AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN.
I cannot give you even a faint idea of the extravagant demonstrations
of delight to which Jake Coyle gave way when he saw the two valises
deposited side by side on the bottom of the canoe. He had been
tormented by the fear that his father had found and appropriated the
money, and he could not convince himself that those fears were
groundless, until he had opened both the valises and plunged his hands
among the glittering silver pieces with which they were filled almost
to the top. Then he threw himself back in the stern of the canoe and
panted as if he were utterly exhausted with his exertions.
“I do think in my soul that I’ve got it,” said he, in an excited
whisper. “Now what’ll I do with it to keep it safe? If pap or that Sam
of our’n——”
For some reason or other Jake became frightened when he thought of his
father and brother. The idea of sharing his ill-gotten gains with them
never once entered his head. He scrambled to his feet and hastily
pulled on his clothes, after which he raised the anchor and paddled up
the lake. As soon as I got under way the pursuing skiff was set in
motion also; but I lost sight of it after we rounded the first point
and entered the mouth of the creek which had been the scene of Joe
Wayring’s exciting encounter with Matt Coyle and his boys a few weeks
before.
Up this creek Jake paddled as swiftly as he could, his object being to
find a hiding-place for the money so remote from the hatchery that no
one who lived about there would be likely to stumble upon it. For two
hours he never slackened his pace, and by that time I became aware
that we were drawing near to the site of Matt’s old camp—the one that
had been destroyed by Mr. Swan and his party. A few minutes later I
passed through the little water-way that connected the creek with the
cove, and there Jake made a landing and got out.
“I’ve heared them say that lightning don’t strike two times in the
same place,” said he, as he drew me higher upon the beach and took
hold of the valises, “an’ that’s what made me come up here. Swan has
been here once an’ done all the damage he could, an’ ’tain’t no ways
likely that he’ll come agin. Pap dassent come so fur from home, ’cause
he’s that scared of the constables that he sticks clost to the shanty
all the time, an’ don’t even go huntin’ for squirrels; so I reckon the
woods about here are the best place I can find to hide my money. I’ll
leave my canoe, too, an’ then, when I get ready to strike out for
myself, I’ll have him an’ the money an’ both them fine guns right
where I can lay my hands onto ’em.”
So saying Jake disappeared in the bushes, taking the valises with him.
He was gone half an hour, and when he returned he proceeded to fold me
up and tie me together with a piece of rope. This done he found a
hiding-place for me under a pile of brush about twenty feet from the
spot where the lean-to stood before it was burned, and, after covering
me up as well as he could in the dark, glided away with noiseless
footsteps. It was a long time before I saw him again, but he had not
been gone more than five minutes when I heard a slight rustling among
the leaves and a snapping of twigs as if some one was walking
cautiously over them. Then I knew I was not alone in the woods. Who my
invisible companion was I could not tell for certain, but I believed
it was the occupant of the skiff that had followed us from the outlet.
He revealed his identity when he came near my place of concealment,
for I recognized his voice. It was Matt Coyle. He had kept Jake in
sight until he saw him paddle into the creek, and then he landed and
took to the woods. Something told him where the boy was going with the
money he had fished out of the lake, and by going afoot and taking a
short cut he gained on Jake so much that he arrived in the vicinity of
his old camp at least ten minutes ahead of him. But he could not see
where the valises had been hidden—the woods were too dark for that—and
now he was trying his best to find them, as I learned from his
soliloquy.
“He’s a pretty smart boy, Jakey is, but not smart enough to fool his
pap,” I heard him say. “The ondutiful scamp! I had oughter wear a
hickory out on him the minute I get home; but here’s the diffikilty;
if I do that he’ll tell Rube where them fine guns is hid, an’ the
minute they are give up to their owners then Rube’11 turn squar’
around an’ have me took up for the sake of gettin’ the reward. See? If
I can find the money all unbeknownst to Jakey, an’ take it off an’
hide it somewhere else, so’t I can find it every time I want to use a
dollar or two, then Jakey’11 think that the constables have stumbled
on it, an’ he won’t never say a word; but if I try to force him to
give it up there’ll be a furse, sure. He’s like his pap, Jakey is. It
won’t do to crowd him too fur. Mebbe it’s in yer.”
