IN THE NAME OF THE LAW
“This is the place,” said Jake Utway. He indicated the trampled patch of
bushes. “That’s the very tree that walloped me in the eye.”
“Funny I didn’t see him when the flash went off,” mused Jerry. “But I
was busy, first with banging my head on the pole, and next in getting
back home quick. What do you think he was after?”
Jake shrugged. “Search me! But after I tangled with him and he got away,
he made for the path that runs down through Church Glade to the lake. No
use trying to find any footprints now—too many of the campers have been
along since last night.”
“Funny, all right.” Jerry strode back and forth through the low brush,
kicking away the branches and examining the soft ground closely.
“Nothing here, I guess. Let’s go, or we’ll have that snooping Jones
following us around again. Hold on—what’s this?”
A bright bit of paper wrapper had caught his eye. He lifted the object
from beneath the tangle of leaves that had concealed it from all but the
sharpest scrutiny. “Huh,” said Jerry. “What’s a can of condensed milk
doing here?”
Jake looked at the small can and its bright label. “Funny! That’s the
same brand Ellick uses in the kitchen!”
“Do you think your bald-headed friend dropped it?”
“Boy,” replied Jake with feeling, “if he was half as scared as I was, I
wouldn’t blame him for dropping a few arms and legs! Come on—stick that
can in your pocket and let’s stroll on. Just like you said, that
Sherlock kid is tagging after us again. I just saw him dodge behind a
tree. He’s been acting awful crazy ever since yesterday afternoon.”
“I’ve’ got a better idea,” put in Jerry. “I’m sick of being shadowed
around every minute of the day by a goofy cluck with four eyes and no
brain! Detective, is he! Huh! We’ll give him something to detect.” He
set out through the woods at a rapid gait.
“What’s up?” Jake had to take long strides to keep up with his brother.
“He wants to shadow us. All right—but he’ll have to go some to keep us
in sight this afternoon! We’ll lead him a merry chase through the woods,
and by the time he gets back to camp he’ll be so sick of shadowing he
won’t bother us for a month!”
“Swell! I tell you, we’ll take him up the side of the mountain and lose
him. Bet he don’t know the short-cut down; and it’ll take him until
after swim-time to find his way back!”
The Utway twins were masters of woodcraft, and on various hikes had
explored the mountainous country west of Lenape so that they knew every
trail and landmark. It would be no difficult task for them to mislead
the blundering Sherlock. Jerry led the way cross-country with an easy
stride, taking care always to keep in the sight of the amateur detective
so that he would not lose hope thus soon, give up the chase as a bad
job, and return to camp. With Jake at his elbow, he cut through the low
pines and mountain maples beyond the Council Ring, crossed the wagon
road just below the bend, and skirting the marshy meadows below the
Hermit’s house, gained the base of the steep slide of boulders that
scarred the mountainside.
“He’s still coming,” Jake assured his brother. “I saw him a minute ago,
down in that birch swamp. He was having a heap of trouble getting
through. Wait till he hits this patch!”
It was dangerous going now. The rock-slide was an ancient glacial
moraine, that cut fan-wise down the face of the mountain. The two boys
crawled, leaped, and climbed from one huge, lichen-encrusted boulder to
the next, keeping a watchful eye for lurking snakes. They made a labored
progress diagonally across the slide, now and then covertly glancing
over their shoulders to keep watch on their victim. Sherlock, panting
heavily, had stopped to rest in the shade and wipe away the moisture
that had dripped from his brow to cloud the lenses of his spectacles.
“He won’t come on here until we get across,” Jake muttered. “We could
spot him too easily, he thinks—as if we didn’t know every step he’s
taken since we started! Hurry up and get into the woods again; then we
can swing around to the short-cut and be back in camp before he gets
wise!”
In ten minutes they had left the hapless Sherlock far behind. They were
now circling around the top of the rock-slide; far below toiled the
weary form of the detective, slipping and sliding across the rocks. Not
long after, their unerring trailing instinct led them through the
scrub-oak of the summit and brought them out on a little-used pathway
that ran straight as an arrow from the mountain-top down to the Lenape
lodge. It was, in fact, the line down which the water-supply for the
camp was piped, from a collecting reservoir below the spring near the
crest of the first mountain. A track had been cut through the woods when
the pipe was first laid, and although the way was still open, it was
seldom used, most of the campers preferring to take the road, which made
a more easy ascent. The Utway twins had discovered the overgrown path by
accident, and now made good use of their knowledge.
They picked their way slowly through the forest, following the line of
leaden pipe which ran down the hillside, now stretching for yards along
the surface, now buried a few inches beneath the brown, needle-carpeted
soil. Knowing that hiking down a steep incline is more dangerous than
climbing, the twins, having no desire to lose any precious camping days
by being laid up with a sprained ankle, stepped cautiously with a slow,
woodsman’s pace. Once or twice they had to make their way around a
fallen tree trunk, and for some distance they lost sight of the
pipe-line altogether as they gingerly circled about a marshy bit of
ground where the hillside began sloping off above the wagon road.
Deer-flies buzzed in a cloud about their heads, and the stinging little
pests were so bothersome that both boys hung their handkerchiefs down
from their hats to flutter in the air and keep off the humming insects.
