A HUT IN THE FOREST.
"Who's talking of Woodlawn? Just where I came from, and if the fronds of
those ferns aren't as fine-cut as petals, then I don't know an oak from
a gooseberry bush."
"Dr. Silsby--Inspector McCausland."
The men clasped hands.
"Didn't meet a maniac with a gash in his forehead on the way back, did
you?" laughed McCausland.
"Maniac--well, no; but I've rooted out a peeping Tom there, that's been
frightening the women."
"How was that?" asked Shagarach.
"It was those ferns did it. Aren't they beauties, though? Feel! Silky!
Maidenhair! Rare variety."
"They helped you find the peeping Tom?" said Shagarach, who knew the
botanist's tendency to forget.
"Oh, yes," said Dr. Silsby. "I was just about to tell that story. You
know the hemlock forest back of the blue hills in Woodlawn--marshy place
thereabouts, lots of clay in the soil--some of it on those boots, eh?
Well, those ferns came from there. Didn't walk in of themselves, I
guess. No, I had to wade for them. Pretty boggy, but not quite up to the
Dismal swamp. Well, I was feeling about, pulling up things, when I came
on the hut."
"A hut?"
"I call it a hut by courtesy. Begging your pardon, said I, and tumbled
in the sides of it. Hadn't any door that I could see--only two loose
boards--and was mighty poor carpenter work all over. Just a roof and
three sides, the whole thing backed against a pudding-stone ledge that
juts out into Hemlock lake."
"Had it an occupant?" asked Shagarach.
"Three squirrels," answered Dr. Silsby, "investigating a can of corn."
"Nothing else?"
"Some old newspapers, a blanket, a stool and a mighty ugly collection of
instruments, I tell you, including this article, which I confiscated."
He removed a pistol which lay at the bottom of his basket, handling the
specimens as carefully as if they had been wounded kittens.
"Is it loaded?" asked McCausland, taking it in his hand and unhinging
the butt. The backs of three cartridges stared out from the cylinder.
"You kept the second bullet, Shagarach, I believe," said McCausland,
removing a cartridge. Shagarach rolled out a flattened bullet from a pen
box in his drawer.
"Same caliber," said McCausland. "This looks like the pistol that was
aimed at you that evening."
"So you know peeping Tom, then?" asked Dr. Silsby.
"Mr. McCausland and I have two of the three bullets that round out his
pistol's complement," answered Shagarach, "and the third is lodged in my
ceiling at home too deep for the probe to reach."
"I thought the hut had a human atmosphere. There were fresh tracks
around, and the station-master spoke to me about a scoundrel that's been
frightening the country-folks--frightening them by running away from
them, as far as I could see. But you don't suppose he was fern-gathering
down in that swamp, do you?"
"Hardly," said McCausland. "Could you take us there now?"
"Now? I've my lecture at Hilo hall--A Study in Ingratitude; or, the
Threatened Extinction of the Great Horned Owl."
"It is an important piece of evidence in the Floyd case," said
Shagarach, though McCausland still smiled incredulously. "We want the
occupant of that hut."
"Robert's case. Command me," said Dr. Silsby. "Sorry Mr. Hutman wasn't
at home when I called. I'd have had him here dead or alive."
"Wolf!" said McCausland. The great dog started up, wagging his tail.
"Smell." He offered him the revolver butt. The hound barked and smelled
his way to the door again, but McCausland pulled him back.
"It is our man," he said, thrusting the paper-weight in his pocket.
"My pathfinder, Aronson," said Shagarach, who sprung to his desk.
"The next train for Woodlawn doesn't leave till 4:03."
"We can go more quickly by team," said McCausland. "I will have one here
in ten minutes."
Then he departed with his hound, and Shagarach sent Aronson to announce
at Hilo hall that an imperative summons compelled the defender of the
great horned owl to neglect for once the cause of that calumniated
biped.
"This is where I left the road," cried Dr. Silsby, an hour later. "A
good, smart journey lies before us."
"It's uncertain when we'll return," said McCausland to the driver.
"Probably not before 6 at the earliest. You'd better drive home. We'll
take the train into town."
The driver wheeled his team and drove away, while the party of
three--Shagarach, McCausland and Silsby--crossed a bush-skirted meadow
with the bloodhound still in leash. But they were not destined to
remain long unattended. The curious folk had got wind of their intention
to unearth the peeping Tom, and the sight of an officer in buttons
emboldened many to follow in their wake. Several men offered to help in
the search, and McCausland did not refuse their assistance.
"The more the merrier," he said, whereupon not only men but women
trailed behind them.
Among these followers was one young woman, familiar to two of the three
leaders of the party.
"Good evening, Miss Wesner," said Shagarach and McCausland almost
together, and the great inspector was not above entertaining that
somewhat vulgar curiosity many of us feel as to the relationship of any
chance couple we meet. For Miss Wesner was attended by an exceedingly
attentive young man. Courting? Engaged? Married? The question rises as
naturally as a bubble in water. In this case the truth lay midway. What
more natural than that she should spend her afternoon off with Hans
Heidermann at the picnic park in Woodlawn?
