GLEN FOLLOWS A FALSE TRAIL
Morning mail was a great institution in camp. Two scouts, specially
detailed, brought it from the Buffalo Center post-office, in a U. S.
mail pouch. Mr. Newton opened and distributed it, and happy were the
fellows who received letters with which they could retreat to some
corner and feast themselves not only once, but sometimes twice and
thrice, while pleased smiles circled their countenances.
Because Glen expected none he was all the more surprised when a letter
was handed to him. It was a mysterious letter, indeed. The envelope was
mysterious, if a dirty and crumpled condition spelled mystery. The
writing and spelling were mysterious--most mysterious. Finally the
contents of the letter enjoined mystery.
"Say nuffin to noboddy burn this at once," it cautioned. "This is
important. Your forchoon is maid and you git part of a big tressure if
you do exackly as told. Don't say a word to noboddy but cum at ten
o'clock to the blazed oke wich is just south of your camp if you tell
anyboddy or bring anyboddy you wont get to no nuffin about it."
Glen's first impulse was to show the document to Jolly Bill. As Bill was
busy in conversation with Mr. Newton he had time to think it over. It
was something about the treasure, quite evidently. Very likely it was a
trick. Some one was trying to get a laugh on him. Very well. Glen was
not at all displeased. He would let them do their worst. It showed that
they had taken him in among them and were treating him exactly as one of
themselves. He was gratified. He would go along and see it through. If
they could make him bite, all right.
There was no difficulty in locating the blazed oak which stood close to
the camp. Glen had no watch, but he went early enough to be quite sure
of being there by ten o'clock. Then he waited and waited. He was about
to give it up as a hoax, when a man slipped quietly out of the woods and
advanced toward him. Glen fell into a position of defense as he saw that
it was his old enemy, Jervice.
"Now, don't go actin' up," begged Mr. Jervice. "I ain't goin' to do
nothin' only tell you how to git into a good thing. I'm the man as
wrote that letter."
"You are!" exclaimed Glen. "What do _you_ know about the treasure?"
"I know all about it," Jervice assured him confidentially. "I'm the only
feller that can help you git a slice. They's jest one question--are you
willin' to go in an' will you keep mum. I don't tell nothin' till you
tell me."
"Am I willing? Are you crazy? You bet I'm willing. Try me."
"Well, listen here then. I thought you'd be the feller. Who can I get as
is good an' strong an' yet not much over boys' size, thinks I. Then I
thinks of you. 'That reform school boy,' I says to myself. 'He's the
very feller. Likely he's done this kind of a job before.'"
"I've never had anything to do with treasure before, and I don't know
what you mean," said Glen. "Hurry up and tell about it. I want to be
back at camp for the swim at eleven o'clock."
"Come over to my car," invited the artful Jervice. "It ain't very far
an' we won't be in no danger of being interrupted."
"How's that boy you hit?" asked the peddler as they journeyed. "That was
a awful crack you give him."
"He's all right and able to be about," Glen assured him. "I'm sorry I
hit him."
Neither Glen nor Jervice knew that Matt was not only able to be about
but was at that moment within ten feet of them, being, in fact, just
that distance above their heads in a tree which seemed to him to offer
such facilities as wild bees might desire in choosing a home. He kept
very quiet in his "honey tree" and looked down on them with contempt for
both.
"Up to some tricks," he muttered to himself.
The J. Jervice autowagon was not so very far away, but the two were well
out of range of Matt's vision before they reached it.
"Now, to begin with," said J. Jervice. "Are you one o' them scouts or
ain't you?"
"I am," replied Glen. "I'm a tenderfoot."
"Tenderfoot, eh! Reckon you ain't so tender. Well, why don't ye wear one
o' them uniforms, so's to make ye look like one?"
"I haven't any uniform, yet. Perhaps I could borrow one. What's that got
to do with a treasure hunt?"
"It's got a whole lot to do with it. People knows that boys wearing them
uniforms is straight, an' we want you to look straight as a string."
"I'm going to get one as soon as I can," Glen assured him. "I want to
look straight--that is part of the oath, 'physically strong, mentally
awake and morally straight.'"
