THE CACHE
Mr. Oliver came home soon after the boys' visit to the island, and when
he had heard Harry's narration of their adventures he made him tell it
over again in the presence of Mr. Barclay, whom he had brought back with
him. They were sitting in the log-walled kitchen in the evening with
their chairs drawn up about the stove, and Mr. Barclay, holding his pipe
in his hand, listened gravely.
"Well," he said, when Harry had finished, "you seem to be considerably
more fortunate in these matters than I am. You have seen the schooner
several times, and other interesting things, while I haven't even had a
glimpse of the man with the high shoulder yet. I suppose I'll have to
admit at last that I've been upon his trail for some time and have made
some progress."
"You might as well have admitted it in the beginning," retorted Harry.
"Some folks progress slow."
Mr. Barclay's eyes twinkled. "As a rule, it's difficult to hustle the
Government of the United States, and I'm inclined to think the same
thing applies to that of other countries. However, as I said, we have
got ahead a little at the other end. For example, we have a tolerably
accurate notion where the dope goes."
"Then why don't you corral everybody who has anything to do with it?"
Mr. Barclay's gesture seemed to beg the boy's forbearance.
"It's a sensible question. For one thing, strictly speaking, it's not my
particular business which is really to sit in an office and dictate
instructions most of the time. To some extent, these jaunts I've had
with your father have been undertaken by way of innocent relaxation,
although they may prove useful in case certain gentlemen send me along a
list of peremptory questions on which they want reports. They do things
of that kind now and then."
"I didn't think it was your business to take a smuggler by the neck and
haul him along to the sheriff," said Harry with a reproachful air.
"Still, you could call out your subordinates and send them off to round
up the dope crowd, couldn't you? There must be some official machinery
for doing that kind of thing."
"There is," assented Mr. Barclay, refilling his pipe. "The trouble is
that it makes a certain amount of commotion, and when silence is
important you have to be careful how you set it to work. As a rule, it's
wiser to have everything ready first. The most careful plans fail
sometimes if your assistants are more keen than judicious. That"--and he
smiled at the boys--"is why I was dubious about taking you into my
confidence before."
"Thank you, sir," said Harry with ironical courtesy. "Do you mind making
what you mean to do a little plainer?"
"I'll try. In the first place, smuggling doesn't seem to be considered a
crime unless you're caught at it. In fact, a Government of any kind is
generally looked upon as fair game, and few people think much the worse
of a man who succeeds in doing it out of part of its revenue. How far
that idea's right or wrong doesn't concern me. What I must do is to
prevent it from being acted on too often, and, taking the notion for
granted; we don't want to put the laugh upon ourselves if it can be
avoided."
Harry made a sign of comprehension. "Still, if you sent your people down
here they should be able to corral part of the gang."
"I agree with you," Barclay answered dryly. "It's possible, anyway--but
what would the result be? Three or four persons of no importance might
be seized, the rest would get away with a warning, and our plans would
all be sprung." Then the stout, good-humored man seemed to change, for
his expression suddenly hardened and a look which the boys had never
noticed there before crept into his eyes. "No, sir. We want them all,
and when we move we expect to gather in the whole rascally combination."
"How can we butt in?"
"With your father's permission, you might, in the first place, invite me
to an evening's flight shooting."
"Wouldn't it be better to go across the island in the daytime with the
dog and Jake and a couple of spades?"
"No," replied Mr. Barclay. "If my opinion's of any value, I don't think
it would be wise. Besides, I understand that the best time for getting a
shot at flighting ducks is in the twilight."
Miss Oliver laughed softly. "Enterprise is a good thing, and so is
self-confidence," she broke in. "On the other hand, I fancy that one can
have too much of them, and a headstrong impatience is one of the faults
of the young West."
Mr. Oliver looked at Harry, who grew a trifle red.
"There's truth in that," he remarked. "On the whole it might be better
to leave all arrangements to the man in charge and just do what he
suggests."
