MORE PLOTTING
Impetuous George Abbot was about to rush forward when Tom, stretching
out a hand, held him back.
“Hold on a minute,” he said, and there was some strange quality in
Tom’s voice that made his chum obey.
“What’s up?” he asked, glancing from Tom to the cabin.
“Nothing yet, but there may be,” was the cool answer.
“You mean there may be someone in that cabin--Skeel or those other men?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Tom said.
“That’s right--best to be on the safe side,” put in Bert. “Those men,
or Skeel, especially, have been here lately.”
“But they haven’t any right in our cabin--at least the cabin your
friends gave us the use of, Tom,” objected George.
“I know they haven’t, and that’s just where the trouble might come in.
Those two men with Skeel look like ugly customers. If we cornered them
in a cabin they had no right to enter, they might turn ugly. It’s best
to go a bit slowly until we find out whether or not they are in there.”
“That’s what I say,” chimed in Jack. “Not that I’m afraid, but I don’t
want to run into trouble so early on our vacation. Of course it’s
possible,” he went on, “that someone else besides Skeel and his cronies
may have been here, or may still be here, for boots, with nail-marks
like those on the sole, can’t be so very rare. But I’m inclined to
think Skeel wore those,” and he nodded toward the marks in the snow.
“I agree with you,” Tom said, “and we’ll soon find out. Let’s look
about a bit before we rush up to the cabin,” he went on.
Slowly the boys circled about it, gradually coming closer, to give
those within, if such unwarranted visitors there might be, a chance to
either make their presence known in a friendly manner, or take their
departure.
But there was no sign from the cabin of Camp No. 2, and, after waiting
a little while, Tom and his chums moved forward. As they came nearer,
they could see that some two or three persons had made a complete
circle about the cabin, and had even advanced up on the rough steps
that led to the front door. Whether they had entered or not was
something that could not be stated with positiveness.
“Well, the door’s locked, anyhow,” Tom said, as he looked at the
padlock. “But of course they might have a duplicate key.” He drew from
his pocket the one Sam Wilson had given him, and a moment later Tom and
his chums stood inside the cabin. They breathed a sigh of relief. No
one opposed them.
Nor, as far as could be learned by a glance around the interior, had
any uninvited guests been present. The place was in order, not as
complete, perhaps as that of the first camp, but enough to show that it
had been “slicked up,” after its last occupancy by the hunting party of
gentlemen to whom Tom and his friends were indebted for the use of the
camps.
“Skeel and his cronies may have been here all the same, looking for
us,” said Jack, as he stood his gun in a corner.
“Why should they be looking for us?” inquired George.
“Now don’t start that list of questions,” objected Jack. “Ask Tom.”
George turned a gaze on his other chum.
“Of course Skeel may have been here,” admitted our hero. “We were never
in this cabin before, and we don’t know how it looked, or how it was
arranged. But if they were here, they don’t seem to have done much
damage, and if they had a meal, they washed the dishes up after them.”
A look in the kitchen showed that it was in order. This cabin was built
just the same as was No. 1, and the arrangements and furnishings were
practically similar.
“Well, Skeel or no Skeel, I’m going to have something to eat!” cried
Tom. “Come on, fellows, make yourselves at home.”
This they proceeded to do, making arrangements to get a meal, for there
was plenty of wood for the stove as well as a pile of dry logs for the
fireplace. A blaze was not unwelcome, for it was growing colder, and
there were signs of a storm.
As our friends sat about the cozy, crackling blaze on the hearth they
were unaware of three men, on the edge of the little clearing in which
the cabin stood--three men who were gazing at the smoke curling up from
the chimney.
“Yes, there they are!” grumbled the one known as Whalen. “There they
are in their cabin, nice and warm, and with plenty to eat, and we’re
out in the cold. I don’t like it, I say! I don’t like it!”
“Now, don’t get rash!” observed Professor Skeel, for he was of the
trio. “What is a little discomfort now compared to the satisfaction
we’ll have later?”
“I wouldn’t mind so much, if I was sure of that,” said Whalen sullenly.
“But it ain’t noways sure.”
“I’ll make it sure,” said the hoarse voice of the other plotter.
“Have you decided on a way to get him into our hands?” asked the former
teacher eagerly. “Have you a plan, Murker?”
“Yes, and a good one, too!” was the answer. “It’s come to me since
we’ve been fiddling around here.”
“And can we get him--get Tom Fairfield--where we want him?” asked
Professor Skeel eagerly. “That’s what I want to know.”
