THE CRAFTY PLAN OF MR. GOUGER
The late afternoon sun shone with a softened light in the valley through
which Wolf creek flowed dark and sluggish from the Ship woods. The
stream itself looked very dark, indeed, where the shadows of the trees
lay on the deeper pools. Where the sunbeams struck the ripples the water
had a brighter, clearer hue and tinkled sweetly, soft and low, for the
current was moderate.
Looking up stream from the low wooden bridge at the public road, one
could see that a sharp, irregular, wooded steep marked the limits of the
valley on the east. The rise of ground began only two score yards
distant from the water and with it began, also, a thick growth of mostly
small trees and brush.
Rough ledges of sandstone and conglomerate rock cropped out of the earth
in many places here, but the strip of land between the stream and the
hillside was cleared of timber and lay quite level. Two parallel paths
through the coarse grass and among the straggling bushes marked a
primitive roadway midway between the slope and the creek. It extended
back through the valley, apparently, to where the woods a quarter of a
mile distant from the highway, stretched down from hill to hill, hiding
the creek and all beyond.
As the sun was going down there rolled along the unfenced public road
skirting for nearly two miles this southern boundary of the Ship woods,
a heavily laden touring car.
"The bridge! The creek! That old trail through the valley--By Jinks,
we're here!" cried a shrill young voice from the car. The machine had
come to a halt where the rough road led back from the highway just
before the bridge was reached.
"Yes, we're _here_ and blessed if I see anything very thrilling about
it!" came another voice, in tones of decidedly less enthusiasm. "At any
rate, though, we _are here_."
Is it necessary to state that Paul Jones was the first speaker and that
Dave MacLester was the second?
"Well, scoot ahead, somebody! See if we can get down the bank and into
that pair of ruts through the grass, yonder, without turning turtle or
blowing out a tire."
This command, briskly delivered, came from Billy Worth who leaned, tired
and dusty, on the steering wheel.
"All O.K.! Come ahead!" shouted Phil Way a second later. "The track down
the bank is here all right, but under the grass. Gently, Bill!"
With a sudden plunge and stiff jerk the car went down the incline
leading from the road and across a broad, shallow ditch. Then slowly it
rolled onto the grass and weed-grown trail leading up to the valley.
Way walked rapidly in advance looking out for pitfalls or possible
causes of danger to tires. "Might as well get the road cleared at once,
fellows," he said, and the hint was sufficient. Paul and Dave jumped
down from the slowly moving machine to lend assistance.
Heavy wagons in summers that were past and the logging sleds of the
timber crews in winter had broken a well-marked road. It was still rough
but odd chunks of wood and the stones found here and there could be and
were thrown to one side.
Paul Jones voiced with considerable earnestness the opinion that he
would rather pilot the car than "heave dornicks" out of the road; but a
subdued chuckle from Billy, lazily driving forward as the course was
announced clear, was all the comfort his observation brought him.
"S'pose we needn't go more than thirty or forty miles back from the
road!" ejaculated MacLester grimly. He was quite out of breath from the
effort of up-ending a heavy pole that had lain across the trail. Also,
as has been noted earlier, he was just the least bit tired and
impatient.
"No farther back than we have to go to find a snug camping place," Phil
responded with extra good humor. For cheerfulness is contagious and does
a great deal more to brighten up another's despondent mood than any sort
of remonstrance against being glum could do. "Maybe that little point
down by the creek is just what we want, now," Way went on gayly. "Hold
up, Bill, till we peek around here some."
The point did offer many advantages, being a low, grassy place, like a
small peninsula, where a water course curved about till it finally
reached the main stream. The creek formed a considerable pool just below
the junction with the water-worn trench; for, while the latter, though
deep, was now nearly dry, it was apparent that in time of rain its
torrents rushed into the larger stream with both force and volume.
"Rather flat and low, but pretty good at that," observed Way, hopefully
surveying the situation. "But maybe we'd better look a little further.
What do you think, Mac?"
"Reckon so," said Dave, and telling Worth to wait, the two went forward
to investigate.
Paul Jones meanwhile had been tracing the deep, narrow bed of the
smaller stream, filled with the idea that its source must be in some
spring. And presently he came running back shouting at the top of his
voice--"Yelling like a wooden Indian," Billy said--"Say! oh, say! Here's
the hunky-doriest place you ever dreamed about! Here's the one spot in
all your natural life, for a fact!"
The rapturous enthusiasm of Jones' tones caused Worth to jump down from
the car and hurry toward him. Dave and Phil, now some distance forward,
also hastened back, and together the quartette climbed the rise of
ground toward the woods. What they found fully accounted for Paul's
delighted manner.
