UNINVITED GUESTS
Another night of deep, restful sleep followed, and in the morning they
woke to find that it had snowed a good two inches already and was still
at it. There was enough wind, however, to clear the ice in places, and
they went skating again. A block of wood and three sticks gave them
an hour’s fun at shinny, during which Joe fell down on an average of
once a minute and occasioned no end of amusement for his companions. He
limped noticeably while getting dinner and, during that meal, paused
frequently to place a gentle inquiring hand on various surfaces. Later
they tried fishing again, the snow, now coming down in larger flakes
and in a more desultory fashion, adding to the enjoyment. Perhaps the
pickerel disliked being out in a snowstorm, for the boys sat around
the fire a long while, talking and listening to the hiss of the flakes
against the embers, without interruption until there came a faint
hail from across the lake and they descried dimly a horse and sleigh
outlined against the snowy bank beyond the distant turnpike and the
figure of a man standing at the edge of the ice.
“Better go and see what he wants,” said Bert, and they skated over. The
man on the shore was a big, burly, red-faced individual, in a rough
brown ulster and a peaked cloth cap. A second man remained in the
sleigh beyond.
“You boys been around here long?” asked the man gruffly.
“Since day before yesterday,” replied Bert. “We’re staying at Mr.
Norwin’s camp over there in the cove.”
The man rolled the remains of an unlighted cigar between his lips while
his eyes, small but very bright and keen, ranged over the lads. Then:
“Seen any one else around here this morning?” he asked.
“No, sir, not a soul,” Bert assured him.
The man’s gaze roamed across the lake and he nodded toward the deserted
cabins there. “Ain’t seen any one around any of those camps?”
“No, they’re closed up tight. We were around there yesterday.”
“Ain’t been around to-day, though, have you?”
“No, sir, not yet.”
The man nodded. “Guess I’d better take a look,” he said more to himself
than to them. “My name’s Collins,” he added then. “I’m Sheriff down to
Pemberton. A couple of thugs walked into Robbins’s hardware store at
North Pemberton last night about nine o’clock and got away with three
hundred and sixty-eight dollars in money and two Liberty Bonds. Old man
Robbins was working on his books and had his safe open. They cracked
him over the head and almost did for the old fellow.” To his hearers
it seemed that Mr. Sheriff Collins dwelt almost lovingly on the latter
portion of his narrative.
“That――that was too bad,” said Hal, rather lamely.
Mr. Collins grunted. “Guess he’ll pull through, though he’s pretty
old to get bumped like he did. Well, you fellows keep your eyes open
and if you see any suspicious characters around get in touch with my
office right away, understand. They might show up here. You can’t tell.
Last night’s snow came along pretty lucky for ’em, covering up their
foot-prints like it did. Guess if it hadn’t been for the snow I’d have
caught ’em before this.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bert, “we’ll keep a lookout. Only I don’t just see,”
he added dubiously, “how we could let you know if we did see them. I
don’t suppose there’s any telephone around here, is there?”
The Sheriff pursed his lips and studied the stub of cigar, which he
removed for the purpose. “Guess that’s so, too,” he acknowledged.
“There’s a ’phone at Old Forge, but that’s pretty nigh six miles. And
there’s one at Lincoln’s, up――no, there ain’t neither. He had it taken
out last summer ’cause the city folks was always runnin’ in there to
ring up Boston or New York or some place and always forgettin’ to pay
for it. Well, there’s telephones down to North Pemberton, anyway, and――”
“How far would that be?” asked Bert innocently.
The Sheriff blinked. “’Bout eight or nine miles, maybe, by road: ’bout
six if you take the trail.”
Bert grinned. “I’m afraid the robbers would get away before we reached
the telephone,” he said.
“That’s my lookout.” Sheriff Collins spoke sternly. “It’s your duty
as a citizen to let me know just as soon as you can if those fellers
turn up around here, and, mind, I’m holdin’ you to it.” He glared hard
a moment, rolling his soggy fragment of cigar in his mouth. Then he
nodded, turned and scrambled back up the slope to where the sleigh
awaited.
The boys skated back to the fire, replenished it and discussed the
exciting event. The sound of sleigh bells coming ever nearer told
them that Sheriff Collins was following the road around the lake to
the empty cabins. Presently it passed behind them and became fainter.
Joe looked thoughtfully along the curving shore. “You know,” he said,
“those robbers might be around. We don’t know that they aren’t.”