"Sure," assented Harry, and as he offered no more suggestions the matter
was decided with a few more words.
Late in the next afternoon the boys set out with Mr. Barclay in the
sloop, and as what wind there was blew off the land they crept along
close in with the beach, which was high and rocky and shrouded with
thick timber. When they drew abreast of the island the tide was higher
than it had been on the last occasion, but Mr. Barclay said that they
had better leave the sloop in the little bay in front of them and cross
the channel in the canoe. He was a heavy man, and when he cautiously
dropped into the craft her stern sank ominously near the water.
"You'll have to get farther forward and sit quite still," said Harry in
a tone of authority, but with an amused look.
He took his place astern with Frank, who picked up the other paddle, in
the bow, and a stroke or two drove them out into the rippling tide. It
was growing dark, though the sky overhead was softly blue and there was
a glimmer of pale saffron around part of the horizon. To the eastward
the moon was just appearing above a bank of cloud. The wind, which had
freshened, blew very cold, and Frank shivered until the paddling warmed
him and he found that he could spare no thought for anything else. The
tide was running over the shallows with a ripple that splashed
perilously high about the side of the deeply loaded canoe, and now and
then whirling eddies drove them off their course. Once, too, they ran
aground, and Harry had to get in knee-deep to shove the craft off, while
when they approached the end of the island they had to struggle hard for
several minutes against the stream which broke into little frothing
waves, during which the canoe got very wet. They came through, however,
and reaching smoother water ran the canoe in and pulled her out, after
which Frank was about to walk off up the beach when Harry stopped him.
"One learns by experience, and I don't feel like swimming," he observed.
"We'll carry her right up and hide her in the bushes."
They did so with some difficulty and Harry afterward waited until Mr.
Barclay spoke.
"We came out shooting," said the latter. "I don't see any reason why we
shouldn't get a duck."
He turned to Harry, as if to ascertain whether he objected to this, but
the boy laughed.
"If you don't know of any, I needn't bother about the thing," he
answered. "There's a moderate breeze right off the beach and the guns
couldn't be heard far to windward."
"I'm not sure I'd mind them being heard if anybody chanced to be about.
It might save the inquisitive stranger from wondering what we were doing
here, and the excuse strikes me as a nicer one than going swimming late
at night in front of a Siwash rancherie."
Harry chuckled. "Wait until you fall over your boot tops into a pool, or
follow a crippled duck through the water."
"I shall endeavor to avoid the first thing," said Mr. Barclay. "There's
a remedy for the other, so long as I've two assistants."
They went back to the beach and waited there some time until Frank heard
a regular beat of wings, and a drawn-out wedge of dusky bodies appeared
above the trees dotted upon the sky. He was farthest from them and he
watched Mr. Barclay, who had brought a gun with him, standing, an
indistinct, half-seen figure thirty or forty yards away. At last the man
threw up his arms, there was a quick yellow flash, a crash, and then a
second streak of flame leaping from the smoke. After that there followed
two distinct and unmistakable thuds, and Frank pitched up his gun as
Harry fired. He heard two jarring reports and running forward saw Mr.
Barclay pick up a bird that had fallen almost at his feet.
"There's another over yonder," the latter remarked.
Harry found it in a minute or two and handed it to him.
"One with each barrel!" he said, and added with a rueful laugh, "I don't
see any more about."
"Then I think we'll take a look around the island," Mr. Barclay
answered.
He left the beach with the boys, but they dropped behind him and let him
take the lead when they reached the scrubby firs which were scattered
more or less thickly about the rocky ground. Frank fancied that Harry
had some reason for doing this and the supposition was confirmed when
Mr. Barclay stopped a moment beside a brake of withered fern and then,
after stooping down, carefully skirted it as he went on again. The sky
was clear, and though the moon was in its first quarter it shed a faint
elusive light.
