MR. OLIVER OUTWITS HIS WATCHERS
A day or two after they had got back to the ranch Mr. Oliver asked the
boys if they would like another trip, and as both of them preferred it
to grubbing stumps they paddled off to the canoe with him the same
evening. A fresh breeze sprang up as the sun went down, and they had a
fast and rather wet sail. Daylight was breaking across the scattered
pines when the party left the sloop and walked up a trail within sight
of a little lonely settlement.
As they approached it a harsh clanking and the tolling of a bell rose
from behind the trees, and they had to wait while a locomotive and a
string of freight cars jolted across the trail into a neighboring side
track. When the train had passed Mr. Oliver and his companions crossed
the rails and entered a desolate flag station, which consisted of a
roughly boarded, iron-roofed shack and a big water tank. In front of it
was an open space strewn with fir stumps, and beyond the latter three or
four frame houses rose among the trees. The door of the shack was shut,
and while they stood outside it the sound of an approaching train grew
steadily louder and a jet of steam blew noisily from the valve of the
locomotive waiting in the side track.
"A Seattle train," said Mr. Oliver. "They don't seem to be flagging her
and she probably won't stop."
Frank stood looking about him with a curious stirring of his heart.
There was a gaudy poster pasted up on the shack announcing cheap tickets
to Seattle, with a line or two about a circus and some attraction at an
opera house. In the meanwhile the scream of a whistle came ringing
across the shadowy trees and the boy was troubled by the familiar sights
and sounds. The wet rails, the freight cars, and the brilliant poster
reminded him of the cities he had turned his back upon some time ago.
Then, though the daylight was rapidly growing clearer, a big blazing
lamp broke out from among the firs with a cloud of steam streaming
behind it, and a locomotive and a row of clanging cars swept through the
depot. The lights from the windows flashed into Frank's face, flickered
upon the shack and rows of stumps, and grew dim again, after which the
din receded and came throbbing back fainter and fainter. As he listened
to it, a sudden fierce longing seized the boy. He wanted to hear the
clamor of the cities again, to see the big stores and the hurrying
crowds. Almost a year had elapsed since he had even seen a train, and a
journey of two or three hours would take him back to the stir and bustle
of civilization away from the constant monotonous toil with ax and saw
in the lonely bush.
He wondered what his people were doing in Boston. In the winter season
there were festivities and gayety there, and he had once enjoyed them
with his old companions who had most likely forgotten him. Some had gone
into business, two were at Harvard, and another had entered the army;
but he stood, dressed in miry long boots and old well-mended garments
still damp with salt water, in a little desolate depot in the
wilderness. He fancied that he was justified in feeling rather sorry for
himself.
Then with an effort he drove these thoughts away. After all, his place
was not in the cities. He had no money and there was nobody to give him
a fair start in life, while he admitted that it was very doubtful that
he had any talent for business. He might, perhaps, become a clerk or
something of the kind, but it once more occurred to him that he was
better off in the bush. Indeed, though he scarcely realized this, the
bush had already made a striking change in him, and it is possible that
his eastern friends would have had trouble in recognizing him as the
pale lad they had sent away to Minneapolis. His face was bronzed and
resolute, he was taller, tougher, and broader around the chest, and he
could now toil all day at a task which would once have broken him down
in a couple of hours. Then he started as he noticed that Mr. Oliver was
looking at him with a smile.
"You seem to be thinking rather hard," the rancher remarked.
"I was," Frank admitted hesitatingly. "It was the train that put the
ideas into my mind."
"I fancied it might be something of that description," said Mr. Oliver.
"She'd soon have taken you up to Seattle, and nowadays it's a very short
run to Chicago, where you could get on to one of the Atlantic flyers. I
suppose you feel that you'd like to make the journey?"
"I did--for a minute or two," Frank confessed with an embarrassed smile.
"Then, of course, I realized that it was impossible."
Somewhat to his astonishment, Mr. Oliver laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"The wish was very natural, but stay where you are, my lad. There's more
room out here in the Western bush, and you're making progress. This is
going to be a great country, and you won't be sorry you came out in a
few more years."
"I'm not sorry now," Frank answered sturdily, with a flush in his face.
Mr. Oliver turned away as the agent opened the door of his shack, and
they went into the little, untidy office.
"I want to send a message south," said Mr. Oliver, writing something on
a form. "It's a code address. I suppose I could get an answer in an hour
or so?"
"Oh, yes," said the agent. "They'll be beginning to move about in
Seattle now, and if the man's in his office there'll be no delay. In the
meanwhile they would give you a good breakfast at the hotel."
