhead, and Brave Slater of Tent Four was called upon by the Chief to give a short talk on the signs now visible in the summer sky. Small Brave Barstow reported that the kingfisher’s nest he had found by the lakeside now contained four little fledglings. The report of each scout was greeted with the approving murmur of “How!”
Again the Chief rose, to open the period of reports for the welfare of the tribe. This was the time for campers to tell of any observation which they had made which might lead to the improvement of the camp in any way—to point out steps that might be taken to keep the routine orderly and effective, or offer to help build or repair camp equipment. Instantly Steve Link was on his feet.
“O Chief!”
“Speak, Brave Link.”
“This morning before swim I found that the Red Fox canoe was missing from the dock. I took out a boat and finally found the lost canoe far down at the end of the lake, drifting with its paddles on the bottom. I questioned the braves of Tent Eleven, who had used it when they went out after supper last night, and they said that they had left it bottom-up on the dock when they returned. Someone else must have been responsible for this carelessness. Now, every brave knows that such a canoe as the Red Fox is valuable and must be treated with care. I would like to ask that every brave who has passed his canoe-test consider himself duty bound to make sure that our boats and canoes are treated as they should be treated.”
“How, how!”
“A fine suggestion, Brave Link. Sagamore Happy Face will enter it on the birch-bark scroll. Now”—the Chief’s face was serious in the firelight—“now, I must say something which I have never, in my years as Chief of Lenape, had to say before. There is a stain on the name of the tribe. I dislike to say this, but—there is a thief among us.”
“A thief!” A babble of voices came from the ring of braves.
“Yes,” went on the Chief grimly; “someone among us here to-night—unless I am gravely mistaken, which I hope I am—someone here has no right to share the free and honest councils of our tribe.” With an outstretched hand he silenced the rising flood of questions. “I will tell you what has happened, and you may judge for yourselves. Several days ago Brave Tompkins took off his gold ring to wash his hands, down by his tent. When he looked for it a few minutes after, it had disappeared, although he saw nobody near him at the time. When he told me about it, I thought he might have lost it himself, and advised him to wait and see if it turned up. But to-day, when Sagamore War-Canoe Munson told me that his silver wrist-watch had vanished under somewhat the same circumstances, I began to think that there must be a false brave among us, with light fingers and a spotted heart. Then, this morning our faithful Ellick came to me with the story of a robbery in the kitchen during the night.”
“Ugh, ugh!” growled disapproving voices from the darkness.
“Yes, bad medicine,” went on the speaker. “Ellick reports that the lock of the pantry window was broken and a supply of food taken away. Moreover, he says that a large hand-ax is missing from its place on the woodpile.”
The Utway twins listened breathlessly as the Chief went on. Sherlock Jones stirred eagerly within the folds of his blanket.
“One word more, and I will not bring up this unpleasant subject again to-night. Some one of you must know or guess who is guilty of these strange disappearances. If anyone here comes to me and returns these lost articles, and makes a clean breast of his misconduct, none of the braves shall know of his trespass against the Lenape code. Are there further reports for the welfare of the tribe? If not, we will pass to the less serious part of our council.”
The ranked listeners relaxed, and there was a laughing, expectant hum of voices as “Guffy” Evans rose to challenge all comers to a talk-fest. The challenge was immediately accepted, in the name of Tent Ten, by Sagamore Avery, who therewith entered little Lefkowitz as their champion in this jabbering contest. Sagamore Happy Face announced the subject: “Give a two-minute speech on Why Polar Bears Don’t Wear Red Flannel Underwear,” and gave the contestants thirty seconds to prepare their arguments. At the command, the two opponents faced each other near the center of the ring, and began a high-pitched, nonsensical stream of chatter about nothing in particular. Lefkowitz was finally shouted into speechlessness, and the victorious Guffy took his seat amid cheers and cat-calls, while Soapy Mullins rose and called upon Lefty Reardon, the baseball captain, to stand against him in a hand-wrestling tilt.
After a series of boisterous games of “Buzz,” the fun was concluded by a short ghost story from Sax McNulty, which sent shivers of horror chasing up and down the spines of the younger campers. At last the Chief rose and held out his arms in Benediction above the dying fire.
“May the spirit of the all-seeing Manitou go with every brave as he leaves his place at our council this night!”