Bert sniffed. “Pshaw,” he said, “they wouldn’t stay around here. They’d
hike out for the city.”
Hal was thereupon prompted to tell just what he would do to throw
the bloodhounds of the Law off his track in case he had committed a
robbery, and then Bert indulged in a few theories, and thus a pleasant
half hour passed, during which the Sheriff’s sleigh jingled back and
past and out of hearing, presumably without the fugitives. Wearying
of the subject under discussion, Joe presently arose and slid out on
to the ice, where, thinking himself unobserved, he attempted a figure
eight and promptly sat down. The resultant concussion was sufficient to
attract the attention of the others, and Bert asked in a very disgusted
voice:
“Gee, Joe, aren’t you _ever_ going to learn to skate?”
“I don’t believe so,” replied Joe dolefully.
“Well, you never will until you _do_ believe it,” said Hal decidedly.
“You’ve got to have confidence, Joe. Just――just forget yourself a
minute, you dumb-bell; forget that you’re skating and strike out as
though you wanted to get somewhere and didn’t know you had skates on at
all! Just――just let your skates do it!”
That may have been excellent advice, but Joe didn’t act on it.
Discouragedly he returned to the dying fire. Bert viewed him with
disfavor.
“You’re scared,” he said. “That’s your main trouble. You’re afraid
you’ll fall.”
“So would you be if you were black-and-blue all over,” replied Joe
spiritedly. “I don’t mind falling now and then; anyway, I ain’t afraid;
but I don’t like to fall all the time!”
Hal laughed. “Why don’t you try tying a pillow behind you, Joe?”
Joe echoed the laugh, though faintly. “I guess it would have to be
a――what do you call it?――bolster!”
“We aren’t going to get any fish to-day,” said Bert, “and I’m getting
frozen. Let’s pull up the lines and go in.” Hal agreed, and, when the
lines were up, he and Bert started toward camp. “Aren’t you coming,
Joe?” Hal called.
“Not just yet,” Joe replied. “I guess I’ll stay out and――and fall down
awhile!”
The others went on, laughing, leaving Joe the sole occupant of the
broad frozen surface. It had stopped snowing now, and there was a
hint of color in the west that promised clearing. Joe started warily
down the lake, keeping near the shore where the wind had freakishly
swept the powdery snow from the ice and arranged it in long windrows
whose shadowed hollows were purpling with the twilight. It was, he
reflected, all well enough for Hal to tell him to have confidence,
but――here Joe’s arms described a windmill sweep in the air and he
narrowly escaped a tumble――how could you have confidence when you just
went off your feet every time you tried to skate faster than a walk?
There was, though, a good deal of persistent courage in his make-up,
and he kept on, rather more confident perhaps because he was safe from
observation. He rounded the turn and could see, far ahead, the little
bridge that spanned the outlet. As he floundered on, awkwardly but with
grim determination, he passed the empty, shuttered cabins. They looked
lonesome and eerie in the gathering shadows, and he recalled with a
little nervous thrill the visit of the Sheriff and his mission.
Back in the camp, Hal aroused the smouldering fire in the chimney place
and he and Bert, having removed their damp mackinaws and damper boots,
drew chairs to the fire and sank luxuriously into them. “Funny about
Joe,” observed Bert, after a silence. “You’d think a fellow as old as
he is――sixteen, isn’t he?――would have learned to skate better.”
“That’s so,” Hal agreed. “He can do other things though.”
“Sure,” said Bert, grinning. “Like cooking.”
“Yes, and――say, Bert, I wonder if we’re putting it on him a bit. Making
him do the cooking. Maybe we ought to take turns.”
“I don’t believe he minds,” answered the other, comfortably. “Besides,
neither of us could do it, I guess. There he comes now. Let’s hope he
hasn’t busted any of his arms or legs!”
But it wasn’t Joe who threw open the door and entered. It was a
stranger. And it was a second stranger who entered on his heels and
closed the door behind him. They were an unattractive couple; one
small, wiry, smirking; the other thickset, dark-visaged and scowling.
They wore thick woolen sweaters under their jackets, but their shoes
were thin and it wasn’t difficult to surmise that when they continued
their journey they would be more appropriately clad for the weather,
and at the expense of the occupants of the camp. Neither of the boys
had a moment’s doubt as to the identity of the visitors. The Sheriff’s
story was too fresh in their minds. It was Hal who found his voice
first and gave them a dubious “Hello!”