Mr. Oliver thanked him, and as they left the depot two men whom they had
not noticed hitherto met them. Mr. Oliver glanced at them sharply, but
he did not speak, and a few minutes later they sat down to an excellent
meal in the primitive wooden hotel. When they had finished the
proprietor strolled in and sat down for a chat with them.
"Is there much going on about the place?" Mr. Oliver asked, offering him
a cigar.
"Yes," said the hotelkeeper, accepting the proffered cigar with
alacrity, "we've struck quite a boom. There's a man clearing a lot of
ground for a fruit ranch and putting up a smart frame house. Then
they're cutting a couple of new trails. The boys are making good wages
and they're all of them busy."
"I saw two men just now who didn't seem to have much to do," said Mr.
Oliver carelessly, and Harry gave his companion a nudge with his elbow.
"They don't belong here," was the answer. "One of them lives down the
beach and does some fishing with his boat. The other man came in from
the South yesterday on the cars, and I don't know what he's after. I
told him I could put him on to a job and he said he didn't want it."
"As they're together, he's probably going in for fishing with the first
one," Mr. Oliver suggested.
The hotelkeeper pursed his lips and looked as if he were solving a hard
problem.
"It's a puzzle to me how Larry makes a living. It's only now and then he
sends a little fish away, and I can't see what he'd do with a partner."
Then he changed the subject. "You're thinking of buying land?"
"No," said Mr. Oliver, "I sailed over in my boat to dispatch a wire. It
was much easier than riding a long way to the nearest office now that
the trails are soft."
"They're bad, sure," assented his companion, and they continued to
discuss ranching until Mr. Oliver finally rose and said he would walk
across to the depot. The boys followed him a few paces behind. Harry
addressed his companion with a look of admiration for his father.
"I guess you noticed how dad found out about those fellows without
letting the man think he was curious?" he said.
Frank said that he had noticed it and added:
"I wonder what the fellow came up from the South for?"
"That," said Harry significantly, "is a point I expect dad's doing some
hard thinking on just now."
They walked into the agent's office and sat down to wait as he told them
that he had as yet received no answer to the telegram. The door near
which Frank sat stood partly open, and he noticed that the two men were
lounging close outside it. He quietly touched Mr. Oliver's arm,
indicating them with a glance. The rancher knitted his brows and
presently spoke to the agent.
"There are two men who seem to be waiting for you outside," he said.
The agent walked across to the door.
"Back again, Larry!" he said impatiently. "What's the matter now?"
"When's that fish box of mine coming along?" the man inquired.
"I don't know," said the agent. "Next freight, most likely, if it's been
delivered to us at the other end."
"Won't you wire up the line about it?"
"No," said the agent. "If you'll put up the stamps I'll wire to the fish
store you billed it to."
The man looked indignant. "I tell you it's in the railroad's hands. Do
you think I've nothing better to do than hang about this depot every
time a freight comes through?" He paused a moment with his eyes on the
ground, then went on: "Anyway, now I'm on the spot I may as well wait
for the next one. She should be along in about an hour. Won't you let me
in?"
The telegraph instrument began to click just then and the agent turned
toward him sharply.
"There's no room. You can wait at the hotel."
"Perhaps the message is about his box," broke in the other man.
Frank glanced around at them. They were dressed like most of the bush
choppers in rough working clothes and there was nothing particularly
noticeable in their appearance, but he fancied that they had some reason
for wishing to get into the office.
"No, sir," said the agent. "They don't wire about the delivery of an
empty box on this road. Get out! I want to shut the door."
Frank noticed that one of the loungers had thrust his foot against the
post, but the agent, seeming to lose his temper, slammed the door on it.
The man withdrew it with an exclamation, and the agent turned toward the
instrument which was now clicking rapidly. He tapped an answering
signal, and then wrote upon a strip of paper which he handed Mr. Oliver.
The latter read the message and handed it to the boys.
"_First route unsatisfactory second preferred_," it
ran. "_Meet me nine to-night Everett if possible._"
Frank was puzzled, but he fancied that Harry understood the message
better than he did.
"Thanks," said Mr. Oliver, addressing the agent. "Your two friends
outside seemed uncommonly anxious about that box."
"That's a fact," said the agent. "Larry was worrying me about it before
it was light. I don't know the fellow who came along with him, but it
struck me that he was listening to the instrument as if he understood
it, though he couldn't have heard more than the depot call. Of course,"
he added thoughtfully, "'most any one who had worked on a railroad would
know the code, but I can't figure why they should make so much fuss
about a box that's scarcely worth a dollar."
