GUS
"Hey, fellow! What you do?" The voice came from among the pines, and Gus
turned to see a dark-skinned, black-eyed young man, of about twenty-five
or more, coming toward him. Gus stopped.
"You shoot in these woods?" asked the man.
"I reckon I might an' I reckon I do if I kin find any durn thing fer t'
shoot," said Gus, easily falling into the native vernacular.
The man approached and the boy quickly observed that the pocket of the
loose coat, worn even this hot day, bulged perceptibly, and the man put
his hand within it. He showed an interest in the shotgun and extended
his hand.
"Where you get so fine gun, eh?" he questioned.
"Man give her t' me fer beatin' him at shootin'." This was literally
true, the said man being Mr. Grier. "He's a sportin' feller, but he
don't shoot no more. Hain't seen him round these here parts fer two
year."
The fellow took the fowling-piece and looked it over. He said:
"I buy her, eh?"
"You couldn't buy her if you had her heft in gold," said the boy. "An'
you couldn't shoot her, anyway--not to hit anything. Could you get a
bird with her goin' like a bullet through these pine trees? Shucks! I
kin."
"No! Yes? I get you shoot for me, eh?" handing back the gun.
"Shoot fer you? How?"
"You don't like law policemans, eh?"
"You wouldn't like 'em if they chased you fer shootin' when the game
laws was on."
"I think of that. You come into woods along of me, now, eh? I show you
what do and how make large lot money. Big! And maybe how shoot
policemans to keep away. Big money you get."
"Lead me to it!" said Gus, his swift guess at what might be coming
making him shove in a less backwoodsy phrase.
Without another word the man started along a tortuous and narrow path
and Gus followed for more than half a mile. They were just off the
thoroughfare when they started, but the youth could hear the distant
booming of the ocean waves on the beach before they stopped.
To the right, with a roof seen above the low underbrush of young pines,
holly and sweet gum, was a building of some kind toward which the path
turned abruptly. A hundred yards ahead the woods ceased, and Gus knew
that beyond were the ever-shifting sand dunes crowned with their
short-lived scrub oaks or pines and tufts of beach grass which bordered
a wild and lonely shore for many miles. Twelve miles to the south was a
somewhat popular seaside resort.
Gus had not crossed the woods at this spot, though he had at some other
very similar places. He had been all along the beach and had boated on
the thoroughfare clear to the inlet. This was nowhere deep enough for
even a large sloop. But he was thinking less of this than of a very
possible opportunity that seemed to loom ahead.
"What your name?" asked the Italian.
"Sam is my name," said Gus.
"Now then, Sam, you stay here. If some man who no business has here come
to look, you give order to go--see? You say this your father's ground
and no--what you call?--trespass. All this day you stay. To-morrow you
come, also. Two dollar you get each day, eh?"
"Thought it was _big_ money. Mebbe I'll have t' shoot somebody an' I
will, quick. But----"
"We give three dollar, Sam, and you stay with us. If not and somebody
comes you get nothing but this." The man slapped his pocket. "But no, we
friends, eh? And you will shoot?"
"You bet I will!" said Gus, and meant it. But whom would he shoot? He
was not saying.
The man went toward the building and presently came back with a modern,
high-powered rifle. He edged off through the woods to the left. After a
while he came back with another fellow and they fell to talking in a
language which Gus could not understand. They stopped for the new man to
look Gus over and the boy turned his head to gaze at none other than his
late schoolmate and bitter antagonist, Luigi Malatesta!
The general resemblance between the two men made Gus know that he had
been talking to the older brother. Luigi, the younger, went off. At that
distance he could not have recognized Gus, though for one moment the boy
had a queer feeling, a real bit of fright, but not enough to rob him of
the quick sense to be ready with his gun if his enemy had guessed his
identity. On second thought Gus felt pretty sure that if he kept his
ragged hat well pulled down Luigi would never know him.
And Gus was tremendously elated, so much so that he could hardly keep
from prancing or slapping himself; but the danger of what he meant to
do, and to do quickly, kept him from undue exuberance.
The elder Malatesta brought one other fellow, evidently an American, to
take a squint at Gus. Gus called the Italian over:
"How many of you got here, hey? I don't want t' shoot one of----"
"Not any more; three of us; you four."
"What is all this fuss fer?" asked Gus.
The fellow seemed to ponder a moment. "I tell you," he said, as though
with sudden conviction. "In the hut yonder is crazy man. Our brother,
yes. We love heem, ver' much. But he malsano--insane--lika fury.
And we disgrazia. But he not go to a silo--hospital and treat bad.
Oh, no! We swear it! They want getta heem. We hid heem and give heem
treatment--medicine, lika say great doctore. Doctore come two
day--more tardo. We guard brother ver' fierce--fight--fight! No let
go--no let policeaman come. See?"
Gus nodded slowly. It was a well-told yarn, a plausible lie. In a good
cause could he not take a turn at that?
"By cracky, you're dead right t' make 'em mind their own bizness! It's
your bizness, ain't it? I'd serve 'em that-away, too. I'll bluff 'em,
an' shoot, too, if I got t'. Where's these other two standin'?"
The man indicated a spot to the left, another beyond the cabin, and his
own position toward the beach. They probably stood on sentry duty most
of the time. Gus was given the most dangerous place, the one most likely
to be the way of approach. Well, he'd better act, and quickly, if he
didn't want the officers of the law to step in ahead and spoil his own
plans.
Gus waited until he felt sure the men had taken their places again. Then
he contrived a neat bit of strategy that was almost too simple. He meant
to get a peep in yonder building, or hut, as the elder Malatesta had
called it, and he meant to do this at once. Rapidly and silently he
sneaked through the woods until he stood close behind the American
gunman who sat drowsily on a log, his gun across his knees.
"Say, bo, get next. They's a couple o' men sneakin' through the woods
round beyon' you. They ain't comin' my way. Lay low an' watch 'em." The
man crouched.
Gus crept back and then out toward the beach where, by sheer good luck,
he came across both Malatesta brothers talking. When they were still at
a little distance from him he told them the same story and instantly the
elder was on his guard while the younger brother left, crouching as he
progressed toward his station. Gus, also crouching, went back quickly.
The boy felt sure that these fellows were armed and that they would
remain fixed for a very considerable time--all of them well out of sight
of the building. Cautiously at first, then almost running, Gus followed
the path right up to the door of what was really a stout log cabin, the
one window barred with heavy oaken slats, recently nailed on, and the
door padlocked. Gus went straight to the window, thrust aside a bit of
bagging that served for a curtain and peered within. Speaking hardly
above a whisper, he said:
"Hello, in here! Who are you? Is it Tony Sabaste?"