Matt bent over my hiding-place and thrust his hand into the pile of
brush. He felt all over and around me, and uttered many an exclamation
of anger and disgust when he found that the valises were not there
with me. He spent the whole of the night in tramping about the woods
in my neighborhood, and how he missed the objects of his search I
don’t know to this day. He rested a little while before daylight—at
least I thought he did, for the sound of his footsteps ceased for an
hour or two—but as soon as he could see where he was going he was up
and at it again; but this time he was interrupted. Deeply interested
as he was in his search, he did not neglect to keep his eyes and ears
open, and consequently he did not fail to hear the threatening sounds
that came to him on the morning breeze. I heard them a few minutes
afterward, and would have shouted with delight if I had possessed the
power. Mr. Swan and his party were approaching. Although I could not
see them I was certain of it, for I had been in the guide’s company so
often that I could have recognized his voice among a thousand.
Presently they came close to my hiding-place and I heard one of the
party say—
“Here’s where Matt’s lean-to stood. We came pretty near catching the
sly old coon that day, but he must have had some member of his family
on the watch. We found the fire burning and the dinner under way, but
Matt was nowhere to be seen.”
“They have been back here since then, and within a few hours, too,”
said Mr. Swan. “See how the leaves are kicked up. Let’s look around,
boys, and perhaps we shall find something.”
I was delighted to hear this order. The “boys” began to look about at
once, and one of them followed Matt’s trail straight to my place of
concealment. The constable who accompanied him kicked the pile of
brush to pieces, caught hold of the rope with which I was bound, and
dragged me into view. The first words he spoke seemed to indicate that
he had never seen any thing like me before.
“What in the name of common sense is this?” said he.
“That?” replied Mr. Swan, who stood close by. “Oh, that is Joe
Wayring’s canvas canoe—an old thing that saw his best days years ago.
But Joe thinks a heap of him and will be mighty glad to get him again.
I haven’t got any thing to do just now, and so I will make it my
business to take the canoe up to him. Joe is a good fellow, and I
shall be glad to do that much for him.”
Thank goodness, I was in a fair way to see Joe Wayring once more! I
was as happy as I wanted to be after that. I hoped Mr. Swan would take
me home at once, for I was impatient to see Fly-rod and the long bows
and the toboggan and all the rest of my friends in Mount Airy. I
looked around at the members of the squad and saw many familiar faces
among them. In fact, I had seen them all at one time or another, with
the exception—could I believe my eyes? I looked again, and told myself
that there could be no mistake about it. There were two strangers
among them, and they were dressed in slouch hats and long dark coats.
They were neither hand-cuffed nor bound, but they were closely watched
by two armed officers who took no part in beating the bushes. They
were the bank robbers—the very men I had tumbled out into the lake. If
I had had the slightest doubt of their identity it would have been
dispelled when the deputy sheriff said—“Now, boys, we’ve got some
evidence. Who can stretch this canvas canoe?”
Mr. Swan replied that he could, and he did. Under his skillful hands I
quickly assumed my usual symmetrical proportions; but before he was
through with me one of the robbers called out—
“That’s the boat. That’s the very boat that we started to cross the
lake in.”
“How do you know?” asked the sheriff.
“Because, as we told you, we examined him with the aid of a lighted
match before we would trust ourselves to him,” replied one of the
prisoners. “I believe that boy tipped us over on purpose.”
“I haven’t the least doubt of it,” assented the sheriff. “You let him
see the inside of one of the valises, and of course the sight of so
much money excited his cupidity.”
“I hope Jim didn’t hit him when he shot at him,” said the other
robber, in an anxious tone.
“Haven’t I told you more than a dozen times that you need not borrow
trouble on that score?” asked the officer. “If the boy had been hurt
we should probably have heard of it when we crossed the outlet at the
hatchery the next morning. Robbing the bank is all you will have to
answer for.”
And wasn’t that enough? I wondered. I did not know just what the
penalty was for the offense of which they were guilty, but I did know
that they were destined to pass some of the best years of their lives
in prison. I was surprised to hear the sheriff talk so familiarly with
the robbers, but really there was nothing surprising in it. Having
captured them, as he was in duty bound to do, he showed them as much
consideration as he showed the guides he had summoned to his
assistance, but he kept a sharp eye on them to see that they did not
escape.
