JOHN CARIBOU PROVES HIMSELF.
What of John Caribou, fleeing through the woods in that mysterious
manner?
When the guide left the camp, declaring that he must go for some
tobacco, the statement was only an excuse, as Diamond supposed.
Caribou had tobacco, plenty of it; but he was determined to get out
of the camp, and that was the first thing that came into his mind
to give as a reason for his contemplated action.
He was sure he knew whose gun had hurled that heavy bullet crashing
through the head of the moose and he was resolved to see that
person.
The slayer of the moose was also the slayer of the deer and the
committer of the other violations of the game laws of Maine, of
which Merriwell’s party had seen so many proofs since coming to
Lily Bay.
When the hoot of the owl came, the first night the party was in
camp on the island, Caribou had recognized it as an old familiar
call. The man who had given that imitation of an owl’s hoot had
slipped up to the camp later to have a talk with Caribou, and had
been frightened away by Diamond. Later still, Diamond had seen him
talking to Caribou, though they were so far away that Diamond could
not tell much about the man’s appearance.
That man was a half-breed, known as Penobscot Tom, and he was
John Caribou’s half-brother; who, though in color a shade lighter
than Caribou, so resembled the well-known guide that he often had
been mistaken for him. It was this man who had been seen to shoot
at a deer, a misdemeanor which, it will be remembered, was charged
against the guide by Parker, the game warden.
Penobscot Tom was a very different man from John Caribou. He was a
restless, roving vagabond, a thief and a jail bird, a violater of
every law he did not choose to keep. The white blood in his veins
was all bad, or at least it had made him all bad.
He had been in the State penitentiary at Thomaston for four years,
from which place he had only been released a short time. Caribou,
however, did not know his half-brother was in the Moosehead region,
or in fact out of prison, until he heard that familiar hooting of
the owl. That was a call he and Penobscot Tom had used together in
the woods in their boyhood days.
When afterward seen by Diamond talking to Penobscot Tom, Caribou
had been vainly endeavoring to get him to say he would give up
poaching or leave the country.
Straight for the brush hut in the heart of the woods, where he knew
his half-brother was staying, John Caribou pushed when he left camp
on that pretended errand for tobacco. He was resolved to again beg
Penobscot Tom to leave the woods; and failing in that he hoped to
frighten him away by telling him the game warden had found the head
of the moose and was on his trail.
He had reached the hut, had made his plea, told his story, and
again failed.
On his return trip to the camp, he had gone by way of the tree in
which Tom had confessed he had hung the moose head and some meat.
There he had been seen by Hans Dunnerwust, and with his Indian
instinct aroused by the exclamations and rush of the party, he had
slipped for concealment into the hollow log, which was half buried
in leaves and brush, but which he had noticed on coming to the tree.
The party of white men had remained at the tree longer than
anticipated. One of his legs had been cramped, and in trying to
ease it while Dunnerwust sat on the log he was discovered. Then he
had dashed into the woods a great and manly resolve in his heart,
and headed straightway again for the little brush hut.
He knew that Merriwell’s party was under arrest for killing the
moose, a deed done by his half-brother. To his mind there was but
one way to undo that wrong. He hoped that his identity was not
know, but, regardless of this fact, he resolved to do what he now
considered to be his duty, no matter what personal disaster it
brought. On this he was determined, though it should send him to
prison.
When a half mile from the tiny hut, he stopped and listened,
then crept forward with stealthy, Indian tread. Advancing to the
flimsy door he put an ear against it. He caught the odor of smoke.
Penobscot Tom was smoking his evening pipe.
Without warning, John Caribou crushed in the door and threw himself
on his half-brother. Both went to the floor together. Penobscot
Tom, filled with fear and fury, fought like an aroused demon. He
tried to get out his knife, but Caribou caught his knife hand and
held it.
“Curse you!” Penobscot Tom snarled, trying to set his sharp teeth
in Caribou’s throat, “I’ll kill you for this. You sneak, you wolf,
you----”
The words ended in a choking gurgle.
Caribou’s hand closed on Penobscot Tom’s windpipe in a deadly grip,
and forced him into semi-consciousness and speedy subjection. When
he came round, he found his hands and feet tied, and Caribou in
possession of his weapons.
