SAM ON THE TRAIL.
“There, now,” soliloquized Jake Coyle, as he wended his way through
the gloomy woods after concealing the canvas canoe and the two valises
he had fished up from the bottom of the lake. “I’m a rich man, an’
nobody but me knows the first thing about it. As soon as it gets
daylight, I’ll come back an’ hide the guns an’ the money an’ the canoe
all together, in a better place, so’t if pap gets a hint of what is
goin’ on, an’ I have to dig out from home in the middle of the night,
I shall know right where to find ’em without runnin’ through the woods
to hunt ’em up. Now, as soon as I can get Rube to buy me some shoes
an’ clothes an’ powder an’ lead, I’ll go back to some of them swamps
that I’ve heared pap tell about, an’ trap on my own hook. I’ll sell my
skins in New London, ’cause nobody don’t know me there. I’ll be
’rested if I stay around where pap is.”
In blissful ignorance of the fact that his father, following close
behind him, had seen almost every move he made that night, Jake
lumbered on through the darkness, and at last found himself on the
“carry” that ran close by the door of Rube Royall’s humble abode.
Cautiously approaching the door, Jake pushed it open and looked in. He
could see nothing, for the fire on the hearth had gone out, and the
interior of the cabin was pitch dark. But he heard the heavy breathing
of the sleepers, and, believing that his father was among them, he
entered on tiptoe, stretched himself out on one of the beds beside his
slumbering brother, and drew a long breath of relief. The night had
been full of excitement, and the day was destined to bring more.
About eight o’clock the next morning, after breakfast had been eaten
and Rube had gone to sleep, the old woman and her boys gathered in the
wood yard in front of the house, and talked and wondered at the
prolonged absence of the head of the family. Jake appeared to be very
much concerned about him.
“Say, mam, when did you see him last?” he anxiously inquired.
“Not sence you left hum last night,” was the reply. “I didn’t think
nothin’ of your bein’ gone, ’cause I thought mebbe you had went after
more grab; but I don’t see what took the ole man away so permiscus. I
couldn’t make head or tail of the way he went snoopin’ around
yisterday, first in the house, then in the woods, an’ the next thing
you knowed you didn’t know where he was. ’Taint like him to be gone
all night in this way. Why, Jakey, what makes your face so white?”
“Dunno; less’n it’s ’cause I’m afeared the constables have got a hold
of him,” answered the boy.
“Oh, shucks!” exclaimed the old woman. “You needn’t——”
She was going to say something else but didn’t have time. Just then
hasty steps sounded on the hard path, and the three looked up to see
the missing man approaching at a rapid run. He was angry about
something, Jake could see that with half an eye, and frightened as
well.
“Git outen here!” said Matt, as soon as he could make himself heard.
“Scatter! They’re comin’!”
“Who’s comin’?” asked the old woman, who was the only one who could
speak.
“Swan, an’ all the rest of them fellers that went out to ’rest them
robbers.”
“Did they ketch ’em?”
“Now jest listen at you! Do you reckon I stopped to talk to ’em,
dog-gone ye? I dug out soon as I heard ’em comin’ through the woods.”
“Where was they?”
“Up there by the cove where our camp was burned, an’ headin’ straight
for it.”
“The cove?” gasped Jake.
“Yes, the cove, you ongrateful scamp, an’ goin’ as straight t’wards it
as they could go. They’re bound to nose out something there,” said
Matt, remembering that he must have made a good many wide and plain
trails while he was roaming around looking for Jake’s treasure, “an’
if they find them two grip-sacks that you left there last night I
wouldn’t be in them ragged clothes of your’n, Jakey, for no money in
this broad world. You are a purty chap to go an’ find six thousand
dollars an’ hide it from your pap, I do think. Now scatter out an’
make for that there cove as quick as it is safe. Then we’ll be on
their trail, ’stead of havin’ them on our’n. Jakey, stay where I can
put my hands on you when I want you.”
These words recalled the boy’s senses and brought his power of action
back to him. He did not know which he stood the most in fear of—his
father’s wrath, the probable loss of his money, or the sheriff and his
posse; but he _did_ know that he was not safe where he was, so he
caught up his rifle, which rested against a log close at hand, and
took to his heels. Sam was frightened, too, but not to the same degree
that Matt and Jake were, because he was not as guilty. He kept his
wits about him, and proved by his subsequent movements that he could
act as promptly and intelligently in a crisis as his brother could.