"That man can shoot, and it looks as if he was quite as smart at picking
up a trail," said Harry in a low tone. "Anyway, if I'd been looking for
a stranger's tracks I'd have tried yonder fern and I'd have been as
particular not to smash any of it down as he was. I've an idea he must
have chuckled sometimes when I got guying him." He paused and added
thoughtfully, "It's the kind of fool thing you're apt to do unless
you're careful."
After this they spent a considerable time wandering up and down a
portion of the island, though Frank fancied that Mr. Barclay, who asked
Harry a question now and then, had some purpose that guided him. The
moonlight was too dim and the shadows among the trees too dense for him
to follow a trail steadily, but he seemed to be prospecting for likely
places where footprints or broken-down undergrowth might be found. At
length they reached a little stony hollow, with a rock that rose some
six or seven feet on one side and dark firs clustering close about it.
Here Mr. Barclay stopped and looked about him before he turned to Harry.
"Now," he said, "this is a spot that could be easily described and
located by anybody who happened to be told about it. That rock would
make a first-class mark. If you had anything to bury for somebody else
to dig up, where would you put it?"
Harry walked about the place, stepping carefully upon the stones and
avoiding the scattered underbrush, until he reached a clump of withered
fern.
"Right here," he replied, and kneeling down pulled some of the yellow
fronds about. Then he looked up sharply. "This stuff's very dead and
it's lying flat," he exclaimed. "Farther on the stems aren't broken and
some of them don't seem quite dried up yet."
Frank acknowledged that these were things he would not have noticed, but
Mr. Barclay nodded.
"Somebody else may have fixed on the same spot as you have done," he
said. "It's possible, though I don't think it's more than that. There
might be half a dozen similar places on the island, but if you'll handle
the fern carefully it wouldn't do any harm to make a hole."
They had brought a light spade with them, and after Harry had cleared
the ground Frank set to work with it. He had taken out only a few
shovelfuls of soil and shingle when he gave a cry of surprise as he
struck something that seemed more solid.
Harry and Mr. Barclay stooped down beside him. The latter struck a match
and lighted a piece of paper he took from his pocket, and before it went
out Frank had cleared the soil away from the top of a small wooden case.
"It's rather more than I could have reasonably expected," said Mr.
Barclay, "but when you haven't much to act upon it's wise to make the
most of what you've got and leave the rest to chance. Now you may as
well shovel that dirt back."
"Aren't you going to take the thing out?" Frank asked in astonishment.
"No," replied Mr. Barclay, "I don't think it's necessary. It wouldn't be
the first time I'd seen opium and we don't want to leave too plain a
trail behind us. As we have spent some time on the island already,
hadn't you better get to work?"
Frank flung back the soil and when he had finished Harry replaced the
loose fern which he had carefully laid aside. He did not, however, seem
satisfied with the way he had arranged it and when he looked up at Mr.
Barclay his manner was diffident.
"I'm afraid I can't do any better in the dark," he said.
"It will probably be dark when the next man comes along," Mr. Barclay
answered. "Anyway, the first breeze of wind or heavy rain will
straighten things up. In the meanwhile we'll get back to the sloop."
They turned away, but they had scarcely gone a hundred yards when Mr.
Barclay put his hand into his pocket and stopped.
"I've dropped my pipe," he said. "It was rather a good one."
"Then I know where it is," Frank broke in. "You must have pulled it out
with the paper. I heard something fall, but I was too interested to
bother about it. If you'll wait, I'll go back and get it."
The others sat down when he left them, but he spent some minutes
scrambling about near the fern before the faint gleam of a silver band
upon the pipe caught his eye. Picking it up he turned back to rejoin his
companions, and a few moments later he reached an opening between the
firs by which they had left the hollow. The trees rose in black and
shadowy masses on either side, but their ragged tops cut sharply against
the sky, and a faint, uncertain light shone down into the gap between
them. Soon after he strode into it Frank stopped abruptly, for there was
a crackle of dry twigs and a soft rustle somewhere in front of him, and
he could think of no reason why Harry or Mr. Barclay should come back.