Here on a shelving plateau of conglomerate rock, overgrown with moss and
patches of velvety grass, was a level space several hundred feet in
length and perhaps fifty feet from the abrupt descent at its front to
the rough, irregular wall of natural stonework, rising as high as the
tops of the trees, at the back.
From a wide but shallow cave, in the wall at the rear, there trickled a
beautifully clear and cool spring. For a time the water rested in a
natural basin in the rocks, then overflowed through a tiny channel of
its own making. Deeper and wider this channel grew and so became the
water course, previously described, leading to the creek.
Many small ash, beech and chestnut trees somehow found foothold in the
earthy crevices of the rocks, but of underbrush, fallen timber or
similar obstructions the place was quite clear. Being much higher than
the valley before it, the little plateau caught the last rays of the
sinking sun most charmingly as it also received the welcome visits of
the wandering breezes that passed quite over the lower land.
Of firewood, that most necessary factor in the making of a camp, there
was plenty both below and above the broad shelf. Water of the purest
quality the spring afforded in abundance. For bathing, fishing or such
other accommodations as a good-sized stream could afford, the creek was
but a few hundred feet away.
"Great!" exclaimed Mr. William Worth approvingly. "Simply carniverous!"
By which expression, it will be understood, he meant that the spot under
inspection was extremely satisfactory, rather than exactly what he
called it.
"Never get the car up here!" declared MacLester, looking about
doubtfully. "Never get the car up here in the world!"
"You leave that to me," cried Paul, blusteringly, as if Mac's remark
were a challenge to himself personally. "I've heard of half-backs and
quarter-backs and all that sort of thing, but I'll be blamed, Dave, if
you aren't the champion hold-back of the United States! We'll get the
car up here like rolling off a log!"
And although Paul's expression was possibly as much overdrawn as it was
picturesque, it may be stated at once that a means of running the Thirty
up to the higher level was provided without great difficulty. The
cutting down of a few straggling trees and clearing away of the brush
where the southern edge of the wide ledge sloped off easily toward the
public road, made all that remained quite safe and easy.
The net result was that, ere the shadows grew so deep as to cause a
suspension of operations, the car with all its heavy load stood close
beside the shallow cave and the spring. The campfire blazed cheerily a
few minutes later and the sweet sizzle of frying bacon, always delicious
to a hungry man, filled the pure, wholesome air of the woods.
The Auto Boys were very, very comfortable. Of this fact they assured
themselves over and over again, although at no time was there room for
the slightest doubt in the case. And leaving them in this pleasant
situation, weary but entirely tranquil, restful and luxuriously
content, attention must at this point be returned to Mr. Soapy Gaines,
and the two companions of that very unselfish and highly agreeable young
gentleman.
It was on Thursday afternoon, it will be remembered, that the Chosen
Trio set out from Lannington. Gaines' big and clumsy Roadster was loaded
heavily. Freddy Perth at the wheel, Soapy at his side and Pickton buried
among baggage strapped on and around the rumble seat, they headed toward
Sagersgrove by the most direct route. Without mishap the little town of
Waterloo was reached by dusk and there the night was spent. Pickton had
so adroitly planned matters that Gaines registered at the village hotel
for the entire party. He meant also that Soapy should have entirely to
himself the pleasant task of settling the bill in the morning. But it
was not to be. Very unselfishly that young gentleman ventured the
supposition, when breakfast was over that, as he was furnishing the car
for the trip, his companions would probably be prepared to pay the
traveling expenses.
"Oh, whack 'em up all around," suggested Perth. "Thought that was
understood."
Pickton said nothing.
"Well, by George! I don't pay anybody's but my own!" growled Gaines. "If
anybody thinks I'm soft, they better think again."
This shot was so obviously intended for Pick that he flushed hot and
scarlet. "Sure! Everybody's to pay his own way!" he said. Rather
sheepishly he added, though: "We might have got breakfast cheaper along
the road somewhere."
And the foregoing dialogue but serves to illustrate the feeling that
existed among the three companions. The unity, mutual trust and generous
friendship which characterized all the relations of the Auto Boys with
reference to one another were wholly missing in the Chosen Trio. The
wonder is, indeed, that these three had remained together so long.
True, Soapy wanted someone for company and someone to operate the car
and to take care of it. Pickton had his own selfish end to serve by
making use of Gaines in such ways as he could and Perth--Fred would have
borne a great deal just for the sake of being around the Roadster.
Also, Fred liked both the other two, in a way. It was not his
disposition to find fault or to be over-critical at any time. It did not
so much as occur to him, for instance, that the uncomfortable rumble
seat, hemmed in with baggage, should be occupied by Soapy any part of
the time as the car chugged on noisily but at no mean speed, toward
Sagersgrove.
