A PAIR OF SOCKS
A week later Connie was roused from his desk in the little office by the
sound of bells. There was a loud "Whoa!" and Frenchy, wearing his long
stocking cap of brilliant red yarn, and clad in his gayest mackinaw,
pulled up his four-horse tote-team with a flourish before the door, and
stepped smiling from the sleigh.
"W'at you t'ink, now, _m's'u l'infant_? S'pose I'm trade ma gran' team
for de beeg fat log hoss, de cook she don' git no supply for wan week.
Den, mebbe-so you got to eat porkypine an' spruce tea. Me--I'm back
to-mor' night, wit ma gran' tote-team, _bien!_"
Connie laughed. "I guess you've got the right team for the job, Frenchy.
But it seems to me you picked out a bad day for the trail." It had
turned suddenly warm during the night, and the boy indicated a shallow
pool of muddy water that had collected in the depression before the
door.
"De snow she melt fas' w'ere she all tromp down an' dirty, but on de
tote road w'ere she w'ite an' clean she ain' melt so fas'." He paused
and cocked an eye skyward. "I'm git to Dogfish before she melt an'
tonight she gon' for turn col', an' tomor', ba goss, I'm com' back on de
ice, lak de log road."
[Illustration: "WHAT'S THIS?" ASKED THE BOY, PUSHING UP A SMALL BUNDLE.]
"What's this?" asked the boy, picking up a small bundle done up in brown
wrapping paper that lay upon the seat of the sleigh.
"Oh, dat wan pair wool sock Slue Foot sen' down to Corky Dyer for ke'p
he's feet wa'm. I'm mak' dat go on de, w'at you call, de express."
Connie picked up the package and regarded it with apparent unconcern.
"Who's Corky Dyer?" he asked, casually.
"Corky Dyer, she ke'p de s'loon down to Brainard. She frien' for Slue
Foot, lak wan brudder."
As Frenchy's glance strayed to Steve, who came hurrying toward them with
his list of supplies from the cook's camp, Connie's foot suddenly
slipped, the package dropped from his hand squarely into the middle of
the puddle of dirty water, and the next instant the boy came heavily
down upon it with his knee.
"O-o-o-o!" wailed the excitable Frenchman, dancing up and down. "Now I'm
ketch, w'at you call, de t'undaire! Slue Foot, she git mad on me now, ba
goss! She say, 'You mak' dat leetle package los' I'm bre'k you in two!'"
Connie recovered the package, from which the wet paper was bursting in a
dozen places. He glanced at it ruefully for a moment, and then, as if
struck with a happy thought, he grinned. "We'll fix that all right," he
said reassuringly, and turned toward the door.
"_Non_," protested Frenchy, dolefully, "dat ain' no good, to put on de
new _papier_. De sock she got wet, an' de new _papier_ she bus', too."
"You just hold your horses----"
"I ain't got for hol' dem hosses. Dey broke to stan' so long I want
'em."
"Come on in the office, then," laughed the boy, "and I'll show you how
we'll fix it." Frenchy followed him in, and Connie opened the wanagan
chest. "We'll just make a new package, socks and all, and I'll copy the
address off on it, and Corky Dyer's feet will keep warm this winter just
the same."
"_Oui! Oui!_" approved the Frenchman, his face once more all smiles. He
patted the boy admiringly upon the back. "You got de gran' head on you
for t'ink."
"You don't need to say anything about this to Slue Foot," cautioned the
boy.
The Frenchman laughed. "Ha! Ha! You t'ink I'm gon' hont de trouble? Slue
Foot she git mad jes' de sam'. She lak for chance to growl. I tell him
'bout dat, I'm t'ink he bus' me in two."
It was but the work of a few minutes to duplicate the small bundle, and
the teamster took it from the boy's hand with a sigh of relief. "So
long!" he called gaily, as he climbed into the sleigh and gathered up
his reins with an air. "Som' tam' you lak you git de fas' ride, you com'
long wit' me." His long whip cracked, and the impatient tote-team sprang
out onto the trail.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Connie hurriedly thrust the
package into his turkey. Saginaw entered, and, with a vast assumption of
carelessness, walked to the wall and took down his rifle. "Guess I
might's well take a siyou out into the brush an' see what fer meat they
is stirrin'."