Flashlights pointed out the path as the drowsy braves filed toward their tent homes. The Utway twins, although pleasantly tired from their active day in the open, were nevertheless wakeful and alert. Behind them came the low chatter of a pair of youngsters from Tent Seven.
Jerry caught a phrase dropped by one of them, a small lad named Toots. “Gee, I clean forgot to make my report of scouts. You remember, Al, that when we saw that smoke from the woods across the lake, I said I’d report it at council?”
“What’s that?” Jerry questioned him. “You saw smoke across the lake?”
“Yes,” said the boy eagerly, “me and Al here, we were out in a rowboat over that way, and saw some smoke coming up like somebody had a campfire in the woods.”
“Hmm. Take my advice and don’t say anything about it. Not worth mentioning.” But Jerry looked at Jake, who nodded back. The expanse of heavily-wooded land across the lake was almost always deserted, so much so that deer tracks were often to be discovered within its depths. A campfire there was certainly a most unusual thing.
CHAPTER VII
NEWS AND MORE NEWS
“Come on, Jerry!” said Jake Utway.
“We’ll go up and pitch down the chunks, and the other guys can stow them away in the refrigerator.”
“You’re on!” answered his brother, and began climbing the ladder.
Tent Ten had been assigned, as their squad-work the next morning after the council, to filling the large refrigerator in the pantry behind Ellick’s large, airy kitchen. This duty required that they ascend to the towerlike structure that housed the summer’s supply of ice for Camp Lenape. In mid-winter, when the lake was sheeted over with a crystal mass some six inches thick, a gang of men always came with saws and teams of horses to harvest the ice and store it, between layers of sawdust, in the Lenape ice-house for the use of the campers the following season.
It was the plan of the brothers to enter the ice-house, dig out the embedded blocks required, and send these down the chute to their waiting tent-mates, whose job it would be to wash away the sawdust and transport the ice to Ellick’s gaping refrigerator. Armed with ice-tongs and a large miner’s pick, Jake and Jerry climbed to the upper door of the edifice, and entered its chill gloom.
“Come on, work fast, if you don’t want to freeze!” advised Jerry. He raised the pick and began clearing away the thick crust of sawdust in one corner of the place, but paused as his brother made no move to aid him. “Hey! Earn your keep, man! Don’t stand star-gazing all morning!”
Jake was staring upward. The ice-house was solidly built, but at one corner of the roof the sunlight slanted through a narrow crevice. The watcher had for an instant seen that spot of light cut off by the passage of a small body. Jake pointed. “Something up there, Jerry!”
Jerry’s eyes were more accustomed to the darkness. “Why, you cluck, that’s only Billy the crow! Hello, Billy!”
“Hello, Billy!” the cackling echo drifted down from the roof. “Billy the crow! Awr-rck!”
“He probably lives up there,” went on Jerry in a matter-of-fact tone. “Now, are we going to finish this job, or do I have to do it alone? Come out of your trance!”
Slowly Jake took his eyes from aloft, scraped away the sawdust with his foot, and clutched the half-revealed cake of ice with his tongs. “Fire away! But I got an idea, Jerry—and as soon as we chuck enough ice down, I’m going to try it out.”
The boys worked swiftly and silently after this, panting and shivering slightly as they uncovered one slab of ice after another and sent them crashing down the chute, after a shouted warning to their toiling comrades on the ground.
“There, guess that’ll hold Ellick for a while,” said Jerry at last, resting from his labors. “Now, what’s this bright idea of yours, Jake?”
“Billy’s still up there,” answered his brother. “I often wondered where his nest was. Crows, as Sagamore Carrigan said down at the dock yesterday afternoon, are funny birds. If you give me a boost on your shoulders, I think I can climb up the side of the wall the rest of the way.”
“Don’t know what good that’ll do you,” said Jerry promptly, “but here goes!” He cupped his hands, and Jake scrambled athletically to his shoulders, bracing his body against the rough timbered side of the building. Jerry grunted. “Uhh! Say, Jakie, you ought to be a sailor for this job! Sailors are experts when it comes to climbing to crow’s nests!”
Billy ruffled his feathers and cast a beady, suspicious eye down upon these proceedings. “Aww-rk!” he muttered. “Billy the crow! Go on in, Billy!” With a series of angry squawks he edged through the narrow opening in the roof and flew away to more interesting scenes.