"I don't know nothink about no oaths like that," objected Mr. Jervice,
in a dubious tone which indicated that he might know more about other
varieties. "We don't care about yer being so straight--jest so ye look
straight."
"Well, hurry up and tell about the treasure," urged Glen. "Remember I
want to be back by eleven o'clock. You're awfully slow."
"I'm comin' to that. Remember this now--you mustn't never tell nobody
nothink about it."
"What do you mean--never tell anybody?" asked Glen. "I guess we know as
much about it as you do."
"_You_ know about it!" Mr. Jervice seemed incredulous. "What do you know
about it?"
"Well, we know what Mr. Spencer told us the other night," insisted Glen.
"What was that?" asked Mr. Jervice cautiously. "Sit down here an' tell
me about it."
Glen sat down on the back step of the car and told the story of the lost
treasure as he remembered it.
"So that's the treasure story, is it?" came a deep voice from the side
of the car. There stepped into view a man whom Glen had not seen before.
He was evidently associated with Mr. Jervice, but he did not in the
least resemble him, for instead of being a cringy weakling, he was big
and strong and hard.
"That's the story as Mr. Spencer told it to us," replied Glen.
"Say, that's mighty interesting to me," said the man. "Happened right
around this neighborhood, too? I'll bet them Indians put that treasure
in a cave an' hain't never done nothing about it since 'cause they
couldn't sell bullion without giving themselves away."
"I suppose they'd find it hard to sell," said Glen.
"You bet they'd find it hard to sell. They'd just been obliged to leave
it in the cave. Bet it's the same cave we're lookin' for. You know any
caves around here, boy?"
"No, sir," replied Glen. "I haven't seen a cave in this country."
"You know something about the country?"
"A little bit," Glen cautiously admitted. "I've only been here a few
days."
"Get that chart, Jervice, an' we'll see what he reckernises," ordered
the leader.
Mr. J. Jervice offered some protest and the two held a whispered
conversation of which Glen was evidently the subject.
"Oh, shut up," exclaimed the big man, at last. "I can take care of the
kid all right. You git the chart."
Mr. Jervice thereupon dived into the car and soon returned with a rough
map which he opened out before the leader.
"Lookahere, boy, look at this," commanded the man. "This remind ye of
any place around your camp?"
Glen looked at the chart and saw many things which had become familiar
to his eyes in the last few days. There was an elevation that was
undoubtedly Buffalo Mound, certain wavy lines that depicted a stream
down its west side could scarcely mean anything but Buffalo Creek. A big
star was quite conspicuous midway along the course of the stream and
Glen was curiously examining words which he made out to be "Deep
Springs" and "Twin Elms" when Mr. Jervice put his thumb over the spot.
"Never mind 'bout readin' that too close," objected Mr. Jervice, "what
we want to know is did you ever see a place like that?"
"I think I have," admitted Glen.
"Don't you know ye have?" insisted the big man in a harsh voice. "Ain't
that the place where yer camp is?"
"It looks something like it," said Glen. "It's open country, open to
everybody. Why don't you go and see?"
"There's reasons, boy. Some on 'em you wouldn't understand. We don't
mind telling you some of the trouble. Did ye know that all o' that
treasure was claimed by the heirs?"
"Whose heirs?" asked Glen.
"Heirs of the freighters as the Indians took it away from. Did you know
that a lot o' that bullion had been got out and was held in the bank
here at Buffalo Center?"
"Mr. Spencer said nothing about it," replied Glen.
"Because he don't know nothink 'bout it," said J. Jervice. "We know
because we represent the heirs. Now if you want to help us, your share
will be a hundred dollars; but, remember, you say nothink to nobuddy."
"I won't say anything," Glen promised, rashly.
"If you do you'll be in as bad as anybuddy, so yer better not. If yer
goin' to help, fust thing is to go back to camp an' git one o' them
suits like they call scout suits."
"I reckon I can borrow one," said Glen.
"Then ye'll go down to Buffalo Center an' look out for the Bank. Walk
right in as if ye owned it, jest like a reg'lar boy scout might do."
"I can do that," agreed Glen. "But what's that got to do with it?"