"Want a partner?"
"Sure," answered the man, "I wish't you could go 'long, but I don't
guess you better. The log roads is softenin' up, an' I give orders to
keep the teams offen 'em. They ain't nothin'll sp'ile a log road like
teamin' on 'em soft. The teamsters won't have nothin' to do, an' they'll
be hornin' in on ye all day, to git stuff out of the wanagan. Hurley an'
Lon's both up to Camp Two, so I guess yer elected to stick on the job."
"That's so," answered the boy, "but, I bet the real reason you don't
want me is because you're afraid I'd kill more game than you do."
"Well, ye might, at that," laughed Saginaw. "But we'll have plenty of
chances to try out that part of it. I'm gittin' old, but I ain't so old
but what I kin see the sights of a rifle yet." He drew the rackets from
under his bunk and passed out, and as Connie watched him swing across
the clearing, he grinned:
"You're hiking out to see if you can't hang a little evidence up against
Mike Gillum, and that's why you didn't want me along. Go to it, old
hand, but unless I miss my guess when you come in tonight you'll find
out that your game has turned into crow."
Saginaw had prophesied rightly. The wanagan did a land-office business
among the idle teamsters, and at no time during the day did Connie dare
to open the package that lay concealed in his turkey. Darkness came, and
the boy lighted the lamp. The teamsters continued to straggle in and
out, and, just as the boy was about to lock the office and go to supper,
Saginaw returned.
"What luck?" inquired Connie.
"Never got a decent shot all day," replied the man, as he put away his
rifle and snow-shoes. "I got somethin' to tell you, though, when we've
et supper. Chances is, Hurley an' Lon'll be late if they ain't back by
now. We kin powwow in the office onless they come, an' if they do, we
kin mosey out an' hunt us up a log."
Supper over, the two returned to the office and seated themselves beside
the stove. Saginaw filled his pipe and blew a great cloud of blue smoke
toward the ceiling. "I swung 'round by Willer River," he imparted, after
a few shorter puffs. Connie waited for him to proceed. "Ye mind, the old
man said how it was a Frenchy that got him to help cut up that deer?
Well, they's a raft of French workin' up there fer the Syndicate."
"Any of 'em been deer hunting lately?" asked the boy, innocently.
"Gosh sakes! How'd ye s'pose I kin tell? If I'd asked 'em they'd all
said 'no.' I jes' wanted to see if they was Frenchmens there."
Connie nodded. "That looks bad," he admitted.
"Yes, an' what's comin' looks worst. On the way back, I swung 'round by
the old Irishman's. He hadn't heard nothin' more from this here Mike
Gillum, so he went up ag'in yesterday to see him. Gillum claimed he
hadn't found out nothin', an' then the old man told him how he was
broke an' needed grub to winter through on. Well, Gillum up an' dug down
in his pocket an' loant him a hundred dollars!"
"Good for Mike Gillum!" exclaimed Connie. "That's what I call a man!"
"What d'ye mean--call a man?" cried Saginaw, disgustedly. "Look a-here,
you don't s'pose fer a minute that if Gillum hadn't of got the old man's
pile he'd of loant him no hundred dollars, do ye? How's he ever goin' to
pay it back? Gillum knows, an' everyone knows that's got any sense, that
what huntin' an' fishin' an' trappin' that old man kin do ain't only
goin' to make him a livin', at the best. He ain't never goin' to git
enough ahead to pay back no hundred dollars."
"So much the more credit to Gillum, then. What he did was to dig down
and give him a hundred."
"Give him a hundred! An' well he could afford to, seein' how he kep'
thirty-four hundred fer himself. Don't you think fer a minute, kid, that
any one that's low-down enough to blackguard a man like Hurley would
give away a hundred dollars--he'd see a man starve first. It's plain as
the nose on yer face. We've got a clear case, an' I'm a-goin' to git
out a search warrant ag'in' him, 'fore he gits a chanct to send that
money out of the woods. He's got it, an' I know it!"