The men waived amenities, however, and the big one spoke. “Say, kids,
we’re hikin’ down to Weston an’ we’re sort of up against it. Get me?
We ain’t had nothin’ to eat since mornin’ an’ we’re fair perishin’. We
seen the smoke an’ come over to see could we get a snack.”
“Why, yes, we can give you something to eat,” answered Hal, a trifle
tremulously, “but we haven’t started supper yet. If you want to wait――”
“Aw, where do you get that stuff?” interrupted the smaller man,
thrusting forward to the fire and holding his hands to the warmth. “We
ain’t society folks, bo. We can eat any time!”
“Shut up, Slim,” growled his companion. “Sure, we’ll wait. Somethin’
hot’s what I’m cravin’, an’ not no cold hand-out.”
“Say, listen――” began the other, but he stopped at a menacing scowl and
only muttered, darting a nervous look toward a window. Bert and Hal
had exchanged troubled glances that had in some manner established the
understanding that Hal was to do the talking and Bert was to take his
cue from him. Hal pulled another chair to the hearth.
“Better get warm,” he suggested. “It――it’s sort of cold, isn’t it?” He
seated himself on Bert’s cot, yielding his chair to the man called Slim.
“You said it,” agreed the bigger man almost amiably, as the chair
creaked under his weight. “You guys live here all the time?”
“Oh, no, we’re just here for a few days. We’re from Central City.”
“Huh, must be sort of lonely.”
Hal agreed that it was, sort of. He was doing a good deal of thinking,
a lot more than he was accustomed to, was Hal; and he was ready for the
next question when it came.
“Guess you don’t have many visitors,” went on the man with assumed
carelessness. “Bet you ain’t seen a stranger, before us, for days.”
Hal laughed with a fine imitation of amusement. “You lose, then. There
was a man here just this afternoon; two of them, in fact.” He heard
the smaller visitor draw his breath in sharply, but his amused look
didn’t waver from the other man’s face. The latter narrowed his eyes
suspiciously.
“That so? Two of ’em, eh? What did they want?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Hal carelessly. “Something about a robbery
somewhere. Where’d he say it was, Bert?”
“Pemberton, wasn’t it?” asked Bert uninterestedly.
“Yes, I guess it was. One of the men said he was a sheriff. They didn’t
stay long. Went around the lake and came out again and drove off toward
Thompson.”
“Lookin’ for a robber, was he?” asked the big man calmly. “Well, say,
I hope he catches him. There’s a heap too many yeggs round the country
nowadays. Ain’t that so, Slim?” Slim agreed unenthusiastically that
it was. Slim didn’t look, however, as though he enjoyed the subject.
He sat on the edge of his chair and failed to share his companion’s
apparent comfort. “Thompson’s about twelve miles, ain’t it?” continued
the other idly.
“Thirteen, I think,” replied Hal. “Gee, I wouldn’t much care about
chasing robbers this kind of weather. Bet that sheriff won’t get back
to Pemberton before morning.”
“Ain’t that a shame?” commented the man. “Say, I ain’t meanin’ to butt
in, sonny, but what about the eats? We got a fair ways to go yet. Get
me? Lineville’s our next stop.”
“I’ll start supper right off,” said Hal. “Must be ’most time, anyway.”
He raised his voice and spoke with surprising heartiness. Had the man
been watching him just then, which he wasn’t, having transferred his
gaze momentarily to the leaping flames, he might almost have thought
that Hal was trying to make his tones carry beyond the further window
on which his eyes were set. “I don’t know how good it’ll be, though,
for, you see, the fellow that’s our regular cook has gone to North
Pemberton, and I guess he won’t be back yet awhile. But I’ll do――”
“Eh?” exclaimed the big man startledly. “North Pemberton? What’s he
gone there for?”
“We get our groceries there,” answered Hal, rising from the cot,
stretching and moving aimlessly toward the front of the cabin. “It’s
about eight miles, I guess, and he isn’t likely to get back for a
couple of hours.” Hal stopped at one of the two windows and stared
out. “Hope he don’t get lost coming back. It’s as black as my pocket
to-night.”
It was black, if one excepted the lake. That was darkly gray, and the
moving form close to the nearer shore was momentarily visible ere it
melted into the shadows. Hal turned away from the window. “Well,” he
announced cheerfully, “guess we might as well light up.”