Jerry first came in sight of the road, and broke into a run. The road
was cut in this place right across the hill, so that it was necessary,
in order to gain it, to drop down a low cliff-edge about the height of a
man. With a glorious leap Jerry surmounted the fringing brush and flew
downward through the air. He landed in a heap, missing by a hair’s
breadth the body of a man who squatted, hidden, in the shadow of the
overhanging edge.
Jerry cried out to warn his brother. The man whose body he had barely
missed in his blind leap was on his feet in an instant. Jerry Utway
looked up, straight into the muzzle of a double-barrelled shotgun aimed
directly at his head.
“Don’t move!” warned the stranger in grim tones. “You, there, up
above—hands up! Come out of those bushes! I’ve got you both covered!”
Jake’s upraised hands appeared above, followed by his face, open-mouthed
with surprise. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Never mind. Come down here where I can see you!” There was no mistaking
the urgency of that hard voice. “Now, you there, stay right where you
are on the ground. Not a move!” The man was dressed in some sort of a
blue uniform. He wore a shapeless, broad-brimmed felt hat, and his
trouser-legs were tucked into the tops of a pair of leather leggins.
“Why, you must be twins!” he exclaimed in astonishment.
Jake slid down the slope in a cloud of dust and a shower of gravel.
“That’s right. But what’s the idea of the hold-up?”
“Yes, what’s the idea?” added Jerry. “Look out that gun don’t go off.
You better not try anything with us, or you’ll have everybody in Camp
Lenape after you, Mister!” The boy’s bold words were somewhat belied by
the shakiness of the voice in which they were delivered.
“Oh, from the camp, are you?” Slowly the man in blue lowered his weapon.
“Anybody else with you?”
“No, sir. Hear that?” Through the woods drifted the familiar bugle-notes
of Swim Call. “We got to get back for swim, or we’ll be missed.”
The stranger chuckled. “I see. Well, guess I won’t keep you.” He
grounded the wicked-looking shotgun. “Just a word of advice to you,
buddies, before you go. Be a little more careful how you drop on a
fellow’s neck right out of the sky. ‘Look before you leap’ is a motto
that still holds good.”
Jerry rose and straightened his dusty clothing. “Yes, sir.”
“And I further order you, in the name of the law, not to tell anybody at
the camp that you saw me. They’ll learn soon enough. Now, hop it!”
The twins had no mind to argue with the law, backed by a gun. They
hopped it. They were twenty yards away before the man in blue called out
to them.
“By the way, you haven’t seen any strange men around here in the last
day or so, have you?”
“You’re the only one.” It was Jerry who replied. Jake caught his breath,
and reflectively felt the damaged flesh over his left eye.
“Right. So long!”
The twins did not speak until they had crossed the cleared ground above
the tents. As they approached Tent Ten, Jerry broke the silence. “It’s
too much for my feeble brain,” he said. “Wonder if he was after your
bald-headed friend?”
“I give up. Come on—we’ll be late for swim. Wonder where Sherlock is
now? Hope he don’t get shot. If he don’t turn up for supper, maybe we’d
better go look for him.”
Within the empty tent they quickly slipped into swimming suits and made
for the dock. The water was already alive with plunging bodies. At the
landward end of the dock, where the lake bottom sloped gently in a sandy
beach that was a favorite spot for the younger and more timid swimmers,
who could here sport about without getting beyond their depth, the twins
paused to watch a scene that never failed to arouse laughter.
Billy the Crow was taking his daily bath. Billy was an aged black
ruffian who made Lenape his home, and was often to be seen hopping about
the tents or perching in a near-by tree, giving vent to his feelings in
no uncertain tones. At some time in his life Billy had been caught by
the hired man on a neighboring farm, who had, by slitting his tongue,
bestowed on the rascally bird the doubtful gift of speech. Billy knew
only a few words, but he made the most of them. This ceremony of taking
a bath at the edge of the lake was a stunt of which Billy was especially
proud. He now teetered on a flat rock at the water’s edge, urging
himself to overcome his timidity and bravely take the plunge.
“Go on in, Billy!” said Billy with a squawk. “Go on in, Billy!” With one
pointed claw he gingerly tried the water. The laughing ring of boys
about him imitated his words and splashed the rock with water. Mr.
Carrigan, camp naturalist, sat on the planked floor of the dock, on
life-saving duty, his warning whistle dangling by its thong in his hand.
“Mr. William Corvus Brachyrhyncos doesn’t seem to be fond of bathing,”
he observed.
“Is that his full name?” Jerry Utway chuckled as Billy finally made up
his mind, and with a last “Go on in—aww-crk!” doused his rumpled
feathers into the rippling waters. “He’s taken enough baths to wash
himself white, but he still has to go through all that rigmarole first.”
“Crows are funny birds,” said Mr. Carrigan. “He certainly is a pet
around here. Ellick must feed him crumbs from the kitchen.” Billy
finished his brief swim-period, and fluttered across to the dock to dry
and preen himself in the sun. “Here he comes, shaking water all over the
place. Hello, Billy! Oh, you would, would you?”
“Hello, Billy!” mocked the bird. His bright eye had caught sight of the
dangling whistle, its metal bowl twinkling as the sun’s rays caught it.
A few hops took him to the councilor’s side. A sharp beak caught at the
thong, tried to drag the whistle from its owner’s hand.
“Natural-born thieves, crows,” said Mr. Carrigan. “They’ll steal
anything that happens to catch their eye. Here, let go, Billy!”
Billy, insulted, uttered a final scolding squawk and flew noisily to a
perch on a near-by tree.