AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION.
That afternoon an eccentric figure came capering through the woods,
bearing a strange burden. Perhaps capering is not the exact word to
use, for the figure was that of a rotund and fat-legged boy, and it
is hard for such a person to caper. Ever and anon this figure sent
up a pleased exclamation or a cry of delight.
“Anodder teer’s head!” he shouted, when he came in sight of the
camp. “A moose’s teer head this dime, I pet you!”
It was Hans Dunnerwust, and the burden under which he waddled was
the head of a moose. He tried to hold it triumphantly aloft as he
shouted his announcement, and while making this attempt struck
a foot against a protruding root, and went down in a heap, the
antlered head falling on top of him.
“Mine gootness!” he gasped, sitting up and rubbing his stomach,
while he looked excitedly around. “I t’ought, py shimminy, dot
somepoty musd hid me, I go town so qvick!”
His eyes fell on the head, and the pleased look came again into his
face.
“I pet you, I vill pe bleased mit Merriwell, ven he seen dhis. Dot
odder teer got no hornses, und dis haf hornses like a dree sdick
up. Id must pe vort more as lefendeen tollar, anyhow!”
After climbing to his feet and assuring himself that he had not
sustained any serious injuries or broken bones, he picked up
the heavy head and again hurried on, giving utterance to many
exclamations of pleasure and delight.
Hans had found the head hanging in the branches of a tree, in a way
to keep it out of the reach of carnivorous animals. Had he not been
looking for a red squirrel, that had gone flickering through these
very branches, he never would have discovered the head, so cleverly
was it hidden.
“Dot is a petter head as dot odder vun I got,” he had whispered,
wondering dully how it chanced to be there, but not for a moment
thinking of poachers.
There were marks on the earth and grass showing where the moose had
been skinned and cut up.
“Dose vellers don’d vand der head,” was his final conclusion, “und
day chust hang id ub here. Vale, I vill dake id mineselluf, den!”
Then he had fastened his knife to a stick and, after many futile
attempts, had succeeded in cutting the string by which the head was
suspended from the bough.
“Whoop!” he screeched, when he drew near the tent. “Yaw. See vot
got me, eh? A moose’s teer head got me de horns py!”
It was a hot afternoon, and the sweat was fairly streaming from his
round, red face. He was panting, too, almost as loudly as the moose
had panted while it drew the canoe across the water.
Merriwell and Diamond came to the door of one of the tents, and
Browning, Bart Hodge and John Caribou looked from the other.
A more astounded party would have been hard to find.
“Where did you get that?” asked Merriwell, thinking at once of the
shot they had heard in the direction taken by the moose.
“Id is a moose’s teer head,” announced Hans, holding it up. “See
mine hornses?”
“I can see that it is a moose head; but where did you get it?”
The other members of the party were as surprised as Frank and
equally as anxious for an answer to his questions. The guide looked
as if he might have given an answer himself, but he only folded
his arms and stared at the head with shining eyes and impassive
features.
“Pushes vos hanging to him in a dree,” said Hans, and then, in his
own peculiar way, he proceeded to make them acquainted with the
manner in which he discovered it.
He put it down on the grass in front of the tent, where it was
closely scrutinized.
“Same moose we saw this morning,” declared Bruce Browning, very
emphatically. “Do you see that peculiar turn of the horn there? I
noticed that on the fellow that towed us. Some scoundrel has shot
him.”
“There can’t be any doubt of that, I guess,” admitted Merriwell,
in a grieved tone. “What a magnificent beast he was, too! It is a
shame. I hope the rascal will be caught and punished, but I don’t
suppose he ever will be. This is a pretty wild country out here.”
“I tell you what,” said Hodge. “Whoever killed that moose will come
back for the head. Those antlers are worth something, and he won’t
want to lose them. How would it do to hide out there and see if we
can’t capture him?”
“The only trouble about that,” objected Diamond, “is that we’d have
to take the scamp before some justice of the peace and waste a lot
of time in trying to get him convicted. Nothing is slower than the
law, you know.”
“See there!” exclaimed Merriwell, who had been closely examining
the head. “He was shot in the head, just back of this ear.”