"It's curious," Mr. Oliver answered indifferently. "You might lend me
your train schedule."
The agent gave him the company's time bill, which also included the
coast steamboat sailings, and Mr. Oliver walked back with the boys to
the hotel. There was nobody in the general room when they reached it,
and they sat down near the stove.
"Now," he began, "as we have taken you into our confidence and it's
probable that you can help, you may as well understand the situation
thoroughly. The message was, of course, from Barclay, though it bears a
clerk's name, and it means that Porteous has opened the letter you left
him. I fancy he'll regret it, but that is by the way. Barclay received
the second letter untampered with, and the rest is plain enough. The
only question is how I'm to keep the appointment without putting the
fellows at the depot on my track."
"You believe they're in league with the smugglers?" Frank inquired.
Mr. Oliver smiled. "It seems very likely. Here's a man who keeps a boat,
and, as you have heard, folks wonder how he makes a living by his
fishing. If the boat's moderately fast you can imagine how useful he
would be to the smugglers by taking messages from place to place and
communicating with the schooner. Then we have another man who seems able
to read the telegraph turning up and trying to hear Barclay's message."
"But how could they have learned that you expected it?" Frank asked.
"I'm not sure. Porteous may have suspected something and sent a mounted
man off to wire one of the gang. Besides, the fellow who has the boat
may have been across with her. It wouldn't be hard to surmise that I
would wire from here, though they may have had a man watching the
nearest office I could have reached by land on horseback." He paused a
moment and looked at the boys gravely. "All this points to the fact that
we're up against a big and remarkably well-organized gang."
Frank had no doubt that Mr. Oliver was right, but he asked a question:
"Why did Barclay choose Everett when it's so far from the field of their
operations?"
"That's exactly why he fixed on it. There would be less probability of
somebody connected with the gang recognizing us, and I've met him there
already. The fact that he doesn't mention any particular hotel should
have told you that; but what we have to consider is how I'm to get there
without these fellows following me. It's important that I should be back
at the ranch as soon as possible, and you and Harry must manage to
arrive there the first thing to-morrow."
Frank understood the necessity for this. The nights were long, the bush
was lonely, and Mr. Oliver's wooden house and barns, which had cost him
a good deal of money, would readily burn, while now, when there was only
Jake to take care of them, they would be more or less at the smugglers'
mercy. Then Harry, who in the meanwhile, had been examining the
schedule, looked up.
"I've an idea," he said. "There's a train goes south in the afternoon,
and a steamboat which calls at Everett goes up the Sound this evening.
Well, suppose we order dinner here and start for Bannington's a little
before the cars come in. The steamboat would stop to pick up there if
she's signaled, and with this breeze we should get down shortly before
she passes."
Mr. Oliver turned to Frank.
"How does that strike you?" he asked.
"The trouble is that the other men would follow us in their boat," the
boy objected. Then a light dawned upon him as he saw the twinkle in Mr.
Oliver's eyes. "You mean that's what Harry intended them to do?"
"Exactly!" Harry broke in with a grin. "They raise brainy folks in
Boston, and you're getting hold. Those fellows will get after us as soon
as they can hoist sail on their boat and we'll give them a run for it.
The point is that while they're following us dad will be on the cars."
"But how is he going to elude them?"
"That," Harry admitted sagely, "wants some thinking out."
They made their plans in the next half-hour, and some time after dinner
was over walked toward the beach. Nobody seemed to be following them,
though they could not be sure of this since the trail wound about
through the bush, but when they reached the canoe another boat which
they had not noticed on arriving lay moored a few hundred yards away.
They were obliged to carry the canoe down some distance over very rough
stones, and on reaching the water's edge Mr. Oliver took a quick glance
about him.
"I'm afraid one plan's spoiled," he said.
The boys glanced back toward the trail and Frank saw two figures saunter
out on to the beach. Harry frowned as he glanced at them.
"You can't slip back into the bush without their seeing you," he warned.
"No," said Mr. Oliver. "Still, I think there's a means of getting over
the difficulty. Shove the canoe in. They'll have to carry their boat
down, and our boat's lying nearer the head yonder than theirs is."
Frank did not understand how the rancher intended to evade his pursuers
and fancied that Harry was not much wiser. They had soon launched the
canoe, however, and were paddling off to the sloop, running the mainsail
up in haste. Then the boys set the jib as she drew out from the beach,
and Frank noticed that the other men were hoisting sail upon their boat
as fast as they could manage it. The sloop, however, was already some
distance away from them, and it was not long before she picked up a
freshening breeze. Lying well over to it she gathered speed, and close
to lee of her Frank saw a low, rocky head, down the face of which
straggled stunted pines and underbrush. He fancied that she would be
hidden from their pursuers when she had sailed around the end of it, but
on glancing back as they approached the corner he saw that the other men
had started after them. They were three or four minutes behind, but he
had no idea yet how Mr. Oliver meant to elude them. He was still
wondering about it when the rancher spoke to him.