When Jake disappeared, and Matt and his wife ran into the cabin to
collect the few articles of value they possessed, previous to seeking
safety in flight, Sam stood and communed thus with himself:
“Beats the world, an’ I don’t begin to see through it; but how did
that Jake of our’n get them six thousand dollars that was stole outen
the Irvin’ton bank? He’s got ’em, ’cause pap said so; an’ they’re hid
somewheres near the place where our old camp used to be. Wonder if
Jakey is goin’ there now? I reckon I’d best keep an eye on him an’
find out. Why didn’t he go halvers with the rest of us, like he’d
oughter done? If I can get my hands on that money he won’t never see
it agin, I tell you.”
Jake Coyle’s brain was in such a whirl that he never once thought to
look behind him as he hurried through the woods toward the head of the
outlet; and even if he had he might not have seen Sam, who was a short
distance in his rear and keeping him constantly in sight; for Sam took
pains to cover himself with every tree and bush that came in his way.
Once he came near being caught; for Jake, recalling his angry sire’s
parting words, and apprehensive of being followed, suddenly threw
himself behind a log and watched the trail over which he had just
passed. But, fortunately for Sam, he saw the movement, rapid as it
was, and stopped in time to escape detection. A less skillful woodsman
would have lost Jake then and there, or else he would have run upon
him before he knew it.
After spending a quarter of an hour in patient waiting Jake must have
become satisfied that his fears of pursuit were groundless, for he
jumped up and again took to his heels. He kept on past the outlet,
skirted the shore of the lake until he came within a short distance of
the place where Tom Bigden and the squatter held their consultations,
and there he took to the woods and struck a straight course for the
cove, Sam following close behind.
It was ten miles to the cove by land, and all the way through timber
that had never echoed to the woodman’s ax. It was a distance that few
city-bred boys could have covered at a trot, but it was nothing to the
squatter’s sons, who would have done it any day for a dollar. Twice
while on the way did Jake try his “dropping” dodge, but Sam was too
sharp to be caught. The last time he tried it was when he was within a
stone’s throw of the cove; and then he dived into a thicket, and
waited and watched for half an hour before he made a move. Sam,
patient and tireless as an Indian, did not move, either, until he saw
Jake come out of the thicket and make his way toward the log in which
the stolen guns were concealed. He saw him take out the cases, one
after the other, and hide them in another log nearer the cove; and
while he was wondering what his brother’s object could be in doing
that the sound of voices in conversation came from the direction of
the creek, whereupon Jake fled with the greatest precipitation, hardly
daring to stop long enough to cover the end of the log with a bush
which he cut with a knife. He threw himself behind the first fallen
tree he came to, and looked cautiously over it to see what was going
to happen.
Jake thought, and so did Sam, that the voices belonged to the members
of the sheriff’s posse, who were still loitering about in the vicinity
of the cove to see what else they could find there; consequently their
surprise was great when they saw Ralph Farnsworth step out of the
evergreens with his gun on his shoulder. He stopped and looked around
when he stumbled over the bush that concealed the end of the log,
stooped over for a minute, and when he straightened up again he held
in his hands the Victoria case in which reposed the Lefever
hammerless. Then it was that Ralph sent up those excited calls to
attract the attention of his companions, who presently joined him.
If Jake and Sam had been working in harmony, they never would have
remained inactive in their places of concealment and let Tom and his
cousins carry off those guns. Jake, especially, was hopping mad. He
got upon his knees, exposing so much of his ragged clothing above the
log that he certainly would have been seen if Tom and the rest had
glanced in his direction, and shook his fists over his head.
“They’re thieves theirselves if they take them guns away,” muttered
Jake, between his clenched teeth. “I was goin’ to give ’em to Rube,
an’ tell him to buy me some shoes an’ clothes outen my shar’ of the
reward; but now I can’t have ’em. I wisht they would go off; for if
they tech them grip-sacks—”
Jake finished the sentence by pushing up his sleeves and looking
around for a club. The money was hidden but a short distance from that
very log, and if Tom and his cousins had found it Jake would have
rushed out and fought them single-handed before he would have given up
his claim to it. But things did not come to that pass. Ralph had come
upon the guns by the merest accident, and he and his friends did not
think to search for any other stolen property. They took the guns away
with them, and the minute they were out of sight Jake began to bestir
himself. He came out on his hands and knees, crawled past the empty
log, and disappeared among the bushes on the other side of it. While
Sam was trying to decide whether or not it would be quite safe to
follow him, Jake glided into view again, holding a valise under each
arm.
