CAPTURED AGAIN.
I need not assure you that I was deeply interested in the exciting
scene that was enacted before me. I rode helplessly at my moorings and
watched Joe Wayring as he swam down the stream with his sturdiest
strokes to get clear of the lily-pads before attempting a landing, and
then I turned my attention to Matt Coyle and his boys, who had come to
grief in their efforts to force their way to the shore.
“Back out!” shouted Matt, when he found that his scow could neither
ride over or break through the strong, tangled stems of the lily-pads.
“Be in a hurry, or he’ll get sich a start on us that we can’t never
ketch him.” And then he swung his heavy paddle around his head and
threw it at Joe, just as the latter crawled out upon the bank.
Joe saw the missile coming toward him, and when it struck the ground
he caught it up and threw it back. He didn’t hit Matt, as he meant to
do, but he struck Jake such a stunning blow in the face that the boy
could take no part in the pursuit that followed. It came pretty near
knocking him overboard. I would have laughed if I could, but I did not
feel so jubilant when I heard Matt say:
“Sam, you an’ Jakey get into the canoe an’ paddle down the pond so’s
to cut him off when he tries to swim off to the skiff.”
In obedience to these instructions the two boys took possession of me,
hauled up the anchor, and paddled swiftly down the creek, while Matt
kept on after Joe, who was running through the woods like a frightened
deer. When we came out into the pond I saw him standing on the bank
beckoning to Arthur and Roy, who lost no time in bringing the skiff to
his relief. I saw Joe run into the water and strike out to meet them,
and I also heard him say:
“Boys, never mind me. I’ve got my second wind now and can swim for an
hour. Go up there and capture my canoe, or else run over him and send
him to the bottom. Don’t let those villains take him away from me
again.”
But Arthur and Roy did not think it best to act upon this suggestion
until they had taken care of Joe; and by the time they had got him
into the skiff it was too late for them to do any thing for me; for
Jake and his brother had put themselves out of harm’s way by pulling
for the shore, where Matt was waiting for them. When they reached it
they lifted me from the water and carried me so far into the bushes
that they knew Joe and his friends would not dare follow them, and
then each of them sheltered himself behind a tree. Matt and his boys
were afraid of Roy Sheldon, who was a swift and accurate thrower, and
when the latter rose to his feet to see what they had done with me
they thought he was about to open fire on them with potatoes, as he
had done once or twice before.
“I’m onto your little game,” shouted the squatter, peeping out from
behind his tree and shaking his fist at the boys in the skiff. “You
don’t fire no more taters at me if I know it. Your boat is here, an’
if you want it wusser’n we do, come an’ get it. ’Tain’t much account
nohow. Now then,” added Matt, as he saw the boys turn their skiff
about and pull back toward the other side of the pond, “ketch hold of
this canoe, all of us, an’ we’ll tote him up to the creek.”
“Say, pap,” Sam interposed, “why don’t we foller ’em over there an’
gobble up their other boat an’ bust up their things?”
“That’s what I say,” groaned Jake, who wanted revenge for the stinging
blow that Joe had given him with Matt’s paddle. “We’re better men than
they ever dare be. I shan’t rest easy till I larrup that Joe Wayring.”
“Now jest listen at the two fules!” exclaimed the squatter, in a tone
of disgust. “Have you forgot the peltin’ they give us with our own
taters last summer? ’Pears to me that you hadn’t oughter forget it,
Jakey, ’cause when you got that whack in the stummik you raised sich a
hollerin’ that you could have been heared clear up to Injun Lake.
Seems as though I could feel that bump yet,” added Matt, passing a
brawny fist over his cheek where a potato, thrown by Arthur Hastings’
hand, had left a black and blue spot as large as a hen’s egg. “We’ll
wait till they get camped for the night, an’ then we’ll go over there
an’ steal ourselves rich.”
If Matt had taken another look at the boys instead of being in such
haste to carry me up to the creek, he never would have thought
seriously of making a night attack upon their camp. Joe and his
friends had received a reinforcement in the person of Mr. Swan, a
hotel guide whom Matt Coyle had good reason to remember. The guide had
taken an active part in driving him and his vagabond crew out of the
Indian Lake country, and he was looking for him when he met Joe and
his chums. But Matt, believing that the boys had no one to depend on
but themselves, was sure that by a stealthy approach and quick assault
he could wipe out all old scores and enrich himself without incurring
the smallest risk, and he and his allies grew enthusiastic while they
talked about the great things they meant to do that night.
