Scott and Murphy walked out to a little grove of pines a short distance
from the station and sat down in the shadow to wait for the train. They
did not talk much, for each one was too busy thinking over the scrapes
they had been through. They felt that they were through with their
troubles at last and that it was only a matter of a few hours now till
they would be back at headquarters, on familiar ground and safe from
interference, but they had felt that same way so often before that they
were almost afraid to say anything about it now.
Their appearance had caused a great deal of speculation and gossip among
the loafers around the place and many curious glances were thrown in
their direction, but no one came near them. The train was late as usual,
but it came at last and they climbed aboard with a certain feeling of
relief. There might be a wreck but there would not be any quicksands or
swamps and a wreck seemed rather trivial compared with those two things
which they had come to hate so cordially in the past few days.
“Well, we are on the home stretch now,” Scott exclaimed comfortably.
“Yes,” Murphy retorted, “for the first time in what seems like a century
we know where we are going and how we are going to get there.”
The train stopped at the first station. There did not seem to be much of
an excuse for a station there, nor anywhere else along the line for that
matter, but the train always stopped at all of them as if it hoped that
sometime there might be somebody there. This time it was not
disappointed. Scott was looking out of the window and he saw a lone man
step across the platform and get on the front end of the car. No one
else was in sight there, not even a station agent.
Before he had drawn in his head he felt Murphy grab him suddenly by the
knee and squeeze it meaningly. He looked inquiringly at Murphy and then
followed his glance up the car. The new passenger was walking slowly
toward them and he instantly recognized Qualley. The car lamps evidently
dazzled Qualley’s eyes after his wait in the darkness and he had not
seen them, but just as he was turning into a seat he stopped for a
glance over the occupants of the car and recognized them. With
well-feigned surprise he changed his mind about the seat and came
towards them, smiling.
“Blamed old fox!” Murphy growled under his breath. “If he knew what we
know he would have kept off this train.”
“Well,” Qualley exclaimed good-humoredly, shaking hands with them, “I
didn’t expect to see any one I knew on this train. Glad to see you. Good
ways from home, aren’t you?”
“Quite a jump,” Scott replied. “We’ve been out having a look at the
country. Quite a journey for you, too, isn’t it?”
“Yes, first time I have been out of camp for a long time. Company wanted
me to come down here and look over some turpentine prospects. They are
thinking of leasing in here.”
“Aren’t you afraid they will take advantage of your absence to steal all
the logs in the pond?” Scott asked, and he nudged Murphy secretly with
his foot.
“You bet I was,” Qualley replied with a hearty laugh, “and I told the
boys not to put any in there while I was gone. Haven’t run on to any
likely clues yet, have you?” he added.
“No, nothing new since we saw you last,” and Scott nudged Murphy again.
They were having a very good time with Qualley.
As they approached their own station Murphy seemed to grow thoughtful.
Suddenly he leaned forward and unbuttoned the flap of Qualley’s holster.
“What sort of a gun have you got there, Qualley? I lost my old Luger
back there in a swamp. Had it for ten years and would not have lost it
for a farm.”
Murphy drew the revolver from the holster and examined it critically. It
was a little blue steel automatic .32, very neat and very business-like.
“Not quite such a hard hitter as mine,” Murphy commented, “but I guess
she’d kill a man at that.”
“Would it!” Qualley laughed. “Well, I rather think it would if you hit
him right. I killed a deer with it at forty yards last fall.”
Murphy continued to toy with the gun. He unloaded it, loaded it, and
tested the mechanism several times, tried the grip in his hand and aimed
it carefully at all the lights in the car. It was not till the train was
coming to a stop at their own station that he leaned over and slipped it
back into Qualley’s holster.
“Looks pretty good to me,” Murphy remarked, as though thoroughly
satisfied with his examination. “Maybe I’ll get one of those next time.
It would not be as heavy to tote around as the old Luger and I reckon it
would shoot hard enough for anything I want it for. Don’t want to sell
it, do you?”
“Not for anything you would give me for it,” Qualley replied. “I need it
in my business almost every day.”
“That’s right,” Murphy admitted thoughtfully, “I reckon you do, all
right,” and he stepped on Scott’s foot.
They all three got off the car together and started down the trail which
lead by a short cut to the supervisor’s headquarters. It was about
midnight and there was no one in sight around the station, not even the
agent. The moon was doing its best to shine through a thin curtain of
clouds and the trail was easy enough to follow. They walked three
abreast through the open country and were soon back on the one subject
of conversation which had been the common topic with them now for over
two years—the marvelous disappearance of those logs.