Jake was by this time clinging to the wall, far above the sawdust surface where Jerry stood, head bent back, watching the climber’s progress. Cautiously, arms spread eagled to seize any projection no matter how small, Jake ascended precariously toward his goal. He was now within arm’s length of the corner where the talkative crow had made his entrance. Motes of dust danced in the beam of sunlight over his shoulder, and his groping hand stirred up a mass of dust and cobwebs which made him sneeze. In a far corner, on a ledge of rafters, his fingers touched a hard, metallic object.
“If you slip now,” called Jerry warningly, “you’ll get another black eye to match the first one.”
Jake grinned with satisfaction as the sunlight glittered on the thing he held in his hand.
“Crows are funny birds,” he remarked a second time. “Natural-born thieves. Here, catch!”
Jerry ducked, and deftly snatched the shining circle which came spinning down at him.
“Admiral Munson’s wrist-watch,” announced Jake. “And Terry Tompkins’ ring is here too, along with a lot of other junk.” He was stuffing the nondescript collection of articles into his pockets as he spoke. As cautiously as he had come, he began descending from his lofty perch.
“So this is what you found in the crow’s nest!” said Jerry, and whistled. “Jakie, you’re brighter than I thought you were. You put two and two together, and get—a heap of assorted jewelry!”
“Crows are very fond of bright objects, and will steal them and carry them off to hide away, if they get a chance,” explained Jake with condescension, leaping at last to the sawdust floor. “Yep, Billy was the thief. Look here!” He drew out his treasure-trove. In his hand, in addition to young Tompkins’ gold ring, lay a bit of crumpled tinfoil, the rusted top of a pickle-jar, a silver dime, a few bent nails, and the brass button from a scout uniform.
“Wonderful!” breathed Jerry in mock admiration. “Say, you didn’t see Ellick’s hand-ax up there, did you?”
“Don’t be a sap. Come along—we’ll show the Chief he was wrong about thinking there was a thief among the campers. Bet he’ll be tickled to find that the thief wears feathers!”
One after the other they slid down the ladder to the ground. Sherlock Jones and Wild Willie Sanders were wrestling with a large slab of sawdust-covered ice; they looked up curiously as the twins raced by them, on their way to the Chief’s office in one corner of the lodge.
As they stampeded across the mess hall to the small room that served the camp director as an office, they found another visitor ahead of them. The Utway twins almost fell over backward as they recognized the blue uniform and leather leggins of the man who held the door-knob, calling a parting sentence to the Chief standing within.
“If you fellows see or hear anything of him, just get to the nearest phone and call up the prison. They’ll know how to get in touch with us.”
It was the man whom they had stumbled upon at the wagon road, who had held them up at the point of a gun! The gun was in the crook of his right arm now, as he turned and caught sight of them.
“Why, hello, twins! Jumped on anybody’s neck lately?” he asked in a hearty voice, clapping on his felt hat and striding toward the door of the lodge. “So long. Be good boys!”
Jake stared at Jerry in wonderment, and Jerry stared back. Who was this stranger, whom they had first encountered in the woods? They were aroused by the voice of the Chief.
“Come in, boys. What have you there, Jake?” The Chief was the only person in camp who was always sure which brother was which. He had from long acquaintance discovered that Jerry had a tiny mole almost concealed under the bronze-colored hair that fell over his left temple, which mark served to distinguish him from his twin.
Jake stammered out his tale. As the Chief listened, his forehead knit into a puzzled frown.
“So it was Billy all the time, eh?” he said as Jake finished. “You were pretty clever to figure that out. I’m glad to hear that these things are safe, and I’m sure Terry Tompkins and Mr. Munson will be, too. But that makes the kitchen robbery all the more strange. With what we know now, it’s impossible to connect the loss of these things with the person who broke into the food-supply the other night. There’s still a thief loose around Lenape, boys, and for some minutes now I’ve had the feeling that I know who it is.” He placed Billy’s plunder on his desk, and sat down thoughtfully.
Jerry summoned up courage. “Excuse me, Chief—but who was that man that just left here? Jake and I saw him guarding the road yesterday afternoon. What’s he carrying a gun around for?”
The Chief spun about in his chair and faced them. “He’s looking for a thief, too,” he said slowly.
“Who?” both boys cried in unison.