It lacked still two hours of noon when Eli Gouger, self-constituted
detective in Sagersgrove, beheld the heavy machine of the Chosen Trio
coming down the main street of that peaceful town. He looked again and a
sudden thought smote upon his brain. Then he acted.
Perhaps it should be explained that, following their uncomfortable
experience in pursuit of the Auto Boys through the Cowslip marshes, Mr.
Gouger had even less admiration for Marshal Wellock than he had
entertained before. And now, as he saw the strange automobile
approaching, he realized that it was traveling at a considerably higher
speed than the ordinances of the town permitted. Also he realized that
if Marshal Wellock chanced to see the law's violation by these young
strangers he would pounce upon them instantly.
In no mood was the marshal, of late particularly, to let any motorist
escape if there was the slightest reason for an arrest. The officer had
been made the butt of too much ridicule as a result of that chase that
ended with him head first in the mud to be in a very amiable temper. He
wanted only the excuse and he would clap into jail any strange
automobile user who entered the town.
Well aware of all this, and well aware that he, himself, detective
though he feign would be, was powerless to make an arrest, Mr. Gouger
hastily planned a deep and crafty plan. He would win for himself a
degree of glory which should make Marshal Wellock appear, in contrast,
a most negligent and inefficient officer, to say the least.
Frantically waving his arms, Mr. Gouger rushed into the street as the
strange car and its three passengers drew near. Pickton brought the
machine to a halt.
"You chaps will get arrested if ye don't watch out!" declared Mr.
Gouger, vehemently, a little irritated by Gaines' instant and by no
means polite inquiry, "What's hurting _you_?"
"Fact is, you've been speeding half way through town. I own a machine,
myself, an' I know. Maybe there's a warrant out for ye now," he
continued rapidly.
Pickton's jaw fell and Gaines felt a giving way inside as if his upper
and lower halves had suddenly parted company at the waist line.
"Guess--guess--we'd better not stop to talk about it then," said Freddy
Perth, brokenly, but with a sadly forced grin.
"Tell ye what, slip 'round here with me. Drive up slow. I'll get ye into
my barn an' a little later ye can slip out o' town," Mr. Gouger
suggested. There was a gleam in his eye, however, and a sort of internal
chuckle in his tones that would have been a warning had any of the Trio
noticed them.
"Well, blame it all! Show us _where_," growled Pickton, noticeably
bolder now. "Lead on!"--This with solemn, dramatic air that would have
been ridiculous had it not been so tragic.
Mr. Gouger wasted time in very few more words. Through an alley he
escorted the Trio, still in the car, to the yard at the rear of his own
modest, frame dwelling in a side street close by. Asking the lads to
leave their car partially screened from view beneath the low-branching
cherry trees, he invited them into a small, tightly-boarded cowstable.
"Stay in here a spell. I'll be back," grinned the would-be detective,
and suddenly stepping out he closed the door and locked it by means of a
large padlock attached to a chain. "Ye can consider yourselves under
arrest _right now_," sang out Mr. Gouger, then, in tones of triumph,
"I'll have the constable here right off an' ye can go before the 'squire
an' pay up. Don't be speedin' next time till ye know there's no
_detectives_ around."
The astonishment of Messrs. Gaines, Pickton and Perth may be more easily
imagined than successfully described. They did not suspect the purpose
and the reason for the imposition that had been practiced upon them, nor
did they realize that their captor had no authority to make an arrest
himself. He had taken this means of detaining them until he could summon
a constable, apparently, because he did not care to undertake the arrest
alone. Having no knowledge of Mr. Gouger's lack of admiration for
Marshal Wellock, of course, the lads ascribed the motives of that very
able disciple of Mr. Pinkerton entirely to a desire to share in the fine
to be imposed upon them.
These general conclusions the three boys reached in an extremely short
space of time. What should they do? The day was warm and the
tightly-closed stable was like an oven. In the cherry trees and along
the hedge, bordered by bachelor buttons, at the opposite side of Mr.
Gouger's back yard, the robins were twittering joyously. But their
lively notes awakened no responsive feeling in the hearts of the
imprisoned Trio.
Remotely possible is it, however, that, unnoticed though their music
was, the songsters exerted an influence upon the thoughts of Soapy
Gaines; or it may have been only a coincidence. At any rate, his spoken
words were--
"I'll be blamed, Pick, if you ain't a bird! Followed that duffer into
this trap like a pup trailing a meat wagon. Blame me, if you ain't a
real _bird_!"
Mr. Gaines' tones, it may be stated, were even less complimentary than
his language.