“There they are! Sure’s you’re born, there they are!” cried Sam, in
great excitement; and if he had uttered the words a little louder Jake
would have heard him. “Now, all I’ve got to do is to keep my eyes on
them things an’ never lose track of ’em agin.”
And Sam didn’t lose track of them, either, although Jake spent nearly
an hour in hunting up a safe hiding-place for them. He ran swiftly
from point to point, closely scrutinizing every log and thicket he
came to and stopping now and then to listen, and Sam followed him
wherever he went and saw all he did. At last Jake found a place to
suit him. A gigantic poplar had been overturned by the wind, and in
falling had pulled up a good portion of the earth in which its
far-reaching roots were embedded, thus forming a cavity so deep and
wide that Rube Royall’s cabin could have been buried in it, chimney
and all. Into this cavity Jake recklessly plunged, and when he came
out again fifteen minutes later his arms were empty. He had left the
valises behind.
“An’ he won’t never see ’em agin, nuther,” said Sam, gleefully.
“They’re mine now, an’ so is the money that’s into ’em.”
During the long hours he had spent in dogging his brother’s steps, Sam
Coyle had not been so highly excited as he was at this moment. When
Jake disappeared, apparently holding a direct course for Rube’s cabin,
Sam did not move. Impatient as he was to see the color of that money,
he was too wary to imperil his chances by doing any thing hasty.
“I can stay right yer till I get so hungry I can’t stay no longer,”
was his mental reflection; “but Jake’s got to show up purty soon,
’cause if he don’t, him an’ pap’ll have a furse. He told Jake, pap
did, that he wanted him to stay where he could get his hands onto him;
an’ when pap talks that-a-way, he means business. So I reckon Jake
will go a lumberin’ towards hum till he meets pap, an’ then he’ll
pertend that he’s been a-lookin for him.”
When this thought passed through Sam’s mind it occurred to him that he
had better not remain too long inactive, for this might be the last
opportunity he would ever have to remove the money from Jake’s
hiding-place to another of his own selection; so, after half an hour’s
waiting, Sam set himself in motion. He did not get upon his feet, nor
did he go directly toward the fallen poplar. He crawled along on his
stomach and made a wide detour, so as to approach the cavity on the
side opposite to that on which Jake had entered and left it. Of course
this took him a long time, but he made up for it by the readiness with
which he found the money when he arrived at the end of his toilsome
journey. A little prodding among the leaves at the foot of the poplar
brought the valises to light, and in ten minutes more they were hidden
in another place where Jake, when he discovered his loss, would never
think of looking for them. They were not shoved into a hollow log nor
covered up in the leaves. They were placed high among the thick
branches of an evergreen and tied fast there, so that the wind would
not shake them out.
“There,” said Sam, after he had made a circuit of the tree and viewed
it from all sides. “Nobody can’t find ’em now. They are mine, sure. I
reckon I’d best go to the cove an’ set down, ’cause pap’ll be along
directly.”
Sam had barely time to reach the cove and compose himself when Matt
put in an appearance. His first words explained why he had been so
long in getting there, and quieted the fear that suddenly sprang up in
Sam’s mind, that his father had been following him as he himself had
followed Jake.
“Haven’t I said all along that Rube wasn’t by no means the friend to
us that he pertends to be?” said the squatter, fiercely. “I didn’t run
as fur into the bresh as you boys an’ the ole woman did, but got
behind a log where I could see every thing that was done at the
shanty. I seen the sheriff’s men when they come outen the woods an’
surrounded the house, an’ purty quick along come Swan, watchin’ over
the two robbers an’ carryin’ a pistol in one hand an’ Jake’s canvas
canoe in the other. They waked Rube up, an’ he stood in the door an’
talked to ’em as friendly as you please. He showed ’em where we hid
the two skiffs we stole from Swan’s party on the day they burned our
camp at this here cove; an’ then one of the robbers an’ sheriff an’
five or six guides an’ constables got into ’em an’ pulled up to that
snag opposite Haskinses’ landin’, in the hope of findin’ them six
thousand dollars. But they had their trouble for their pains. Jakey
brought ’em up with your mam’s clothes-line last night, an’ hid ’em
somewheres around here. Seen any thing of Jake since you been here?”