“Put him together again, Swan, and we will go on and pay our respects
to Jake Coyle,” continued the officer. “It is possible that he intends
to return the money and claim the reward. If he does—”
“Don’t fool yourself,” said Mr. Swan, with a laugh. “If Jake ran into
that snag on purpose, he did it with the intention of fishing up that
money and keeping it. He can’t claim the reward, for there is a
warrant out for him. He helped to steal this canvas canoe.”
Having tied me together with the rope, Mr. Swan raised me to his
shoulder, ordered the guides to stop talking, and the entire posse set
off through the woods in the direction of the hatchery. As they drew
near to it they spread out right and left, forming a sort of skirmish
line which was so long that those on the flanks were out of sight of
one another, and in this order moved forward with increased caution.
The sheriff and Mr. Swan remained in the center with the two
prisoners, the latter holding me in one hand and a revolver in the
other. The officer consulted his watch very frequently, and at the end
of ten minutes moved out of the bushes to the “carry,” followed by Mr.
Swan and the captives. Then I understood the meaning of this maneuver.
The sheriff’s object was to surround Rube’s cabin and capture the
inmates.
As soon as he reached the “carry” the sheriff gave a shrill whistle
and ran forward at the top of his speed, leaving the guide to follow
with the prisoners. When we came within sight of the cabin a few
minutes later I saw the entire posse gathered around it, and the
sheriff and Rube standing in the doorway, the latter rubbing his eyes
as if he had just been aroused from a sound sleep.
“Sold again,” said the officer, as Mr. Swan came up.
“There, now!” exclaimed the guide, who was profoundly astonished.
“Well, I told you that Matt was a sly old fox, and that you’d have to
be mighty sly yourself if you caught him. The young ones are chips of
the old block, and can dodge about in the woods like so many
partridges. How did he find out that we were coming, do you reckon?”
“That’s a mystery,” answered the sheriff.
I could have told him that it was no mystery to me. The officer and
his posse had made a good deal of noise in coming through the woods,
and of course Matt Coyle heard them long before they came in sight.
Knowing that they would have to go to the hatchery in order to procure
boats to cross the outlet, he took to his heels in short order, made
the best of his way to the cabin, and started his family off into the
woods. That was all there was of it, but it proved the truth of the
remark Mr. Swan once made in Joe Wayring’s hearing—that Matt Coyle
always had luck on his side. The fugitives did not awaken Rube, for
they knew that he had nothing to fear from the officers of the law. I
had often wondered what sort of a game the watchman was up to (I was
as sure that he was playing a part as Matt was), and now I was given
some insight into it.
“You would ’a’ ruined Hanson if you’d arrested Matt Coyle,” said Rube,
when the guide ceased speaking. “If you take him up afore them guns is
found he’ll lose a dozen good customers next season, Hanson will,
’cause they say they’ll never come back to his hotel till their
property is given up to ’em. You don’t want to be in too big a hurry.
Both the boys has offered to give me the guns for half the reward, an’
as soon as they tell me where they are hid I’ll bring ’em up to the
lake. Then you can ’rest Matt, as soon as you please.”
“I wasn’t after Matt, although I should have taken him in if I had
found him here,” answered the sheriff. “I was looking for Jake.”
“What’s he been a doin’ of?”
“We think he knows something about the money that was stolen from the
Irvington bank.”
“I know he does,” said Rube, earnestly. “I thought so yesterday
morning, when I was readin’ about it in the paper that Swan give me,
an’ I thought so last night when I stood at the head of the outlet an’
saw him go up the lake in the canvas canoe. Say,” he added, in a lower
tone, “is them two fellers the robbers?”
The officer nodded.
“An’ do you reckon Jake knows where they hid the money?”
“We don’t think they hid it. Jake capsized them, and turned the money
out into the lake.”
“Well, I’ll bet you it ain’t there now,” said Rube. “Jake got it up
last night, less’n Matt stopped him.”
“Was Matt with him?”
“He follered him in one of the boats that he stole from you fellers up
the creek on the day you burned his camp.”
“Where are those boats now?” inquired Mr. Swan.