John Caribou pressed forward and looked at the bullet hole. He
carried a rifle himself that threw a big ball like that.
Merriwell did not know whether to reprove Hans or not for bringing
the head to camp, and let the question pass, while they talked of
the dead moose and the poachers, and discussed the advisability of
trying to capture those slippery gentlemen.
John Caribou disappeared within a tent and came out shortly with
his long rifle.
“Where are you going?” Merriwell questioned. “Not after the
poachers now?”
Caribou shook his head and held up his empty pipe.
“Tobac’ all gone,” he said. “No tobac’, Caribou him no good. Friend
down here got tobac’. Come back soon.”
He waved the pipe toward the timber as if to point out the
direction of the home of this friend.
There was an unfathomable look on Caribou’s face which Frank did
not like. The guide had said nothing about being out of tobacco
before that time, and the conviction was forced that this was
merely an excuse to enable him to get out of the camp.
Jack Diamond, who had all along doubted John Caribou’s honesty,
gave Merry a triumphant and questioning glance.
“I don’t think you had better go just now,” objected Merriwell. “We
may need you here in the camp.”
“No tobac’,” said Caribou, doggedly. “Must have tobac’!”
He did not try to parley, but threw his gun on his shoulder and
struck out for the woods.
“That fellow is up to some dirt,” averred Jack Diamond. “You mark
my words now. He has plenty of tobacco. If I’m not mistaken, I saw
him have a whole pouchful this morning.”
Merriwell wanted to defend the reputation of the guide, but he felt
that he could not satisfactorily explain Caribou’s queer action.
“Let’s not judge him hastily. He has certainly been all that the
most exacting could ask of a guide, and I don’t see why we should
now conclude that he will act otherwise.”
That was as much as Merry could say.
Not having decided what to do with the head of the moose, it
was permitted to lie on the ground in front of the tent, where
Dunnerwust had put it.
Caribou had said he would be back soon, but the slow hours went by
without bringing him.
“He’s up to some deviltry,” said Diamond. “I saw it in his eye
when he started. Of course, I haven’t an idea what it can be, but
we’ll know soon enough, I don’t doubt.”
To this Merriwell could not make a satisfactory reply. Still, he
believed that John Caribou was all right, in spite of his strange
actions, and so expressed himself, though he could not deny to
himself that he was beginning to feel uneasy as the time passed
without bringing the guide.
“There he comes,” announced Hodge, shortly before sunset.
Bart was collecting fuel for a fire. This was work devolving upon
the guide, but the guide’s continued absence required them to set
about preparations for getting supper themselves.
Merriwell, who was standing near him, looked in the direction
indicated, where the form of a man was to be seen moving among the
trees.
“Caribou’s coming,” he cried, putting his head into the tent where
Diamond sat with Bruce Browning.
“It isn’t he, though!” corrected Hodge, almost instantly. “The chap
is a stranger. Yes; and there are others with him.”
All the members of the party now came out in front of the tents and
looked at the men emerging from the woods.
The men were armed, and came straight toward the camp. As they
drew near they glanced with meaning smiles of satisfaction at the
antlered head of the elk.
Merriwell did not fancy their appearance nor the way in which they
stared at him and his friends.
As he looked at them, like a sudden blow came the intuitive
knowledge that these men were game wardens. There could have been
no more damaging evidence against a camping party than the head of
a freshly slain moose found in the camp at that time of year.
“I could wish that moose head was in the lake,” he muttered under
his breath. “It’s going to put us in a bad hole, if these chaps are
game wardens.”
Still he maintained the utmost outward composure.
The largest of the men stepped forward, dropped a hand menacingly
on his gun, and sternly announced:
“You are under arrest!”
Hans Dunnerwust gave a shriek of fright and dived into the nearest
tent.
Diamond’s dark face flushed angrily, while Bart Hodge and Bruce
Browning variously showed their surprise and displeasure.
“On what charge?” Merriwell demanded, though he did not need to ask.
“Killing game out of season,” said the spokesman, glancing at the
head of the moose. “I am a game warden, and these are my deputies,
and the law makes it our duty to arrest you.”