During the progress of their conversation I learned, for the first
time, what had become of the rods and reels that Matt stole from Joe
and his party in Sherwin’s pond. Jake, who acted as his father’s
agent, had sold them to Mr. Hanson, the landlord of the Sportsman’s
Home, for four dollars apiece—all except the one belonging to Arthur
Hastings, which Jake affirmed had been broken by a black bass. For
that he received two dollars. I learned, further, that Matt had failed
again in his efforts to find employment as guide for the Indian Lake
country. The hotels would not hire him, and neither would the guests
to whom he offered his services. This left Matt but one resource, and
that was to carry out his oft-repeated threat that if he couldn’t act
as guide about that lake nobody should. He had already robbed three
camps, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that by doing it he had
created great consternation among the summer visitors. The ladies
protested that they could never think of going into the woods again as
long as that horrid man was about, and the sportsmen who had suffered
at his hands told their landlords very plainly that they would not
come near Indian Lake again until they were assured that Matt Coyle
had been arrested and lodged in jail.
“They’re afeared of me, them folks up there to the lake be,” chuckled
the squatter, who was highly elated over the success of the plan he
had adopted for ruining the hotels and breaking up the business of
guiding. “I would have worked hard an’ faithful for ’em if they had
give me a chance to make an honest livin’; but they wouldn’t do it,
’cause I didn’t have no good clothes to wear, an’ now they see what
they have gained by their meanness. I won’t be starved to death, an’
that’s jest all there is about it.”
“Say, pap, what be you goin’ to do with them two fine guns that’s hid
up there in the bresh?” inquired Sam.
“I ain’t a-goin’ to do nothin’ with ’em,” was the reply.
“Then why can’t me an’ Jake have ’em?”
“Now jest listen at the blockhead!” Matt almost shouted. “Ain’t you
got sense enough to know that if a guide should happen to ketch you
runnin’ about the woods with one of them guns in your hands you would
be ’rested an’ locked up for a thief? I didn’t take them guns ’cause I
wanted ’em, but jest to drive them city sportsmen away from here. They
ain’t goin’ to bring fine things into these woods when they know that
they stand a chance of losin’ ’em. An’ if there ain’t no guests to
come here, what’s the guides an’ landlords goin’ to do to make a
livin’?”
“I’ve made a heap of money for you, pap, by sellin’ them fish-poles
an’ takin’ back the scatter-gun you hooked outen one of them camps,
an’ you ain’t never give me nothin’ for it,” said Jake. “I reckon it’s
about time you was settlin’ up.”
“All right, I’ll settle up with you this very minute,” answered his
father, cheerfully. “You can have this here canvas canoe for your own.
Does that squar’ accounts betwixt us?”
It wouldn’t if I had had a voice in the matter, or possessed the power
to protect myself; but I was helpless, and from that moment Jake
claimed me as his property. He agreed, however, to lend me to his
father as often as the latter thought it safe to go prospecting for
unguarded camps. Half an hour later I was floating in the creek
alongside the scow, and Matt and his boys were building a fire and
preparing to regale themselves upon the big bass which Fly-rod had
unwittingly caught for their supper. While they were thus engaged they
talked over their plans for the night, and decided what they would do
with the valuable things they expected to capture in Joe Wayring’s
camp.
“This here is the great p’int, an’ it bothers me a heap, I tell you,”
said Matt, flourishing the sharpened stick that he was using as a
fork. “Joe an’ his friends are purty well known in this part of the
country, an’ so’s their outfit; an’ if we steal all they’ve got, as I
mean to do afore I am many hours older, about the only things we can
use will be the grub.”
“Don’t you reckon they’ve got new fish-poles to take the place of them
you hooked from ’em up in Sherwin’s pond?” inquired Sam.
“I know they have, ’cause they wouldn’t come here without nothing to
fish with, would they? But ’twon’t be safe to try to sell ’em right
away, ’cause if we do folks will suspicion something.”
“I’ll bet you I won’t take’em up to the lake to sell ’em,” said Jake
very decidedly. “The folks up there know that you stole them fine guns
we’ve got hid in the bresh, an’ they’d ’rest me for helpin’ of you.