Connie smiled broadly. "He must have got it while we were at supper,
then."
Saginaw regarded him curiously. "What d'ye mean--supper?" he asked.
For answer the boy crossed to his bunk, and, reaching into his turkey,
drew out the soggy package. "Do you know who Corky Dyer is?" he asked,
with seeming irrelevance.
"Sure, I know who Corky Dyer is--an' no good of him, neither. He lives
in Brainard, an' many's the lumberjack that's the worse off fer knowin'
him. But, what's Corky Dyer got to do with Mike Gillum an' the old man's
money?"
"Nothing, with Mike Gillum. I was only thinking I hope Corky can keep
his feet warm this winter, I sent him down a nice pair of wool socks
today."
Saginaw bent closer, and stared at the boy intently. "Be ye feelin' all
right, son?" he asked, with genuine concern.
"Sure, I feel fine. As I was going on to say, Slue Foot felt sorry for
Corky Dyer's feet, so he picked out a pair of nice warm socks----"
"Thought ye said----"
The boy ignored the interruption, "and gave them to Frenchy to send to
Corky by express. When Frenchy stopped here for his list I happened to
pick up the package and while I was looking at it my foot slipped and I
dropped it in a mud puddle and then fell on it. I hated to think of poor
Corky wearing those dirty wet socks, and I didn't want Frenchy to get an
awful bawling out from Slue Foot for not taking care of his package, so
I just took a new pair out of the wanagan and sent them to him. I guess,
now, we'd better open this package and wring these wet ones out, or
they'll spoil."
Saginaw continued to stare as the boy drew his knife and cut the cord.
Then he exploded angrily: "What in thunder d'ye s'pose I care about
Corky Dyer's socks? An' what's his socks got to do with gittin' old
Denny O'Sullivan's money back fer him? I thought ye was a better sport
than that--Ye see yer fine friend's got cornered, an' right away ye
switch off an' begin talkin' about Slue Foot, an' Frenchy, an' Corky
Dyer's wet socks! Fer my part, Corky Dyer's feet could git wet an'
froze fer six foot above 'em--an' it would be a good thing fer the
timber country, at that!"
As Saginaw raved on, Connie unrolled the grey woollen socks and smoothed
them out upon his knee. Saginaw watched, scowling disapproval as he
talked. "They's somethin' in one of 'em," he said with sudden interest.
"What's it got in it?"
Connie regarded him gravely. "I don't know, for sure--I haven't looked,
but I think maybe it's Denny O'Sullivan's missing bills."
Saginaw Ed's jaw dropped, and his hands gripped the chair arms till the
knuckles whitened, as the boy thrust his hand into the damp sock. "Yes,
that's what it is, all right," he said, as he drew forth the missing
bills. "They're not quite as new and clean, maybe, as they were, but
they're the ones--see the little notches in the corners, just like the
marks on his traps."
Saginaw stared in silence while the boy finished counting: "--five, six,
seven." Then, as full realization dawned upon him, he burst forth, and
the roars of his laughter filled the little log office. "Well, dog my
cats!" he howled, when at length he found his voice. "'My foot
slipped,' says he, 'an' I dropped it in a mud puddle an' fell on it!'"
He reached over and pounded the boy on the back with a huge hand. "You
doggone little cuss! Here you set all the time, with the missin' bills
tucked away safe an' sound in yer turkey--an' me trompin' my legs off
tryin' to find out what's became of 'em!" He thrust out his hand. "Ye
sure outguessed me, kid, an' I don't begrudge it. When it comes to
headwork, yer the captain--with a capital K. An' believe me! I'd give a
hull lot to be where I could see Corky Dyer's face when he unwrops that
package of socks!"
Connie laughed. "So you see," he said, as he shook the extended hand,
"we've got a clear case, all right--but not against Mike Gillum."