“Just a question,” interrupted Diamond. “Did anyone send you here
to make this arrest?”
The officer hesitated, then, without answering, took out a pencil
and a piece of paper.
“There is a reward, is there not, for information leading to such
an arrest?” continued Diamond. “I am sure there is, so you needn’t
answer that question if you do not choose.”
Merriwell did not need to inquire what Diamond meant by those
interrogations. The belief had come to Diamond that John Caribou
had hurried to these officers, and, for the expected reward, had
told them that the people in camp on the shore of Lily Bay were
poachers.
“Going into the business pretty bold,” observed another of the
officers, discovering the head of the doe, which had been tossed
out some distance from the tents. “A moose and a deer. Dead to
rights on two heavy charges, anyway.”
“See here,” said Merriwell, striving to remain cool. “I will agree
that appearances are against us; but I declare to you, just the
same, that we are law-abiding people and not poachers. If you will
listen to us we can tell you just how we came by both of those
heads.”
“I’ll take your names first,” said the officer with the pencil and
paper, in a skeptical tone.
The names were given.
“Frank Merriwell, Bruce Browning, Jack Diamond, Bart Hodge and Hans
Dunnerwust,” read the officer, when he had penciled the names on
the paper, “I arrest you for the violation of the game laws of the
State of Maine, and shall hold you to answer accordingly.”
A gurgling speech of fear came from within the tent, where Hans was
trying to hide himself under some blankets.
“Now I’ll hear your story,” said the officer, glancing at the sun,
“but I warn you that we must be in a hurry, if we are to get very
far on our way to-night.”
Merry reddened a little under this, in spite of his effort to keep
from doing anything of the kind. The words were so palpable an
indication that the officer did not intend to give the story credit!
As Merriwell had always been the soul of honor, it cut him to the
quick to have his statement doubted thus in advance.
“I see that you have made up your mind against us already, Mr.----”
“Parker is my name,” said the warden, when Merriwell hesitated.
“I see that you have made up your mind to believe us guilty, Mr.
Parker, in spite of anything we can show to the contrary, which you
must admit is hardly fair.”
“It is not my place to decide whether you’re guilty or innocent,”
said Parker. “The justice of the peace will do that.”
“I should like to see your authority for making this arrest,”
demanded Diamond, firing up. “You say you are a game warden, but
how do we know it? You won’t believe us, why should we believe you?”
Merriwell was intending to make this point, though in a milder way.
Parker merely smiled and drew another paper out of his pocket,
which he handed to Diamond to inspect. It was a legal certificate
of his official position.
“What is the penalty for violation of this Maine game law?” Hodge
asked, as Diamond passed back the paper.
“One hundred dollars for each animal shot,” answered Parker.
“And an informer gets half of that for his information leading to
the arrest?” said Diamond, with a keen look out of his dark eyes.
“But you haven’t proved us guilty yet.”
“Pretty good proof,” declared one of the deputies, kicking the
moose head. “Here’s the bullet hole, too!”
“I want you to take notice,” requested Merry, speaking to Parker,
“that that hole was evidently made by a bullet much larger than
anything our guns carry.”
“Not larger, than the gun shot by your guide,” was Parker’s reply.
“What do you know about him?” Diamond quickly asked.
“Your guide is John Caribou,” Parker answered. “I thought him all
right, but he was seen to shoot a deer only day before yesterday.
He is wanted, too.”
“Your informer was mistaken in that,” Merry very positively
declared.
Diamond was bewildered. Parker’s statement was a puzzler and did
not coincide with his idea that the guide had played into that
officer’s hands. He knew Caribou did not shoot either the deer or
the moose.
“You must be lying, that’s all,” he thought, looking the warden
inquiringly in the eyes.
“Where are we to be taken?” asked Browning.
“County seat,” said Parker. “I’ll leave a man with your things
here.”
“You haven’t given me a chance to explain how those heads happen to
be here,” said Merriwell. “After that you may not want to hold us.”
Then he proceeded to tell why they had been brought into camp.