But there’s one thing I want, an’ I’m goin’ to have it too, when we
get Joe’s property into our hands, an’ that’s some new clothes,” added
Jake, pulling his coat-sleeve around so that he could have a fair view
of the gaping rent in the elbow. “These duds I’ve got on ain’t fitten
to go among white folks with.”
“I don’t see what’s to hender you gettin ’em, Jakey,” said his father,
encouragingly. “If we get the skiff an’ everything what’s into it, in
course we shall get the extry clothes they brung with ’em, an’ you an’
Sam can take your pick.”
“An’ I’m goin’ to give that Joe Wayring the best kind of a poundin’ to
pay him for hittin’ me in the face with your paddle,” continued Jake.
“You can do that, too, an’ I won’t never say a word agin it. All them
fellers need bringin’ down, an’ I’d like the best way to see you boys
do it. Now there’s that skiff of their’n,” added Matt, reflectively.
“She’s better’n the scow, ’cause she’s got oars instead of paddles,
an’ can get around faster.”
“An’ she’s big enough to carry us an’ our plunder, an’ she’s got a
tent, so’t we wouldn’t have to go ashore to camp when we wanted to
stop for the night,” said Sam. “But we’d have to steer clear of the
guides, ’cause they all know her,”
“We’ve got to steer clear of them anyhow, ain’t we?” demanded Matt. “I
reckon we’d best take her for a house-boat, an’ use the canvas canoe
to go a prospectin’ for camps.”
Matt and his boys continued to talk in this way until darkness came to
conceal their movements, and then they stepped into the scow and
paddled toward the pond, leaving me tied fast to a tree on the bank. I
knew they were going on a fool’s errand. They seemed to forget that
Joe and his friends never went into the woods without taking a
body-guard and sentinel with them; and, knowing how vigilant Arthur
Hastings’ little spaniel was in looking out for the safety of the
camp, I did not think it would be possible for the squatter, cunning
as he was, to steal a march upon the boys he intended to rob. If Jim
aroused the camp there would be the liveliest kind of a fight, and I
was as certain as I wanted to be that the attacking party would come
off second best.
The squatter was gone so long that I began to grow impatient; but
presently I heard loud and excited voices coming from the direction of
the pond, mingled with cries of distress, the clashing of sticks, and
other sounds to indicate that there was a battle going on out there.
Although it seemed to be desperately contested, it did not last long,
for in less than ten minutes afterwards I saw the scow coming into the
creek. The very first words I heard convinced me that, although Matt
and his boys had failed to surprise and rob Joe’s camp, they had
inflicted considerable damage upon him and his companions. To my great
satisfaction I also learned that my confidence in Jim, the spaniel,
had not been misplaced.
“If I ever get the chance I’ll fill that little black fice of their’n
so full of bullet holes that he won’t never be of no more use as a
watchdog I bet you,” said Sam, in savage tones. “We could have done
jest what we liked with that there camp, an’ every thing an’ every
body what’s into it, if it hadn’t been for his yelpin’ an’ goin’ on.”
“Now, listen at you!” exclaimed his father, impatiently. “I’m right
glad the dog was there an’ set up that yelpin’, ’cause if we’d went
ashore, like we meant to do, we’d a had that man Swan onto us.”
“Well, what of it?” retorted Sam. “Ain’t you a bigger man than he is?”
“That ain’t nuther here nor there,” answered Matt, who knew that he
could not have held his own in an encounter with the stalwart guide.
“Fightin’ ain’t what we’re after. We want to do all the damage we can
without bein’ ketched at it.”
“All I’ve made by this night’s work is a prod in the ribs that will
stay with me for a month,” groaned Jake, who, as I afterwards learned,
had received several sharp thrusts from the blade of Roy Sheldon’s
oar. “Pap, you spiled our chances of gettin’ that skiff for a
house-boat when you told us to run into her. She’s at the bottom of
the pond by this time. Didn’t you hear the planks rippin’ and crackin’
when we struck her?”
“Wal, then, what did they put theirselves in our way for!” demanded
Matt, angrily. “Didn’t you hear me tell ’em not to come nigh us,
’cause it would be wuss for’em if they did? I seen through their
little game in a minute. They wanted to keep us there till Swan could
come up an’ help ’em. What else could we do but run into ’em?”
This made it plain to me that the squatter had not acted entirely on
the defensive—that he had made a desperate effort to send the skiff
and her crew to the bottom of the pond; but, being better posted in
natural philosophy than he was, I did not believe that he had
succeeded in doing it. An unloaded skiff will not sink, even if her
whole side is stove in, and I was positive that Matt Coyle would see
more of that boat and of the boys who owned it before the doors of the
penitentiary closed upon him.