"It's got a plenty. When nobuddy ain't lookin' much you take a good look
at a little winder that's clear in the back. You'll see it ain't got no
bars over it like the other winders. It's jest 'bout big enough to let a
boy through."
"Well?" asked Glen, beginning to feel that it wasn't well at all, and
that this plan Mr. Jervice was unfolding had to do with a very different
treasure than he had supposed.
"Jest imagine you've been dropped through that winder an' landed on the
floor. You've got to go f'm there to the front an' unbolt the door. We
can handle the lock all right but they got old fashioned bolts inside.
So just wait aroun' an' figure how you'd git acrost the room without
knockin' nothink over, an' look particular at the fastenings on that
front door so you'll--"
"Stop right there," interrupted Glen. "I won't do anything of the kind."
"What's the matter of you, backin' out thaterway?" exclaimed Mr.
Jervice. "Ain't I explained to you that the bank's got our bullion."
"I'm not that green," retorted Glen. "You want to rob the bank. I'm
through with you."
"Hold on, boy!" The strong hand of the big leader closed over his
shoulder. "Not yet you ain't. We can't let you go off thinkin' that way
about us."
Glen wriggled around until he could look into the face of the man who
held him. His spirits dropped. It was no weak, trifling face such as J.
Jervice exhibited. A hard, rough look--a cruel, remorseless look--a
mean, ugly look--all these things he read in that face.
"Mebbe ye'll know me when ye see me agen," said the man.
Glen made no reply.
"I ain't figurin' on you seein' much more o' me, though, nor any of us.
D'ye know what I'm goin' to do with you?"
"Send me back to the reform school?" guessed Glen, wishing from the
bottom of his heart that he might get off so easily.
The man laughed as if at an excellent joke.
"You're funny, boy--positive funny, you are. Sendin' you to the
penitentiary would be easy along o' what I'm goin' to do to you."
"I've never hurt you," cried Glen. "Let me go."
"It ain't safe, boy. They's jest one way you c'n make it safe. Come in
along of us an' do what we do. You wouldn't be a reform school runaway
if you hadn't never been up to nothink. This'll be easy for you."
It was a temptation that would have tried boys of firmer principle than
Glen. This man might do something awful to him if he resisted. He was on
the point of yielding--and then came the vision of Matt Burton, white
and unconscious, and the recollection of his agony as he thought that he
had murdered Matt and lost his first chance to walk straight. Was it
better to choose one evil than another?
"Do what you want to," he said bravely, to the big man. "I'm going to be
a true scout, if you--if you kill me for it."
There was murder in the man's appearance, evidently enough, for J.
Jervice eagerly protested. "You don't want to do no murder, now. Murder
means hangin'!"
"Shut up!" commanded the leader. "Look what ye got us into. What can we
do with him?"
"We'll have to hide him till we git away," said Jervice.
[Illustration: "Brave Man!" sneered the leader. "Get me a little rope
an' I'll do him up scientific." Page 131]
"No good trying to hide him round here. Them scouts will be missin' him
when he don't get to his meals an' swarm all over here. You run over to
the city--it's only twenty-four miles. You ought to be back easy by
night. You know who to leave him with."
"He's a desperate hard boy to manage," complained J. Jervice with some
recollection of previous dealings. "I'm afeared one man can't handle
him."
The leader laughed significantly.
"One _man_ could," he declared. "But that ain't saying the kid wouldn't
be too much for you."
"Tie him up," urged Mr. Jervice. "I can handle him when he's tied."
"Brave man!" sneered the leader. "Get me a little rope an' I'll do him
up scientific."
He was as good as his word. When his scientific job was finished the
only thing Glen could do without restraint was to perspire. He could
make a few muffled noises, but no intelligible sound could he utter.
"Now chuck him inside the car, please," begged Mr. Jervice. "He'll be
quiet now."
"Quiet enough," said the leader. "But hustle your car out of here and
get him twenty miles away as quick as you can. We don't want no scouts
trackin' around while he's here."
Glen's spirits took another slump. It was bad enough to be captured, but
his faith had been great in the scouts' deliverance. Following him
twenty or thirty miles was another thing.