While making these explanations, Merry was so struck by the
improbability of the account that he began to doubt if he would
believe it himself, if he were in the game warden’s position. The
discovery of the moose head by Hans would not have been an unlikely
thing, but when to that was added the statement of why the deer
head had been brought in, the entire narrative seemed to take on a
fishy odor.
Parker’s face clearly showed that he thought the story concocted
for the occasion.
“There’s one thing you didn’t tell,” he said, with some sarcasm,
when Merriwell had concluded.
“What was that?” Frank asked.
“How you noosed the moose on the lake. One of my men saw you do
that.”
“I didn’t think to mention that,” said Merriwell. “It didn’t occur
to me that it had any particular bearing on the present case.”
“Why doesn’t this Dunnerwust speak for himself?” Parker asked. “I
should like to have him show us where he found the moose head.”
“Hans, come out here!” Merriwell called. “The warden wants you.”
This was followed by a silence like that of the grave.
“Hans!” Merriwell sharply called again. “Come out here!”
“Maybe he’s sneaked out by the back of the tent and made a run for
it,” one of the deputies suggested.
Parker stepped to the door through which he had seen the frightened
Dutch boy disappear.
“By ginger, I believe you are right, Sam!” he declared. “He doesn’t
seem to be in here.”
Sam darted to the rear of the tent, and Parker pushed in, followed
by Merriwell, who knew that Hans was hiding.
“Where are you, Hans?” he asked, in peremptory tones.
Thereupon followed a movement of some blankets, and Hans thrust out
his head like that of a turtle emerging from its shell.
He gave a squawk and drew the blanket over his head again when he
saw the gun Parker carried.
“Oxcoose me! I ton’d peen to home this efening,” he chattered.
Merriwell drew away the concealing blanket, under which Hans tried
to hide and to which he clung to the last moment.
There was a broad grin on Parker’s face. Hans’ terror greatly
amused him, but at the same time it aided in convincing him that
the party was guilty of the unlawful death of the moose.
“I peen sick py my sdomach,” Hans groaned, trying to stand on his
shrinking legs. “Misder Game Varden, you don’d vos going to put
yourselluf in chail, vos you? Dot mooses didn’t kill me; id fint my
head ganging in dot dree. I hobe I may cross my heardt und die uf
dot ain’d so!”
One of the deputies who had come to the tent door and now saw and
heard Hans, broke into a roar of laughter.
“Vot vos dot vool laughing py me?” Hans snapped, his anger for the
moment overcoming his fright.
“This officer wants you to take us to the place where you found the
moose head,” said Merriwell.
He was thinking of Caribou, even as he said this, and vainly trying
to find a reason for the guide’s strange departure and stranger
absence.
Jack Diamond was also thinking of Caribou, while his heart warmed
loyally toward Merriwell. He had not set his opinion against
Merry’s because of any pig-headed obstinacy. It hurt him to think
ill of the guide; still, he believed he was correct in his first
opinion that Caribou was not a man to be trusted, and he was
equally sure now that Caribou had sold the party into the hands of
the game warden for the purpose of obtaining a reward. If the guide
got fifty dollars for each man convicted and for each case against
that man, he would receive five hundred dollars, an immense sum to
such a man as John Caribou.
“I peen sick,” Hans alleged. “I don’d tink I coult fint dot dree
again, so hellup me!”
“Hans will take us there all right, I’m sure, unless he should miss
the way,” said Merriwell, turning to Parker, “but it’s too late to
talk of leaving here to-night. We can stay in the camp till morning
and make a good start then. I know that you are mistaken, that you
are barking up the wrong tree, as the saying goes, but I’m not
foolish enough to resist an officer. So, if nothing turns up to
show you that you really are mistaken, we will go with you, but I
beg that you won’t ask us to start till morning. Hans, show us now
where the head was found.”
Merriwell was diplomatically fighting for time, which he hoped
would bring the return of the guide. In spite of the fact that
Parker said Caribou was also to be put under arrest, he had a
hope that Caribou’s coming might bring a favorable change in the
situation. He was forced to confess, though, that this hope rested
on no very good foundation.