If they had wanted him to do anything they could have called him.
He felt his nerves tingle as he stood and listened. The sound had ceased
and he could only hear the wind among the firs whose tops rustled
eerily. But presently the unmistakable fall of a heavy foot came out of
the shadows. Then he shrank back instinctively a pace or two into deeper
gloom, for there was no doubt that somebody was approaching, and while
he waited a black figure appeared in the opening not far in front of
him. The faint light was behind the man and he showed up against it dim
and indistinct, but Frank realized that he was not Mr. Barclay. He
looked taller and less heavily built. Then the boy dropped noiselessly
and held his breath, for a brittle branch had cracked under him. The
stranger stopped and seemed to be gazing about him.
He moved on again, however, and Frank turned his face toward the ground,
fearing that it might show white in the gloom, but it was only by a
determined effort that he held himself still and mastered the desire to
crawl back farther into the shadow. He knew that if he yielded to it he
would be on his feet in another moment and might break away into the
bush or do something else which he would afterward regret. He realized
that Mr. Barclay and Harry must have seen the stranger and had for some
reason kept out of sight and let him go by.
In the meanwhile the man was drawing nearer and Frank made out that he
was carrying something. It seemed almost impossible that he could pass
without seeing the boy, and the effort it cost the latter to lie still
became more arduous. It would have been an unspeakable relief even to
spring up and face the stranger with empty hands. Then he drew level,
and once more Frank set his lips as he listened to the footsteps. At
every moment he expected them suddenly to stop. They continued, however,
and although, since he dared not turn, he could not see the man now, it
was clear that he had passed.
Frank waited a minute or two longer and then rose softly with a gasp of
fervent relief. He was annoyed to feel that he was still quivering with
the tension and he stood still a few moments to regain his composure
before he went quietly back toward his companions. As he neared the spot
where he had left them Mr. Barclay stepped out from behind a tree.
"You met that man?" he asked.
"Yes," said Frank, "that is, I saw him coming and kept out of the way.
He walked close by me and I think he was carrying a spade."
"He was," Mr. Barclay assented. "I was afraid he might surprise you, but
we couldn't shout and warn you without alarming him, which I didn't want
to do for one or two reasons. We'll wait here until he's through with
the business that brought him."
He drew Frank farther back among the trees and soon after they sat down
a faint rustling followed by a clatter of stones reached them from the
hollow. There was no doubt that the man was digging up the case. Harry,
who was lying near Frank's feet, moved restlessly and at length he rose.
"That fellow's certainly one of the gang," he said. "I don't see why we
shouldn't get him. Frank and I could work around behind the hollow and
head him off while you walk in."
"Well," said Mr. Barclay dryly, "what would follow?"
"You could have him sent up."
"I daresay I could. What would be the use of it?"
"You'd have got one of them, anyway."
"Sure," said Mr. Barclay, "and I'd have scared off all the rest. I
suppose I must be greedy, but I wouldn't be content with one bush
chopper who probably only takes a hand in now and then. As I believe I
told you, I'm after the whole gang."
Harry said nothing further for a while, and then he stopped and
listened.
"He's coming back," he whispered.
The sound of footsteps came out of the shadow, and presently Frank saw
a dusky figure pass among the trees carrying something upon its shoulder
besides the spade. They waited until there was silence again and then
moved quietly back to the beach, from which they saw a canoe cross the
channel. Half an hour later they paddled across and duly reached the
sloop.
"If that man had known she was here he would probably not have gone,"
Mr. Barclay observed. "As he didn't see her when there was a little
light left, it's reasonable to suppose he couldn't have noticed her
coming back in the dark, and on the whole I'm satisfied with the result
of the trip. But it might be better if you went somewhere else for your
flight shooting after this."
Then they set the mainsail and started back for the cove, keeping close
in along the beach.