“Yes, I think we can,” answered Murker, an unpleasant grin spreading
over his evil face. “I haven’t all the details worked out yet, but when
I get through, I think we’ll have him just where we want him. Not that
I want him particularly,” he went on. “I never knew him before you
fellows got me into this,” and when he classed Professor Skeel as a
“fellow,” the latter did not object.
It showed to what depths the really talented man had fallen. For
Professor Skeel was a brilliant scholar, and would have made his mark
in educational circles, had he chosen to be honest. But he took the
easiest way, which ends by being the hardest.
“I don’t ask you to take any interest in Tom Fairfield, once you help
me get him in my power,” went on the former instructor. “I’ll attend to
the rest. But I want him alone. I don’t want to have to handle any of
the others.”
“I should say not!” exclaimed Whalen. “We’ll have our hands full, if we
try to take care of all four of ’em.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be afraid,” was the sneering comment of Murker.
“I guess we could persuade ’em to be good,” and he leered at his
companions.
“Four are too many to handle,” decided Professor Skeel. “I want Tom
Fairfield alone.”
“And I’ll get him for you,” promised Murker. “But you’ve got to give me
a share of the ransom money.”
“Oh, I’ll do that,” readily agreed the former teacher. “I’m doing this
as much to square accounts with him as for anything else.”
“Well, I’m not working for love--or revenge,” chuckled Murker. “I want
the cold cash.”
“So do I,” chimed in Whalen, “but I want revenge, too. It’s going to be
a regular kidnapping, isn’t it?” and he looked at Professor Skeel.
“It will be if he can carry it out,” was the answer, with a nod at
Murker.
“Oh, I’ll do my part,” was the assurance given.
“But won’t it be risky--dangerous?” asked Whalen. “I don’t want to
get in trouble,” and he looked rather anxiously about him, as though
already he feared officers of the law might be after him.
“There’s no more risk for you than for us,” spoke Professor Skeel.
“There won’t be any risk--not up in this lonesome place,” Murker said.
“But how are you going to make sure of getting Tom into our hands
alone?” asked the rascally professor.
“Leave that to me,” was the chuckling answer. “I used to live in this
region when I was a young fellow. Folks have forgotten me, but I
haven’t forgotten them.”
“I say!” exclaimed Professor Skeel, “I hope you’re not going to bring
any more into this. The more there are the more risk there is, and the
money I expect to get from Mr. Fairfield, for giving Tom back to him,
won’t go so far if we have to split it up----”
“Oh, don’t worry! No one else but us three will be in it. I should have
said I hadn’t forgotten the country up around here--not so much the
people. I don’t care anything about them. But I know every cross-road
and bridle-path through the woods, and it will be funny if I can’t get
this lad where I want him. They’re strangers up here, and they have to
depend on signposts, and what that guide tells them.”
“But they are smart fellows,” said Professor Skeel. “I know, for I
taught them in school. If they have a signboard to go by, it will be as
good to them as a printed book would be to most people.”
“That may all be very true,” chuckled Murker. “But tell me this. A
wrong signboard isn’t much use to anyone, is it? Not even to a smart
lad.”
“A wrong signboard? What do you mean?” asked the professor.
“I mean just what I said--‘a wrong signboard’--one that gives the wrong
direction. It’s worse than none at all, isn’t it?”
“Well, I should say it was,” was the slow answer of the former teacher.
“But are you going to get Tom Fairfield----”
“Now, don’t ask too many questions,” was the advice of his evil-faced
crony. “When you don’t know a thing, you can say so with a clear
conscience in case the detectives get asking too many personal
questions of you.”
“That’s so,” agreed Professor Skeel, readily understanding what was
meant.
“Detectives!” exclaimed Whalen. “Did you say detectives?
“But--er--I--they--I don’t want to see any detectives,” stammered the
former employee of Elmwood Hall.
“I don’t either,” chuckled Murker. “But it’s best to be on the safe
side, and to prepare for emergencies. So what you and the professor
don’t know, you can’t tell. Leave the details to me, and I’ll fix ’em.
Now I think we’ve been here long enough. We know what we came over to
this cabin to find out--that they hadn’t been here before until just
now. And we’re pretty certain they’ll go next--to No. 3 Camp.”
“What makes you think so?” asked Whalen.
“Because boys are like deer at times--mighty curious. They won’t rest
satisfied until they’ve tried all three camps. They’ll go over to the
last one in a few days, and then, Skeel, we may have Tom Fairfield just
where we want him!”
“I hope so!” was the fervent exclamation, as the three plotters made
their way off through the dense woods.