About a mile from the station the trail crossed a rather wide neck of
shallow swamp. In a rainy year it would have been impassable, but it was
almost dry now and made very good walking. It suddenly occurred to Scott
that Qualley was not going in the direction of his camp. “Doesn’t this
trail take you a good way out of your road?” he asked.
“About a mile, but this is the only place where there is a trail across
the swamp and I have never had the energy to cut another.”
When the trail entered the swamp it narrowed so that they were obliged
to go in single file. Murphy stopped to let Qualley go first, but he
politely held back and insisted on them leading the way. Murphy smiled a
little to himself, shoved Scott gently into the lead and followed with
Qualley bringing up the rear. Conversation was not so easy now and they
walked in comparative silence. The ground was so soft and spongy that
their feet made very little noise and every little sound was easily
heard. It was so dark in the swamp that only the outline of things could
be seen.
They were about in the middle of the swamp when Murphy heard a faint
sound for which he had been listening intently ever since they had
strung out on the narrow trail. It was a gentle slap caused by the
falling of a leather flap. He listened now even more intently and was
almost immediately rewarded by a sharp click close behind him.
“What was that?” he exclaimed, whirling about.
Scott stopped and turned around to see what was going on and was just in
time to see Murphy strike Qualley a crashing blow on the jaw before he
even had a chance to answer the question.
“Ah, ha, you old fox!” Murphy exclaimed, as he leaned over the fallen
man, “I was a little too smart for you that time. That’s a fine gun you
have, but it is not much good without cartridges. Just wait till I load
her up and then she will work better.” He picked the gun up from the
soft ground where Qualley had dropped it, and taking a clip of
cartridges from his pocket he calmly proceeded to load it.
“What’s the trouble?” Scott asked. The whole thing had occurred so
suddenly that he had not been able to comprehend it. He had been busy
planning out the best method of attacking that cabin.
Murphy explained it as coolly as though nothing had happened.
“It occurred to me back there in the train that it might not be
altogether safe to be in the woods with this fellow alone at night when
he knew where we were, so I unloaded his gun. When he came down this way
with us to cross the swamp I knew that there was something up, for it
would have been nearer for him to have walked up the railroad track a
way and then cut across. Didn’t you notice how polite I was when I tried
to persuade him to walk ahead of me through this swamp? Never knew me to
be that polite before, did you? And when he turned out to be more polite
than I was, I knew just exactly what to expect. I heard the flap of his
holster flip down when he drew his gun and I heard her click when he
pulled the trigger. I was afraid he might run away and reload so I
dropped him.”
Scott shuddered. He realized how closely he had rubbed shoulders with
cold-blooded murder and how easily it could have been carried out if it
had not been for Murphy’s forethought. “Must have taken some nerve to
let him pull that trigger when you knew just what he was doing. Weren’t
you afraid that he might have reloaded?”
“Believe me, I’ve been watching him ever since we got off the train. I
knew that he could not reload without my hearing him and I sure
listened.”
Qualley groaned and looked about him uncertainly like a man awakening
from a dream and trying to get his wits together. Suddenly it came to
him and he sat up with a jerk.
“This what you are looking for?” Murphy asked mockingly, as he poked the
muzzle of the gun into his face. “Don’t monkey with it, it’s loaded
now.”
Qualley realized instantly that he had been outwitted. He could not for
the life of him think how they had been lead to suspect him and he was a
little bit dazed by the unexpected blow, but his magnificent nerve was
unshaken. He looked quietly into the muzzle of the gun with unmoved
expression.
“Pretty clever,” he exclaimed admiringly, “but what is the big idea? You
swipe the loads out of my gun, and then when I try to shoot an alligator
you whirl around and knock me down without warning. If it is supposed to
be a joke you are carrying it a little too far.” He was a splendid actor
and if Scott had not had such good evidence of his intentions he would
have doubted himself rather than this indignant Qualley.
“It’s a good bluff, Qualley,” Murphy jeered, “but it won’t work. You can
sue me for assault if you want to when you get out of the pen, but it is
too late to sit here in the swamp and argue about it to-night. Get up
from there and trot along with us. It’s nearer to headquarters than it
is to your camp and I know Mr. Graham will be glad to put you up there
over night. We’ll tell Roberts that we reached camp all right so you
need not worry about his thinking that you have gone back on him. Come
ahead. It was mighty polite of you to let me go first back there, but
this time I am going to show the politeness. After you, Gaston. Better
take the rear, Scott, I don’t want to take a chance on plugging you if
he should make a break for it. Now we’re right. Let’s travel.”
Qualley knew that it was hopeless to try to bluff them now and he took
the lead without another word. The little procession was more silent now
than it had been before and the grin on Murphy’s face was wider.