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.