“Nary thing,” replied Sam. “I was a wonderin’ why he didn’t come. You
told him to stay where you could get your hands onto him.”
“So I did, an’ this is the way he minds his pap, the ongrateful scamp.
I wanted him to meet me here an’ show me where that money is. He
needn’t think he’s goin’ to keep it all, even if he did capsize them
robbers. I’m the one who oughter have the care of it, bein’ as I’m the
head man of the house. Ain’t that so, Sammy?”
“Course it is. If I’d found it, I would have gone halvers with you.
How do you know Jake brung it up here an’ hid it?”
“’Cause I follered him. That’s what kept me out all night. I was
lookin’ for it when I heard Swan an’ the rest of the guides comin’. I
wisht Jakey would hurry up an’ come.”
“Say, pap,” exclaimed Sam. “Let’s me an’ you hunt for the money all by
ourselves. If we find it, we’ll hold fast to it an’ never give Jake a
cent to pay him for bein’ so stingy.”
“I’d like mighty well if we could do it,” answered Matt. “But I looked
high an’ low for it all last night, an’ not a thing that was shaped
like a grip-sack could I find. I’m jest done out with tiredness. You
look for it, Sammy, an’ I’ll lay down here an’ take a little sleep.”
Without waiting to hear whether or not this proposition was agreeable
to Sam, the squatter stretched his heavy frame upon the leaves, pulled
his remnant of a hat over his face and prepared for rest. Sam looked
curiously at him for a moment, then arose to his feet and disappeared.
He went straight to the log behind which Jake had concealed himself
when alarmed by Ralph Farnsworth’s approach, scraped a few leaves
together for a bed, and laid himself down upon it. But before he went
to sleep he made up his mind that he would not say a word to his
father about the loss of the guns; it would hardly be safe. Sam knew
that his father expected to make some money out of those guns, and
when he found that he could not do it, he would be apt to lose his
temper and try to take satisfaction out of somebody.
“That would be me,” soliloquized Sam, “’cause I am the nighest to his
hand. I guess I’d best pertend that I don’t know nothin’ about them
guns. Let pap find out for himself that they are gone, an’ then he’ll
think that Swan found ’em when he found the canoe.”
Having come to this decision Sam settled himself for a comfortable
nap, from which he was aroused an hour before dark by his father’s
stentorian voice. He got upon his feet and brushed the leaves from his
clothing before he answered.
“Well, what’s the use of yellin’ that-a-way an’ tellin’ Swan an’ all
the rest of the guides where you be?” shouted Sam. “Here I am.”
“Have you found the money?” asked Matt, in lower tones.
“Course not. If I had, I should ’a’ waked you up. ’Tain’t in these
here woods, pap, ’cause if there’s an inch of ’em that I ain’t peeped
into sence you’ve been asleep I don’t know where it is.”
“I tell you it is hid in these woods too,” said the squatter, angrily.
“Didn’t I foller Jake up here an’ hang around while he was hidin’ the
grip-sacks an’ the canoe?”
“Well, then was the time that you oughter jumped out an’ took it away
from him,” said Sam. “I’ll bet you the guides found it same’s they did
the canoe.”
“Now, jest listen at you! Wasn’t I hid in plain sight of them when
they was ferried acrost the outlet at the hatchery, an’ didn’t I take
pains to see that they didn’t have no grip-sacks with ’em? If I had
took it away from him by force he would have got mad an’ went an’ told
on me; don’t you see? I knowed that the only chance I had was to steal
the money unbeknownst to Jakey, an’ make him think the guides got it.
Looked in every place without findin’ it, did you? Well, there’s one
thing about it. If Jakey don’t come up here to-morrer an’ give me them
six thousand dollars, I’ll tell on him, an’ he shan’t live in my
family no longer. It’s most dark, Sammy, an’ time for me an’ you to be
a-lumberin’.”
“Where to?” inquired Sam.
