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[Illustration: THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER]
THE YOUNG GAME-WARDEN
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF "THE HOUSE-BOAT BOYS," "GUNBOAT SERIES,"
"ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA
CHICAGO TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. SILAS MORGAN, 5
II. THE BROTHERS, 17
III. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER, 31
IV. HOBSON'S HOUSE, 45
V. WHAT DAN OVERHEARD, 55
VI. THE YOUNG GAME-WARDEN, 66
VII. BROTHERLY LOVE, 77
VIII. JOE'S PLANS IN DANGER, 89
IX. VOLUNTEERS, 100
X. WHY THE LETTER WAS WRITTEN, 109
XI. THE PLOT SUCCEEDS, 121
XII. A MYSTERY, 134
XIII. DAN IS SCARED, 146
XIV. THE "HANT," 158
XV. JOE'S NEW HOME, 169
XVI. JOE'S "FIRST OFFICIAL ACT," 181
XVII. WHO FIRED THE FOUR SHOTS? 194
XVIII. DAN'S SECRET, 205
XIX. DAN TELLS HIS STORY, 216
XX. A RUN FOR HOME, 228
XXI. A TREACHEROUS GUIDE, 240
XXII. MR. BROWN TAKES HIS DEPARTURE, 252
XXIII. EXPLORING THE CAVE, 264
XXIV. ROBBERS, 277
XXV. WHAT THE GRIP-SACK CONTAINED, 289
XXVI. MR. HALLET HEARS THE NEWS, 302
XXVII. JOE'S PLANS, 315
XXVIII. CAPTURE OF BOB EMERSON, 326
XXIX. THE HUNT FOR THE ROBBERS, 338
XXX. BRIERLY'S SQUAD CAPTURES A ROBBER, 350
XXXI. SILAS IN LUCK AT LAST, 362
XXXII. BOB EMERSON'S STORY, 374
XXXIII. TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF, 386
XXXIV. THE TRANSFORMATION, 399
THE YOUNG GAME-WARDEN.
CHAPTER I.
SILAS MORGAN.
"I do think in my soul that of all the mean things a white man has to
do, hauling wood on a hot day like this is the very meanest."
The speaker was Silas Morgan--a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose
tattered garments and snail-like movements proclaimed him to be the
very personification of indolence and shiftlessness.
As he spoke, he took off his hat and drew his shirt-sleeve across his
dripping forehead, while the lazy old horse, which had pulled the
rickety wood-rack up the long, steep hill from the beach, lowered his
head, dropped his ears, and fell fast asleep.
The man had two alert and wide-awake companions, and they were a brace
of finely-bred Gordon setters, which, after beating the bushes on both
sides of the road in the vain effort to put up a grouse or start a
hare, now came in, and lay down near the wagon.
They were a sight for a sportsman's eye, and that same sportsman would
very naturally ask himself how it came that this poverty-stricken
fellow could afford to own dogs that would have won honors at any
bench-show in the land.
"Yes, I reckon them dog-brutes air just about nice," Silas said,
whenever any inquisitive person propounded this inquiry to him, "and
they were given to me for a present by a couple of city shooters who
once hired me for a guide. You see, birds of all sorts, and 'specially
woodcock, was mighty skeerce that year, but I took 'em where there was
a little bunch that I was a saving for my own shooting, and they had
the biggest kind of sport. They give me them dogs in consequence of my
perliteness to 'em."
There was no one in the neighborhood who could dispute this story, but
there were those who took note of the fact that at certain times the
dogs disappeared as completely as though they had never existed, and
that they were never seen when there were any strange sportsmen in the
vicinity.
"The luck that comes to different folks in this world is just a trifle
the beatenest thing that I ever heared tell on," continued Silas,
leaning heavily upon the wood-rack and fanning his flushed face with
his brimless straw hat. "I can think and plan, but it don't bring in no
money, like it does for some folks that ain't got nigh as much sense as
I have. Now, there's them two setter dogs that was accidentally left on
my hands last year! I thought sure that I'd make my everlasting fortune
out of them; but if there's been a reward offered for their safe return
to their master, I never seen or heared of it. I've tried every way I
can think of to make something, so't things in and around my house
won't look so sorter peaked and poor, but I'm as fur from hitting the
mark now as I was ten year ago. I wish I could think up some way to
make a strike, but I can't; and so here goes for that wood-pile. It
won't always be as hot as it is to-day. Winter will be here before
long, the roads will be blocked with drifts, and if this wood ain't
down to the beach directly, me and the ole woman will have to shiver
over a bare hearth."
With this reflection to put life and energy into him, Silas
straightened up and turned toward the wood-pile with slow and reluctant
steps, all unconscious of the fact that every move he made was closely
watched by two recumbent figures, who, snugly concealed by a thicket of
evergreens, a short distance away, had distinctly caught every word of
his soliloquy.
The dogs knew they were there, for they had run upon their
hiding-place, but as the recumbent figures were neither birds nor
hares, they did not even bark at them, but gave a friendly wag with
their tails, as if to say that it was all right, and returned to their
master, to whom they gave no sign to indicate that they had discovered
anything.
Silas went about his work in that indescribably lazy way that a boy or
man generally assumes when he is laboring under protest. Every stick
he lifted from the pile to the wagon seemed to tax his strength to
the very utmost, and he was often obliged to stop and rest; but still
he made a little headway, and when the rack was about half-loaded he
concluded that he could do no more until he had refreshed himself with
a smoke.
"I have always heared," said Silas, aloud (whenever he thought himself
safely out of hearing, he invariably gave utterance to the thoughts
that were in his mind)--"I have always heared 'em say that all this
country around here is historical, and that if these mountings could
speak, they'd tell tales that would make your eyes stick out as big as
your fist.