"Now you've left the cheap bombast of the town behind you," said Dr.
Silsby, looking at the great trees as if he would embrace them one and
all. "Isn't this grand? Isn't this Gothic? Pillars, gloom, fretted
roof--don't tell me art's cathedrals are any improvement on nature's."
The bloodhound interrupted his rhapsody.
"We may leave Dr. Silsby behind, if he chooses, as well as the town
bombast," said McCausland. "We shall not need his guidance any farther.
Wolf has caught the trail again."
Two or three times on the march the inspector had held the glass
paper-weight out so that the dog might smell the blood-clot on its edge.
His joyful bark and eager straining at the leash announced that he had
scented the fugitive.
"Not I," said Dr. Silsby.
Pulled on by the hound, McCausland and his two companions were soon
trotting far ahead of the plodding laggards behind them. Their talk had
died away. The heart of each was tense. Not a sound broke the mid-forest
silence save the harsh screams of purple jays resenting their intrusion,
and the snapping of twigs and branches.
"There are the ferns," said Dr. Silsby.
"Are we near?" asked McCausland.
"Within a hundred yards, I should say. This is the hemlock grove."
"Step on the moss. It will deaden our footfalls," said the detective.
"Slow, Wolf, slow!"
He reined in the impetuous animal as best he could and his companions
crept behind him softly.
"I see it," whispered Shagarach, pointing through the trees. It was
nearly 5 o'clock and the light was beginning to slant more dimly through
the aisles of the forest. But following his finger, the eye of the
detective made out a rude shelter, sharply distinct by the smoothness of
its boarded walls from the rough bark surfaces around. It seemed to lean
against the steep ledge which Dr. Silsby had described and the roof
derived most of its support from the projecting arms of two great trees
whose roots spread up into the crevices of the rock. Osiers and strong
withes took the place of nails, and the chinks were stopped with moss.
No log cabin or camper's shed was ever more roughly joined. It had every
appearance of being recent and temporary.
"We must surround it," said McCausland. The loud barking of the hound,
re-echoing in the stillness, had betrayed their presence to the
occupant. Shagarach and Dr. Silsby stationed themselves each at one
side, the former empty-handed, the latter clubbing his stout cane.
McCausland waited for the followers to arrive through the woods, but
most of them hung back at a safe distance, only three or four of the men
coming close to the besiegers.
"Who is inside there?" asked the detective loudly.
The silence succeeding his question was intense and prolonged.
"We have come to take you in the name of the law, and we will take you,
living or dead," said the detective.
There was no response but the rustling of the leaves. Song-birds were
few in the deep recesses, and these few had been frightened from their
nests. A creeping fear entered the hearts of the ring in the background
and they edged farther away. For the gloom was gathering swiftly. Only
one patch of sky was visible, above the steep ledge, and that lay toward
the darkening east.
"I prefer that he should be taken alive, if possible," said Shagarach in
a low voice to the detective. The latter gave three strong raps with a
bough on the trunk of a mighty tree, then cried again to the secreted
fugitive:
"Once more, I will state our errand. We are officers of the law. You are
wanted for the murderous attacks you have made on Meyer Shagarach----"
A hoarse snarl of rage burst from within the hut, causing some of the
distant spectators to turn in alarm. But it angered the bloodhound, as
the spur a proud horse, and with an answering roar he burst loose
from his leash and sprung at the hut, forcing a loose plank in
with his impetus. Then a sharp tool was seen to descend in the
opening--apparently an adze--and the hound's head sunk under the blow.
He leaped from side to side in agony, and as he ran back whining to his
master the blood dripped into his eyes from a hideous wound that had
bared the bone of the skull. McCausland swore furiously and the
lingering shadow of a smile vanished from his face. He unwound the rope
which he had brought along and secured one circle of a double handcuff
to his left wrist.
"We'll march home Siamese fashion or my name is Muggins," said the
inspector, between his teeth. Then he began gathering brushwood in a
heap before the hut.
"What are you at, man?" cried Dr. Silsby.
"Smoke him out," said McCausland.
"And fire these woods? Are you crazy?" The botanist was greatly
excited.
"Confound your woods! Good Wolf! Poor Wolf!" said the inspector,
alternately petting the hound, who, amid all his pain, licked his
master's hand, and throwing fagots on his pyre.
"But--but--name o' conscience, man," stammered Dr. Silsby. "This is the
finest hemlock grove this side of the White mountains."
"We could demolish the walls, I think," said Shagarach, "and capture him
with a rush."
"Where are the axes?" asked McCausland.
"Poles will do." There were heavy boughs and light saplings lying about,
which would make excellent impromptu crowbars. Without a word Shagarach
seized one of these and wedged it into the crack between two of the
boards. The roar of rage within told them the occupant was watching.
"Fall to!" said McCausland, scattering his brush-heap with an angry
kick. The three men began prying the boards apart. Several of them
creaked and gave way, and soon nearly the whole front lay in ruins.
"Surrender!" cried the inspector, pointing his revolver into the
cave-like gloom. There was no reply. The three men peered in, then
entered. The hut was empty!