“Up to the head of the outlet, hid in the bresh. I can show ’em to you
any time.”
“Come on and do it then,” said the Sheriff. “There’s no use wasting
time here. It won’t take us long to row up to that snag and see if the
money is there. Four of us are enough. We will take one of the
prisoners with us to show us right where the snag is, and the other
can stay here.”
Having designated by name the guides whom he wished to accompany him,
the sheriff followed Rube through the woods toward the place where the
skiffs were concealed, Mr. Swan bringing up the rear with me on his
shoulder. The skiffs were quickly hauled out of their hiding-places
and launched, and at the end of an hour we were all anchored alongside
the snag, and two of the guides were searching the bottom of the lake
for the valises, which I knew to be all of ten miles from there in a
straight line, and twenty by water. At last the guides came up and
reported that there was no use of looking any longer. The grip-sacks
were not there.
“Are you sure that this is the snag on which that boy capsized you?”
inquired the sheriff.
“As sure as I can be,” replied the prisoner, to whom the question was
addressed. “It was the first one he came to, and it was directly
opposite the house whose cellar he robbed. Are you going to give up
looking?” he added, as the guides climbed back into their skiff. “I
hate to think that that villain will remain at liberty to enjoy that
six thousand, after all the risk Tony and I ran to get it.”
“He’ll not remain at liberty very long,” answered the sheriff, with
some asperity. “I’d have you know that I understand my business. I
pledge you my word that you will see him in New London jail in less
than a week after you get there.”
This assurance seemed to satisfy the robber that justice would be
done, and he had no more to say.
In obedience to the sheriff’s order the guides pulled back to the
outlet and landed in front of the hatchery. The rest of the posse were
ferried over to the opposite side and set out on foot for Indian Lake,
all except the other prisoner, who was taken into the canvas canoe
with Mr. Swan.
When we reached the lake I learned that there had been a regular
exodus from the woods during the last two days. As soon as the women
and children who were in camp heard that there were a couple of bank
robbers hiding somewhere in the wilderness, they made all haste to get
back to the hotels, where they knew they would be safe. Both the
landlords were in a state of mind that can hardly be described. The
season was not half over, and yet some of their guests were leaving
every day, bound for other places of resort where thieves were not
quite so plenty. Matt Coyle would have hugged himself with delight if
he could have heard what I did. I arrived at the lake about nine
o’clock in the morning, and at nine o’clock that night Mr. Swan and I
were well on our way toward Mount Airy, which we reached without any
mishap. We found Joe and his two chums, Roy and Arthur, enjoying a
sail on the lake in the Young Republic.
“I kinder thought you would like to have your canoe back again, and so
I brought him up,” said Mr. Swan, when he had shaken hands with the
boys. “No, I won’t take nothing for it, and I can’t go up to your
house and stay over night, neither. I’ve got to get back as soon as I
can, for there’s plenty of work to be done at Indian Lake. The
Irvington bank robbers have been captured, but Matt Coyle and his boys
are still at large, and they’ll ruinate our business and the hotels’
business, too, if we don’t tend to ’em right along.”
While the guide was telling the boys how the robbers had been hunted
down and captured, he took hold of the rope with which I was tied and
lifted me out of his skiff into the sail-boat, and then he said
good-by and pulled away, while the Young Republic came about and
scudded back toward Mr. Wayring’s wharf.
Fly-rod told you, at the conclusion of his narrative, that when Joe
Wayring returned from his trip to Indian Lake he expected to meet his
uncle, who was to take him and his chums on an extended canoe trip to
some distant part of the country, “either east or west, they didn’t
know which;” but in this he was disappointed. Uncle Joe had been
called away on important business, and the probabilities were that if
they took their proposed trip at all it would not be until near the
end of the vacation, and then it would be a very short one. So, for
want of something better to do, Joe Wayring proposed an immediate
return to Indian Lake.
“The time is our own until the first Monday in September,” said he,
“and what’s the use of staying around the village and doing nothing?
We know we can enjoy ourselves at the lake, but this time we’ll give
Matt Coyle and his boys a wide berth. We’ll leave the regular routes
of travel, and visit the famous spring-hole that Mr. Swan has so often
described to us.”