"They do say that there's been a heap of stealing and plundering going
on about here in the days gone by"--as Silas said this he glanced
around him a little apprehensively--"and that there's heaps and stacks
of gold and silver hid away where nobody won't ever think of looking
for 'em. If I thought that was so, wouldn't I try my level best to find
some of it? I'd leave Joe and Dan to run the ferry, and then I'd put a
shovel on to my shoulder and come up here, and never leave off digging
till I'd turned some of these mountings t'other side up. But I guess
I won't smoke. I was fool enough to come away and leave my matches to
home."
Silas held his pipe in his hand, and ran his eye along the wood-pile as
if he were looking for a light.
As he did so, he gave a sudden start, his eyes opened to their widest
extent, his under jaw dropped down, and the hand in which he held the
pipe fell to his side.
The object that riveted his gaze was a letter. It had been thrust into
a crack in the end of a stick of wood, and looked as though it might
have been placed there on purpose to attract his attention.
"Now, don't that beat you?" exclaimed Silas, who was greatly
astonished. "Who in the world has been using my wood-pile for a
post-office, I'd like to know?"
If the truth must be told, Silas was frightened as well as surprised.
Like all ignorant men, he was superstitious, and whenever he saw or
heard anything for which he could not account on the instant, he was
sure to be overcome with terror.
His first thought was to take to his heels, make the best of his way to
the cabin, and send his boys back after the wagon; but if he did that,
they would be sure to see the letter--they couldn't help it, if they
kept their eyes open--and might they not read it and make themselves
masters of some information that he alone ought to possess?
"It's mighty comical how that thing come there, and who writ it," said
Silas, "and somehow I can't get my consent to tech it."
And he didn't touch it, either, until he had viewed it from all sides.
First, he bent down, with his hands upon his knees, and twisted his
body into all sorts of shapes in the vain effort to see the other side
of the letter. Then he straightened up and made a wide circle around
it; and finally, he climbed upon the wood-pile and looked at it from
another direction. At last, he must have satisfied himself that it
was a letter and nothing else, for he reached out his hand and took
possession of it.
"It's mighty comical," repeated Silas, looking first at the letter,
and then turning suspicious glances upon the surrounding woods, "and I
can't for the life of me think who put it there. Now, who'll I get to
read it for me? I can spell out printing with the best of them, but I
can't say that I know much about them turkey-tracks they call writing."
As Silas was walking around the wood-pile toward his wagon, he turned
the letter over in his hands, and then he saw that there was something
inscribed upon the envelope. The characters were printed, too, and the
man had little difficulty in deciphering the following:
"NOTIS
"to the luckey person in to whose hans this dockyment may happen
to fall. thare is a big fortune for you in this mounting if you
have got the pluck to do what I have writ on the inside. thare
is danger in it, but mebbe that hant won't bother you as it has
bothered me ever since I pushed him in to the gorge."
Silas was in another profuse perspiration long before he spelled out
the last word in the "notis," but now the cold chills began creeping
all over him. His breath came in short, quick gasps, and his hand
trembled visibly, as he thrust the letter into his pocket. Then he cast
frightened glances on all sides of him, glided back to his wagon with
long noiseless footsteps and reached for the reins.
The commands which he usually shouted at his aged and infirm beast,
were uttered in a whisper, and the horse, not being accustomed to that
style of driving, had to be severely admonished with a hickory switch
before he would settle into the collar and start the very light load
behind him.
Silas never could have told how he got down the hill without breaking
his crazy old wagon all to pieces, for his mind was so completely taken
up with other matters that he never thought to look out for the rough
places in the road, or to give a wide berth to the stumps. He seemed
to be treading on air. He hoped and believed that he was on the point
of making a most important discovery; but, great as was his desire to
make himself the possessor of the fortune that was hidden somewhere in
the mountain he had just left, he could not screw up courage enough to
stop and read the letter. He wanted to put the woods far behind him
before he did that. The "notis" he had read contained some words that
he did not like to recall to mind.
"Didn't I say that there had been a heap of plundering and stealing a
going on in this country in bygone days?" said Silas to himself. "This
letter proves it, and the words that's printed onto the envelope tells
me some things that I don't like to hear tell of. There's likewise been
some killing a going on up there. A feller has been shoved into one of
the gorges, and his hant (some folks calls it a ghost or spirit) has
come back, and keeps a bothering of the feller that pushed him in. I
don't know whether or not I can get my consent to go up there and dig
for that fortune, even if I knew where to look for it, which I don't."
At the end of half an hour, Silas Morgan drew a long breath of relief,
and stopped looking behind him.
He was safely out of the woods, and moving quietly along the river
road, within shouting distance of his cabin.
Then his courage all came back to him, and he was ready for any
undertaking, no matter how dangerous it might be, so long as there was
money behind it.
"Now, Silas, let's look at this thing kind o' sensible like," said he
to himself. "There must be as much as a thousand dollars up there in
the mounting. If there wasn't, it wouldn't be a fortune, would it? And
what's to hender you from getting it for you own? If you go up there in
the daytime, that hant can't bother you none, 'cause I've heard folks
say that they never show themselves except on dark and stormy nights;
but if this one comes out and tells you to leave off digging for that
fortune, you can fill him so full of bird shot that he won't be of no
use as a hant any more, can't you? Get along with you!" he shouted,
bringing the heavy switch down upon the horse's back with no gentle
hand. "I ain't got much more wood hauling for you to do, 'cause I'm
going after them thousand dollars."
A few minutes later Silas reached his home. Dropping the reins and whip
to the ground, he bolted into the cabin, closing the door behind him.