"Get hold of the canoe painter," he ordered. "The moment we're around
the corner we'll haul her up and you'll put me ashore. You'll have to be
smart about it, because you must be back on board before the other boat
rounds the head."
Harry had already taken the helm, and the sloop was sailing very fast,
with the canoe lurching and splashing over the short seas astern of her.
They broke in a broad fringe of foam upon the stony beach thirty or
forty yards to lee, and as the boat swept on the bay behind closed in
and the seaward face of the cliff opened out ahead. Frank could still
see the boat astern, but as he stood in the well with his hands clenched
upon a rope he knew that in another moment the rocks would shut her out.
Then, sure enough, she suddenly vanished, and shortly afterward he heard
Mr. Oliver's voice.
"Haul!" he shouted.
Harry flung loose the mainsheet, but the boat did not quicken her speed
immediately, and Frank found it desperately hard to drag up the canoe,
though Mr. Oliver had seized the rope behind him. Haste was, however,
necessary, if the rancher was to slip back to the depot unsuspected. At
last the canoe ran alongside with a bang and Mr. Oliver dropped on
board, while Frank nearly upset her as he followed him. Each of them
seized a paddle and the boy had a momentary glimpse of the sloop rolling
with her slackened mainsail thrashing to and fro, while Harry struggled
to haul the jib to weather. After that he looked ahead and swung his
paddle, and as the breeze was blowing on to the beach a few quick
strokes drove them in through the splashing surf. She struck the stones
violently, for they had no time to be careful, and Mr. Oliver jumped
ashore, running into the water to thrust her out. Frank contrived to
twist her around, though it taxed all his strength, after which he
hazarded a single glance behind him. Mr. Oliver had disappeared among
the several masses of fallen rock and clumps of small growth which were
scattered about the slope.
So far the plan had succeeded, but Frank had still to reach the sloop,
which was a different matter from paddling ashore. There was a fresh
breeze ahead of him and a little splashing sea heaved up the canoe's
bows and checked her speed. In addition to this, it is a rather
difficult thing to keep a canoe on a straight course with a single-ended
paddle, which can only be dipped on the one side, and in order to do so
one must give the blade a back twist, which retards the craft unless it
is skillfully managed. Frank, who had hitherto practiced it only in
smooth water, found that the bows would blow around in spite of him. He
grew hot and breathless, and though he set his lips and strung up his
muscles he made very little progress.
"Paddle!" shouted Harry, who had been watching his maneuvers. "Shove her
through it! Can't you get a move on? I can't run in any nearer without
getting her ashore."
Frank made another desperate attempt, but a splashing sea broke about
the bows, driving the canoe off her course again, and while he savagely
swung the paddle Harry surveyed him contemptuously.
"Culcha!" he jeered. "Guess you loaded that up in Boston, but what you
want is sand. Can't you get a bit of a hustle on? You're sure born
played-out back East."
Frank felt a little more blood surge into his hot face. This was more
than he felt inclined to stand from any Westerner of his own weight, but
it was clear that he could not rebuke his reviler fittingly until he
reached the sloop and the veins swelled up on his forehead as he
furiously plied the paddle. Once more a sea broke about the bows and
this time part of it splashed in, while as he tried the back-feather
stroke the canoe lurched and began to swing around in spite of his
redoubled efforts. Harry spread out one hand resignedly.
"Well," he said, "it's our own fault for letting you into the canoe. The
trouble was you couldn't be trusted alone with the sloop either. Pshaw!
We've no use for folks of your kind in this country."
This was intolerable, because part of it was true, and Frank felt his
heart thumping painfully. But he made a last effort, and panting,
straining, taxing every muscle to the utmost, he drove the canoe ahead,
and eventually managed to grasp the sloop's lee rail. He could not
speak, and as he breathlessly crawled on board Harry snatched the rope
from him and made it fast.
"Trim that jibsheet over," he commanded.
Frank obeyed him and when they hauled on the mainsheet the sloop once
more gathered speed, while Frank glancing astern saw a strip of slanted
sail appear around the corner of the head. Then he glanced ashore, and
though he saw no sign of Mr. Oliver the slope to the beach was not
remarkably steep and he fancied that the rancher would not have much
trouble in ascending it.