Arthur and Roy readily agreed to the proposition, and on the day I was
restored to my lawful master the arrangements for the return trip had
all been completed. They were only waiting for Fly-rod, whose broken
joint was being repaired by a skilled mechanic. He came the day after
I got home, and you may be sure I was glad to see him once more. We
passed the night in relating our adventures and exploits, and daylight
the next morning found us on the wharf, waiting for Arthur Hastings to
bring up the skiff.
The trip down the river, through the pond where the “battle in the
dark” took place, and thence to Indian lake, was made without the
occurrence of any incident worthy of note, and in due time the skiff
was run upon the beach in front of the Sportman’s Home. We did not see
Matt Coyle or any of his family on the way, but we heard of them in
less than ten minutes after we arrived at the lake. While Joe and his
chums were overhauling the stern locker, in search of the letters they
had written the night before, Mr. Swan came up.
“You’re here, ain’t you?” said he, in his cheery way. “Now you are off
for that spring-hole, I suppose. Well, if you will go into the woods
without a guide to take care of you, No-Man’s Pond is the safest place
for you. But you want to watch out for Matt Coyle, no matter where you
go. He’s down on all you Mount Airy folks, and Rube Royall heard him
say that he was intending to tie you to a tree and larrup you.”
“Does Matt carry an insurance on his life?” inquired Roy. “If not,
he’ll think twice before he tries that.”
“Who is Rube Royall?” asked Arthur.
“He is acting as watchman at the State hatchery, but he is really in
Hanson’s employ,” replied Mr. Swan. “Of course Rube keeps poachers
away from the outlet of nights, but he was hired to watch Matt Coyle.
He’s too lazy to be a guide, Rube is; but he’s honest, and hates Matt
as bad as I do.”
“Why does Mr. Hanson want to have Matt watched?” asked Joe.
“You remember about the Winchester rifle and Lefever hammerless that
were stolen a while back, don’t you?” asked the guide. “Well, the men
who own them guns are worth anywhere from twenty-five to fifty dollars
a day to the hotel they put up at, because they always bring a big
crowd with them. They went home madder’n a couple of wet hens, saying
that they would never come to this lake again till their guns had been
found and Matt put in jail. We could have arrested Matt long ago, for
he’s been living with Rube ever since we burned him out; but if we’d
done it we should have lost the guns, for Matt would stay in jail till
he died there before he would tell where the guns were hidden. He’s
just that obstinate. However, Rube don’t need to watch him any more.
Hanson’s got the guns, and who do you think brought them to him. It
was Tom Bigden and his cousins.”
Although I was closely packed in my case I caught every word of the
conversation I have recorded, and I assure you I was surprised to hear
this. Had Tom complied with Matt’s demands and paid him fifty dollars
for the guns? Why didn’t Joe ask the guide to go into details?
Probably he didn’t think it worth while, for all he said was—
“I wish those fellows had stayed at home.”
“They wouldn’t look at the reward, but told Hanson that it was to be
give to me and Morris,” continued the guide. “Morris has got his
share, but I ain’t seen mine, for this is the first time I have been
here since the guns were recovered. Now all we’ve got to do is to
arrest Matt and hunt up Jake. That boy’s got six thousand dollars
hidden somewhere in the woods.”
“Why, hasn’t that money been found yet?” exclaimed Roy.
“Not yet, and somehow we don’t make out to get on Jake’s trail. He
hasn’t been to Rube’s house since the day we found your canvas canoe
hidden under that pile of brush. He’s hiding in the woods, living on
what he can shoot and steal. I tell you the outlook is mighty dark for
us guides. There’s more than two hundred guests gone away since the
Irvington bank was robbed, and half of us are idle. Of course our pay
goes on, but no honest man wants to take money that he doesn’t earn.”
“Well, I must say that things have come to a pretty pass when a few
vagabonds can shut up two hotels and throw fifty men like Mr. Swan out
of employment,” said Joe, as the guide went down the beach toward the
place where he had left his canoe. “Now that the guns have been
recovered, Matt Coyle ought to be arrested without an hour’s delay. I
hope he and Jake will be looking through iron bars when we return.”
Joe would have put his wish into stronger language than that if he had
known what was to happen to him before he saw Indian Lake again.