In spite of Jake’s protest and Sam’s, Matt decided to camp on the bank
of the creek that night, and go home in the morning. The boys were
afraid that the guide might assume the offensive and attack them while
they were asleep; but their father quieted their fears by assuring
them that he would not attempt any thing of the sort, ’cause why, he
couldn’t. The skiff was sunk, Swan’s canoe wasn’t large enough to
carry more than one man at a load, and the guide, brave as he was
supposed to be, would not think of coming up there alone. More than
that, he did not know where to find them.
Knowing that Matt’s home was wherever he happened to be when night
overtook him, I felt some curiosity to see the place he had chosen for
his temporary abode. I was ushered into it early on the afternoon of
the following day. It was located about twenty miles from the pond,
and Matt reached it by turning the scow out of the creek, and forcing
him through a little stream whose channel was so thickly filled with
bushes and weeds that a stranger would not have suspected that there
was any water-way there. The stream, which was not more than twenty
feet long, ended in a little bay, and there the scow had to be left,
because his crew could not take him any farther. He was too broad of
beam to be carried through the thick woods, and besides he was too
heavy.
I forgot to say that my new owner, Jake Coyle, navigated me up the
creek. He was very awkward with the double paddle at first, but skill
came with practice, and before we had gone half a dozen miles I was
carrying him along as steadily and evenly as I ever carried Joe
Wayring. When we reached the little bay of which I have spoken, Jake
ran me upon the beach alongside the scow, and set to work to take me
to pieces. Having more mechanical skill and patience than his father,
he succeeded after awhile, and then he put me on his shoulder and
carried me along the well-beaten path that led to the camp. But before
this happened I was witness to a little proceeding on the part of Matt
Coyle which showed what a cunning old fox he was. Catching up a long
pole that had probably been used for the same purpose before, the
squatter went back to the stream through which we had just passed, and
carefully straightened up all the bushes that had been bent down by
the weight of the scow.
“There!” said Matt, when he had finished his task, “Swan an’ some more
of them guides will be along this way directly, but I bet they won’t
see nothin’ from the creek to tell ’em that we are in here. Of course
the bresh don’t stand up squar’, like it oughter, an’ the bark’s
rubbed off in places; but mebbe Swan an’ the rest of ’em won’t take
notice of that.”
I afterward learned, however, that Matt knew his enemies too well to
trust any thing to luck. Some member of his family stood guard at the
mouth of the stream day and night. The old woman was on watch when we
came up the creek but I did not see her, for as soon as she discovered
Matt’s scow approaching she hastened to camp to get dinner ready.
The camp was pleasantly located in a thicket of evergreens, and with a
little care and attention might have been made a very cheerful and
inviting spot; but it was just the reverse of that. Matt and his tribe
were too lazy to keep their camps in order or to provide themselves
with any comforts. I never knew them to have such a thing as a camp
broom, which any of them could have made in ten minutes, and I doubt
if their dishes ever received a thorough washing. They could not
muster up energy enough to pick browse for their beds, but were
content to sleep on the bare ground. All they cared for was a camp
that was so effectually concealed that the Indian Lake guides would
not be likely to stumble upon it, a lean-to that would keep off the
thickest of the rain, and plenty to eat. Of course they would have
been glad to have money in their pockets, but they did not want to put
themselves to any trouble to earn it. Matt contended that he and his
family had as good a right to live without work as some other folks
had.
“So you got your canvas canoe back, did you, Jakey?” said the old
woman, as her hopeful son came in at one side of the camp and went out
at the other. “Where did you find him agin?”
“Up there to the pond,” replied Jake. “That Joe Wayring, he was
fishin’, an’ we crep’ up clost to him afore he knew we was there, an’
then it would a made you laugh to see him take to the water an’ streak
it through the woods with pap arter him. Don’t I wish he had ketched
him, though? Do you see any thing onto my face?”
The old woman replied that one of his cheeks was slightly discolored.
“Joe Wayring done that with pap’s paddle,” continued Jake, “an’ I’m
goin’ to larrup him for it the first good chance I get. I’ll l’arn him
who he’s hittin’. Yes, this canoe is mine now, sure enough, for pap
give him to me to keep. I’m goin’ to hide him out here in the bresh
till I want to use him.”
This piece of strategy on the part of my new master made it impossible
for me to take note of all that happened in and around the squatter’s
camp during the next two days, for the evergreens partially concealed
it from my view, and Matt and his allies talked in tones so low that I
could not distinctly hear what they said; but on the afternoon of the
third day I saw and heard a good deal. About three o’clock, while Sam
Coyle was dozing on the bank of the creek and pretending to stand
guard over the camp, he was suddenly aroused to a sense of his
responsibility by seeing a light skiff come slowly around the bend
below. Mr. Swan, the guide, handled the oars, and the man who sat in
the stern was the owner of the Lefever hammerless that Matt Coyle had
stolen and concealed in the bushes. They kept their eyes fastened upon
the bank as they moved along, and Sam knew that they were looking for
“signs.”
“An’ I’m powerful ’feared that they will find some when they get up
here,” thought the young vagabond, trembling all over with excitement
and apprehension, “’cause didn’t pap say that he couldn’t make the
bresh stand up straight like it had oughter do, an’ that the bark was
rubbed off in places? I reckon I’d best be a lumberin’.”
Sam turned upon his face and crawled off through the bushes, but not
until he had seen Mr. Swan’s boat reinforced by four others, whose
occupants were looking so closely at the shores as they advanced that
it did not seem possible that a single bush, or even a twig on them,
could escape their scrutiny. Sam lost no time in putting himself out
of sight among the evergreens, and then he jumped to his feet and made
for camp at the top of his speed. The pale face he brought with him
told his father that he had a startling report to make.
“Be they comin’?” said Matt, in an anxious whisper.
“Yes,” replied Sam, “they’re comin’—a hul passel of boats, an’ two or
three fellers into each one of ’em. The man you hooked that
scatter-gun from is into Swan’s boat, an’ he looks like he was jest
ready to b’ile over with madness.”
“Grab something an’ run with it,” exclaimed the squatter; and as he
spoke he snatched up the frying-pan and dumped the half-cooked slices
of bacon upon the ground.
For a few minutes there was a great commotion in the camp. Matt and
his family caught up whatever came first to their hands, and presently
emerged from the thicket, one after the other. They all carried
bundles of something on their backs, and at once proceeded to “scatter
like so many quails,” and scurry away in different directions. This
was one of their favorite tricks—the one to which they invariably
resorted when danger threatened them; but before they separated they
always agreed upon a place of meeting, toward which they bent their
steps as soon as they thought it safe to do so. It was no trouble at
all for them to elude the officers of the law in this way, and even
the guides, experienced as they were in woodcraft, could not always
follow them.
Jake Coyle was so heavily loaded down with other plunder that he could
not carry me away with him. That was something upon which I
congratulated myself, for I was sure that the guides and their
companions would not leave until they had made a thorough examination
of the woods surrounding the squatter’s camp; but in this I was
disappointed.
They set fire to every thing that Matt had left behind in his hurried
flight, and went back to the bay to find that the enemy had been
operating in their rear. While they were waiting for the fire they had
kindled to burn itself out, Matt and his family “circled around” to
the bay in which they had left their scow, and went to work to pay Mr.
Swan back in his own coin. Every thing that would sink was thrown into
the water, and every thing that wouldn’t was sent whirling through the
air toward the woods on the opposite side of the bay. That was the way
my friend Fly-rod got crippled. He brought up against a tree with such
force that his second joint was broken close to the ferrule. After
doing all the damage they could without alarming the guides, Matt and
his family took two of the best boats and made their escape in them.
I judged that Mr. Swan and his party were a pretty mad lot of men when
they returned to the bay and saw what had been done there during their
absence. They were so far away that I could not catch all they said,
but I could hear Joe Wayring’s voice, and longed for the power to do
something that would lead him to my place of concealment. I also heard
the owner of the stolen Winchester say:
“We will give a hundred dollars apiece to the man who will find our
weapons, capture the thief, and hold him so that we can come and
testify against him. Or, we will give fifty dollars apiece for the
guns without the thief and the same amount for the thief without the
guns. Boys, you are included in that offer.”
I knew that the last words were addressed to Joe Wayring and his
chums, for I heard Arthur thank him, and say that it would afford him
and his friends great satisfaction if they could find and restore the
stolen guns. I did not suppose that the boys would ever think of the
matter again, having so many other things to occupy their minds; but
subsequent events proved that I was mistaken.