* * * * *
Though John Caribou delivered Penobscot Tom into the hands of the
game warden for punishment on the charge of killing the moose, a
deed which Tom brazenly confessed when he saw he was in the toils,
thus bringing the immediate release of Frank Merriwell and his
friends, Caribou refused to accept any reward other than a mere
recognition of the fact that he was a reliable guide and an honest
man.
“A better guide, a straighter fellow, a whiter man, regardless of
the color of his skin, doesn’t live,” declared Frank Merriwell,
warmly taking Caribou’s hand at parting. “I shall never forget you,
John Caribou, never.”
“We be friends, great strong friends, always,” said Caribou, with
kindling eyes. “Some day we meet ag’in, mebbe, an’ have heap better
time. Good-by!”
This was the only further conversation that Frank Merriwell had
with the Indian for the present at any rate. He and his companions
had decided that they had seen all that there was to see at
Moosehead Lake and they determined to push on to Bangor. On their
way to Bangor they stopped off at Brownsville. As they came up over
the Maine Central Railroad they agreed to return as far as Milo
Junction over the Canadian Pacific.
Barely had they left Greenville when Hans Dunnerwust was taken ill
from over-eating, and, by the time Brownsville was reached, the
Dutch lad was in such a serious condition that Frank decided to
stop off and see that he was properly attended by a physician.
Thus it came about that two of our friends were found at the one
hotel of the little town on Pleasant River a few afternoons later
when a dudishly dressed city sportsman was exhibiting his rifle to
the crowd gathered in the office of the hotel. Hans was in bed,
attended for the time by Hodge; Diamond was out strolling around
the village, while Frank and Bruce were admiring the rifle of the
dude in the hotel office.
Sitting on a chair near at hand, languidly inhaling the smoke of
a cigarette, was the companion of the fellow who owned the rifle.
He also was a dudish-looking sportsman, and his friend called him
“Cholly.” He had registered as H. Charles Gates. The other chap had
registered as Archie Elmer.
“This wifle is not satisfactowy,” drawled Elmer.
“Did you say the rifle is not satisfactory?” asked Frank, in
surprise.
“Ya-as,” drawled Archie.
“What is the matter with it?”
“Well, weally, to tell the twuth, it doesn’t shoot as well as I had
evrwy weason to expect it would.”
“Oh, is that it? Who did the shooting with it?”
“I did, awve course, thir! Do you suppose I would allow evwybody to
shoot my wifle?”
“Oh, certainly not!” smiled Frank; “but do you think you gave it a
thorough test? What kind of an opportunity did you have to shoot
it?”
“Well, it was not entirely satisfactowy,” said Archie, slowly.
“Perhaps if you gave it another trial, it might show up all right.”
“Waugh!” grunted a rough-looking man, whose face was clean-shaven,
with the exception of a bunch of reddish-brown whiskers on his
chin. “Let somebody try it who kin shoot an’ she may show up all
right. I’d like ter have her. I’ll give forty dollars cold cash for
her now, an’ take my chances.”
“Thir!” exclaimed Elmer, haughtily, “I paid two hundred and fifty
dollars faw that wifle.”
“That may be; but, ef she won’t shoot, you can’t expect to git much
for her. I dunno w’at ye’re goin’ inter ther woods this season with
a rifle for, anyhow. You can’t shoot deer or moose, for this is
close time.”
“My fawther is thending me into the woods faw my health,” explained
Archie, frigidly; “and I expect to remain there till late in the
awtumn. I shall have a chawnce to use a wifle before I weturn,
thir.”
“Waal, ye want ter be dern careful not ter use it in close time ter
shoot at deer with, though I dunno’s it’d make any difference, fer
you wouldn’t hit northing with it.”
“Don’t talk with him, Awchie, deah boy,” put in Cholly. “Such
coarse, ordinary persons are verwy inthulting.”
“Ya-as,” agreed the owner of the rifle; “they are awfully wude.
Give me a cigarwette, deah boy.”
“Say,” grunted Browning, speaking in Merriwell’s ear, “if those
chaps escape from the woods alive it will be a marvel. Somebody
will surely shoot them as curiosities, and have them mounted.”