“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell you, I guess—I’ll have to make an announcement about it to everybody at lunch to-day. Boys, there’s a dangerous man loose in this part of the country. Last Saturday night a convict escaped from the state prison up beyond Elmville. He had some hours’ start before he was found missing. The warden thought it likely that he would head over this way, toward the mountains, where he might hide in the woods for days and never be found. Guards were sent out, but so far there’s been no sign of him. The man you just saw is one of the prison guards, who is watching over this way. He tells me the escaped prisoner is a man named Burk, serving a term of several years—for robbery.”
“Robbery!”
“Now you can see why I thought until now that this prisoner might be in the neighborhood and might have stolen this watch and ring. It’s too bad the prison people didn’t warn me before now—no telling what might have happened in the meantime. However, now we have been warned, and will be on our guard.”
“Did—did you tell the prisoner-keeper—the fellow who was just here—that somebody broke into the pantry?”
“Of course, Jerry. He seemed to think it might be an important clue, and is getting a crew of men together to search the woods around the camp more carefully. You see, there’s a reward offered for the capture of this criminal, and naturally everybody is eager to earn it. Now, be careful and don’t get very far away from the campus unless you have a councilor along, boys! An escaped convict is a mighty dangerous customer. And don’t say anything about what I’ve told you until after lunch.”
The Utway twins stared at each other again as the door of the office closed behind them. Jerry seized Jake’s arm in an excited grip. “Why didn’t you tell the Chief about the man you saw down by Fifteen the other night?” he whispered urgently.
“I didn’t have a chance. Besides, why should we give that prison guard all the glory of capturing the convict?”
CHAPTER VIII
THE DISAPPEARING ACT
The Chief’s announcement that an escaped convict was in their neighborhood fell like a bombshell in the midst of the campers assembled at lunch.
“All boys are forbidden to go out of sight of camp, unless a councilor is along,” he ended. “We must take precautions until this dangerous man is captured. Now, to-night we will assemble here in the lodge, for Stunt Night. Every tent-group will be expected to have an act or other stunt prepared, and prizes will go to the winners. Dismissed!”
The groups scattered from the mess-hall to their respective tents to pass the daily siesta hour which was set aside as a period of rest and quiet from the brisk, noisy turmoil of the camp’s activity. Mr. Jim Avery cocked his long legs up on the end of his bunk in Tent Ten. “We have the whole afternoon to get ready,” he observed to his followers. “That should give us plenty of time to work up a first-class stunt that will bring home the prize. Anybody got any ideas?”
Wild Willie Sanders spoke up. “We’ve got an edge on the other tents, haven’t we? Here we are with Chink Towner, the most famous Mandarin Magician in captivity. Say, I’ll bet we can put over a magic show that will knock the rest of the tents silly!”
“How about it, Chink?”
“Sure, that’s right,” Chink Towner agreed modestly. “We could do it, all right. I’ve got a lot of new tricks up my sleeve that nobody ever saw before. The best one, though, needs to have Jerry Utway, and that means we’d have to take Tent Eight into partnership with us.”
“That can be arranged, I think,” said Mr. Avery. “I’ll speak to Dr. Cannon about it. He knows it’s next to impossible to separate the twins. And with fourteen campers on the job, it ought to be some show. Well, what’s your trick?”
“Yes, what is it?” asked the Utway twins together.
“Well, it’s this way,” began the Mandarin Magician; “Wild Willie can announce a big display of old Chinese hocus-pocus. We fix up a place on the stage where I sit, and a crowd of you guys come around and want to see some tricks. Then Fat Crampton comes along, and then I do a few easy ones, just to show my stuff, and then——” He lowered his voice as his comrades gathered about to hear the plan. Lefkowitz was sent over to Tent Eight to bring in the other participants, who listened and agreed to the scheme for a combined stunt that would make a most amusing addition to the vaudeville program that night. As soon as Recall sounded, the two groups of actors made for the Council Ring, where they rehearsed excitedly most of the afternoon.
Sherlock Jones did not join in the preparations for Stunt Night. He retired alone to the dark-room, where he stared at a photograph and pondered plans of his own. The announcement that a reward had been offered for the capture of the escaped criminal had set his mind working furiously on the problem of the Tattooed Arm. Indeed, the Chief’s startling news was a leading topic of conversation in Lenape that afternoon; but when supper-time brought no further information, the subject was temporarily forgotten in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment.