THE CABIN IN THE SWAMP
When George reached the rear of the tent he saw a crouching figure
there. A hole had been cut in the cloth, and the fellow was gazing
into the tent. He was dressed in woodsman's attire, leather jacket
and leggins and fur cap. The gold rings in his ears quivered and
glistened as the light of the fire struck them.
As George rounded the tent the spy turned and ran for the forest.
Without a thought as to the ultimate result, George followed along
behind. For some distance the lad kept pace with the mysterious
visitor, but, of course, it was impossible for him to do so for any
great length of time, as the fugitive was well versed in woodcraft,
while George was not.
After a time George lost sight of the fellow entirely, but could
still keep track of him by the noise he made in passing through the
thicket. It was quite evident that the intruder now believed that
pursuit, had entirely ceased, for he made his way more leisurely
through the swampy growth, and seemed to pay no attention whatever
to the sounds of his passage.
Using great caution, the boy finally gained the hummock and stood
looking at the dark bulk of a log cabin which stood in the center.
He listened for a long time but all was silent inside. Presently
he circled the place and came to a small opening which was more
like a loop-hole than a window. There was a glass pane here, and
through it he saw that there was a fire on the inside.
By this time the lad was shivering with cold, not having taken the
time to provide himself with heavy clothing before leaving the camp
in pursuit of the spy. As he glanced through the glazed opening he
saw a great fire of logs blazing in a rudely made fireplace at one
end of the room. He moved on until he found a door.
"Perhaps the owner of this log mansion will think I'm pretty prompt
in returning his call," the lad mused as he knocked softly at the
door. "But, all the same, I'm going to give him the pleasure of my
company until I can get warm."
There was no response to the knock, and so George opened the door
and entered. There was no one in front of the fire; no one in any
of the rude chairs. The boy stood looking about the room for a
moment and then walked back to three bunks fastened against the
wall, one above the other.
When he reached the front of the sleeping places an exclamation of
alarm came from a bundle of furs and blankets on the lower bunk and
a boy's frightened face gazed up at him. The boy sat observing the
other with evident suspicion for a moment, until his eyes caught
sight of the Boy Scout medals which adorned the sleeve of the lad's
coat.
Then he extended an arm in the full salute of the Boy Scouts of
America, and sat back with a grin on his face to note the result.
"Beaver Patrol; Chicago," he said directly.
"I know you," George said with an exclamation of surprise. "You're
Thede Carson, and you're about the toughest little wharf rat in
Chicago!"
"That's a nice recommend for a patrol leader to give one of his
scouts," grinned the boy. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
"The last time I saw you," George said, smiling at the memory, "you
were diving into the South Branch to keep out of sight of a police
boat."
"I remember that," grinned Thede. "They said I'd been swiping
bananas up in Gambler's alley, and that wasn't true."
"Well, how in the name of all the seven wonders of the world did
you get into the Hudson Bay country?" demanded George.
"Old Finklebaum," answered Thede.
"Old Finklebaum?" repeated George. "Do you mean the old Shylock
who does business under the three balls down on State street? You
can't mean that he had anything to do with your appearance here?"
"You bet he did have something to do with my being here!" Thede
insisted. "You see, it's just this way: Old Finklebaum says to me
one day, 'I'll take the hair off Ikey's head for selling that
Little Brass God!'"
George gave a quick start of surprise at the mention of the very
article the Boy Scouts had come to the Hudson Bay country in quest
of, but checked himself in a second.
"What did he have a--a--what did you say it was?--if he didn't want
to sell it?" asked the boy in assumed surprise.
"He did want to sell it up to that very day," was the reply, "but
no one wanted to buy it. Then a man came into the shop and said
he'd give a thousand dollars for it on sight. So Finklebaum,
having the Little Brass God within a foot of his hawkbill nose,
takes the man's address and says he'll let him know if he hears
anything about the thing in demand. Finklebaum thinks that if the
man'll pay one thousand dollars for it, he'll pay five, and that's
why he loses out."
George's interest was now so intense that the boy ceased speaking
and sat regarding him steadily for a moment.
"What do you know about the Little Brass God?" he demanded.
"Nothing," replied George. "Never saw it!"
"Seems to me you're pretty much interested in it, though,"
commented the boy, rising from the bunk and taking a seat before
the fire.
"I was thinking about Old Finklebaum cheating himself by getting
too gay," answered George. "Go on, and tell me about it!"
"So when this man who offers the thousand dollars leaves the shop,"
Thede continued, "Finklebaum chases out to a dealer in antiques to
make inquiries about the Little Brass God. I guess he thinks it's
some East India idol, or something of that kind, and that his
fortune is made."
"Supposing it should be an East India idol!" exclaimed George,
"It may be, for all I know," Thede replied. "Anyhow, while old
Finklebaum was out trying to find out how much his Little Brass God
was worth, little Ikey sold it for a ten dollar note."
"Oh my, oh my, oh my!" laughed George. "I'll bet there was a merry
old time when Finklebaum returned and found the ten dollar note in
the drawer and the Little Brass God gone."
"Such a racket as never was!" declared Thede, laughing at the
recollection of the scene. "I was in the shop," he went on,
"getting out some articles Mother Murphy had been borrowing money
on, and heard all that took place."
"Go on and tell me about it."
"Old Finklebaum said he was just plumb ruined. He said he'd snatch
Ikey bald-headed, and do a lot of other things to him, if he didn't
walk right out into State street and bring back that Little Brass
God. Holy Moses! You ought to have seen how scared Little Ikey
was!"
"Could he describe the man who bought the Little Brass God?"
inquired George in a tone intended to be indifferent.
"Oh, yes!" replied Thede. "Ikey said the man wore a leather jacket
with a red belt around the waist, a fur cap and rings in his ears.
So Ikey was sent out to find the fellow, and I asked Old Finklebaum
what he'd give me if I'd bring back the Little Brass God. He says
he'll give me a hundred dollars the minute I put it in his hands,
and I ducked down State street in search of this gink with the
rings in his ears."
"And didn't find him?"
"If I had you wouldn't find me up here in this beastly country,"
replied Thede. "That is," the boy went on, "if I had found him
with the Little Brass God in his possession."
"So you really did find him?" questioned George.
"Yes, I ran across him in a saloon down near Twelfth street, and
stuck to him like a bulldog to a cat's back for two days and
nights."
"Why didn't you go and tell Finklebaum where he was, and let him do
the watching? That's what you should have done!"
"Not for mine!" answered the other. "Old Finklebaum would have
taken the case out of my hands, and fooled me out of my hundred
simoleons. I follows this gink around until he becomes sociable
and sort of adopts me. I gets into his furnished room down on
Eldridge court and searches it during his absence. There ain't no
Little Brass God there!"
'"Did you ever get your eyes on it?" asked George.
"Never!" was the reply. "But he acts funny all the time, and I
think he's got it hidden. When he gets ready to come back to the
Hudson Bay country he asks me how I'd like to come up north with
him and learn to be a trapper, so I says that if there's anything
on earth I want to be it's a trapper, and I come up here, making
him think I'm after fur, when all the time I'm after the Little
Brass God."
"Are you sure the man you followed is the man who brought the toy?"
asked George, "You might have picked up the wrong man, you know."
"No I didn't!" replied Thede. "I've heard this man, Pierre,
muttering and talking in his sleep, and I know he has the Little
Brass God hidden. I'll go back to Chicago some day with it in my
possession and Old Finklebaum will pay me a couple of thousand or
he'll never get hold of it again! Won't it be a great story to
tell the boys on State street about the times I'm having up here."
The door opened and Pierre entered, anger flashing from his eyes.