“The only thing that will save them is the fact that it is close
time,” laughed Frank.
The man with a bunch of whiskers on his chin laughed hoarsely and
derisively, turned a chew of tobacco in his mouth, and then spit a
great squirt of tobacco juice upon one of Archie’s handsome russet
hunting boots. Then, with his hands in his pockets, he slowly
strolled out of the office, leaving Elmer gasping for breath.
“Oh, the wude w’etch!” cried the dude, angrily. “Just see, Cholly,
what the nawsty cwecher did!”
“By Jawve!” fluttered Cholly; “that was a terriwble inthult, deah
boy! I would have satisfaction, Awchie.”
“I will!” panted the owner of the rifle. “I’ll have it wight away.”
“Good gwacious!” exclaimed Cholly, hastily rising, while his face
turned pale. “What desperwate thing awe you going to do, Awchie?”
“I--I’m going to--to tell that w’etch that he is no gentleman!”
shouted Elmer, as he hastily followed the man from the office.
“Oh, Awchie is such a desperwate man!” came from the other, as he
dropped back on the chair.
The men in the office laughed outright. Some of them started to
follow the angry dude, but they met him at the door, returning with
great haste.
“I did it!” he cried, but his voice trembled and he seemed to be
shaking all over.
“Did you weally?” gasped Cholly. “And what did he do?”
“He spit on my other boot, by Jawve!” exploded Archie; and, sure
enough, both boots were now well bespattered with tobacco juice.
The crowd roared with laughter, for this was the kind of humor
that struck them as being very funny. Archie took out a delicate
handkerchief and gently dried off the drops of cold perspiration
that were standing on his brow.
“What dweadful cwechers these men are!” gurgled Cholly, gazing
haughtily at the laughing crowd.
“They are, indeed,” agreed Merriwell, repressing his amusement with
great difficulty; “and I fear you will find them even worse when
you get into the woods.”
“Is it possible? Weally, Awchie, I don’t believe we had better go
any further, don’t yer ’now. These cwechers awe too much faw a
sensitive man to endooah.”
“I’m afwaid you awe wight,” agreed Archie, sitting down weakly. “I
weally wish I were at home now, deah boy.”
“If you do not go into the woods, you will not need that rifle,”
said Frank. “I will buy it of you.”
“I shall not sell it, thir, till I have given it anothaw twial,”
said Elmer.
“Let’s go out and try it now,” urged Frank. “I’d like to shoot it
some.”
“Weally, thir, I could not think of letting you handle it; but, as
I want to get away fwom these wude cwechers, I will go out with you
and show you how it shoots.”
“All right,” smiled Merry. “I’ll take my rifle along and do a
little shooting, too. It is in my room, and I will bring it down
immediately.”
“All wight; I’ll wait.”
Frank went up to his room and took his rifle from its leather case.
It was a plain weapon, but was good enough for any ordinary purpose.
A few moments later four persons left the hotel and walked along
the street. They were the two city sportsmen, Gates and Elmer,
accompanied by Merriwell and Browning.
“Where shall we go?” asked Elmer, doubtfully.
“Let’s go up the river a piece,” suggested Frank. “We must get out
of the village and be careful not to shoot in a direction that
will put anyone in peril. These rifles carry a ball a wonderful
distance, and they are deadly. Every year from one to three or
four persons are shot by accident while hunting up here in the
Maine woods. Some excitable individual catches a glimpse of
something moving far away in the forest, and he bangs away without
investigating. As a result, if he hits anything, he stands a good
show of shooting a man.”
The city sportsmen looked at each other in alarm.
“Good gwacious!” gasped Gates. “We must go where no othaw persons
will come, Awchie.”
“I’m afraid you’ll find that difficult,” said Frank; “for I have
been told that as soon as the law is off in the fall, the woods are
full of hunters from the Iron Works to the Canadian line on the
north. They fairly swarm in here.”
“Cholly,” said Archie, “I don’t know as I want to go any further
into these dweadful woods. It is too dangerous, don’t yer ’now.”
“That’s wight,” agreed Cholly; “I think we bettah wecooperate at
Baw Hawbah, and keep out of the blawsted woods, deah boy.”