“Why, to Rube’s, in course. We ain’t got no place else to go, have
we?”
“But what’s the sense in goin’ there when you know Rube ain’t friendly
to you?”
“Me an’ your mam talked it all over, an’ we know jest what we’re goin’
to do,” replied the squatter. “We’ve got to take to the woods now, an’
live like we done before Rube opened his shanty to us. We’re in danger
long’s we stay there, an’ this night will be the last one we shall
ever spend under his roof. But we’ve got to have some furnitur’ to put
into our shanty after we get it built, an’ we’ll try to get it of
Rube. I shall make enough outen them guns to buy the furnitur’, an’
then if Jake will come to his senses an’ give me the handlin’ of that
money we’ll live like fightin’ fowls; won’t we, Sammy?”
Aloud Sam said he thought they would; but to himself he said it would
be a long time before his father would have the handling of that
money. He intended to keep every dollar of it, although, for the life
of him, he could not make up his mind what he would do with it.
It was dark long before Sam and his father reached the cabin, and the
only member of the family they found there was the old woman, Rube
being at the hatchery on watch, and Jake having failed to “show up.”
That made Matt furious.
“Looks as if he meant to keep outen our way, find that money when he
gets a good ready, an’ take himself off,” exclaimed the squatter. “It
won’t work, that plan won’t. I ain’t fooled the sheriff an’ all his
constables for years an’ years to let myself be beat by one of my own
boys at last, I bet you. We’ll stay here to-night, ’cause we ain’t
nowhere else to go, an’ to-morrer we’ll buy some bed-furnitur’ an’
cookin’-dishes of Rube, an’ go to hidin’ in the woods agin. If Jakey
wants to live with us, he’d best bring them six thousand dollars with
him when he comes hum.”
The squatter went to sleep fully expecting to find the missing boy
occupying his shake-down when he awoke in the morning; but he was
disappointed. His absence alarmed Matt, who began to fear that Jake
had fallen into the hands of the constables; but a few cautious
questions propounded to Rube, when the latter came to breakfast, set
his fears on that score at rest.
“No; the sheriff didn’t ketch Jakey,” said the watchman, “but he was
clost after him, ’cause he knowed that Jakey was the chap who took the
robbers over the lake and spilled the grip-sacks into the water. How
did the sheriff find that out? The robbers told him, an’ described
Jake an’ his canoe so well that all the guides knew in a minute who
they would have to arrest. Where did Jake hide the money after he
fished it outen the lake?”
“How do you ’spose I know!” growled Matt.
“Who should know if you don’t?” replied Rube. “I seen you follerin’
him in a skiff.”
“Well,” said Matt, who saw it would be useless for him to deny it, “I
don’t know where he put the money, an’ I’m mighty sorry for it. Seen
any thing of Jake lately?”
“No, I ain’t, an’ what’s more I don’t expect to see him again very
soon, either. He’ll keep clear of me, for he knows that if I could
find him it would be my bounden dooty to take him up an’ lay claim to
part of the six hundred dollars reward. All you’ve got to do is to
make yourselves comfortable here in my house—”
“Well, we ain’t goin’ to make ourselves comfortable in your house no
longer,” interrupted Matt. “We’re thinkin’ of takin’ to the woods.”
“What for?”
“’Cause we don’t think it safe here so nigh the place the constables
come every time they go into the woods. We’d feel better if we was a
piece furder off from ’em.”
Rube carelessly inquired where his guest thought of going; but Matt
did not give him any satisfaction on that point. He thought he might
as well send word to the sheriff and be done with it. Then he broached
the subject of furniture, and found that, although Rube was quite
willing to sell what he did not need for his own use, he had one hard
condition to impose. Cash up and no trust had been his motto through
life, and he was too old to depart from it now. He wanted to see the
color of Matt’s money before he let a single thing go.
“That’s the way I’m workin’ it to keep him here till I can find them
guns,” thought the watchman, as he threw himself upon his shakedown.
“Matt ain’t got ten cents to his name; an’ where’s he goin’ to get it?
Winter’s comin’ on, an’ it would be the death of him an’ all his
family to take to the woods without something to wrap themselves up in
of nights, an’ so I reckon they’ll stay here with me for a while
longer. But I don’t know what to think about Jakey.”
Rube Royall was not the only one who did not know what to think of
him.