TRAILING THE STOLEN MONEY
Several miles away from the wagon trail that led from Staretta to the
now destroyed Longknives' clubhouse, two boys were groping along in the
falling twilight in a discouraged manner.
Around them stretched seemingly endless vistas of burned and blackened
forest, stark, leafless, forbidding. Under foot was a sooty, miry quagmire
of rain-soaked soil, naturally low, swampy in places, and now all but
impassable. The rain had subsided into a misty drizzle, soft, fine, yet
penetrating.
"Gee but I'm tired, Chip!" said the younger of the two, lifting with
effort one foot after the other from the deep mud underneath.
"Well, she _is_ gettin' rather bad," replied the other. "Won't be much
moon tonight, I reckon."
"D'you suppose the other boys will start out such a day as this?"
"Dunno; hard to tell. But we've come a right smart ways, Paul, and so far
as I kin see we're gettin' further and further into these big woods."
"But we've never lost old Murky's trail. Have we, now?"
"Nope! Dark as it is, I kin make it out. You know when we started out we
noticed that one of his shoes or boots had a prong on one side of the
heel. Well, here she is--see?"
And Chip Slider pointed to a deep impression made apparently by a big
shoe-nail or some other peculiarity which the lads had noted earlier when
the light was better. Paul grunted a tired assent.
"Where do you reckon we are, anyhow?"
Chip was staring at a high bulge ahead as if some huge rock or boulder
protruded upward from the nearly level ground.
"I dunno. There's something ahead that looks like we might find a shelter.
Come on, Paul."
The two plodded on, one carrying the lone blanket and the other the small
store of eatables that remained after their last inroad upon it. When
they were nearly up to this unusual obstruction there came a sparkle of
light that hit the damp air momentarily, then went out. It seemed to Chip,
who had the keenest eyes of the two, as if it might have been the flare
of a match.
The boys halted at once and stood staring, listening, perplexed and yet
most curious. Finally they heard a snapping of twigs, and then came
another flare and still another. Nothing else could they see for, as Chip
suspected, it was only the reflection of a light that they had seen.
Evidently there must be someone behind that bulge. While they waited
breathless, there came a confirmation of their fears--or rather was it
their hopes?
"Blame me!" growled a heavy voice. "Why in sin won't she get afire?"
With one accord the two boys stood and stared--at each other. Finally Paul
leaned forward, whispering:
"Murky, Murky!"
Chip more composedly nodded; then he too whispered:
"We must slip up behind that thing. It's a rock, I reckon."
Paul said nothing but when Chip started, he did likewise.
"Step keerful," whispered Slider. "Don't let your feet make a noise when
you pull 'em out of the mud."
A low rumble of thunder muttered its way out of the west indicating more
rain. As if to emphasize the menace of this, they heard Murky cursing to
himself. He, too, was aware that further rain and storm boded no good to
himself.
More softly still the boys came gradually up under the shelving sides of a
great rock, that proved to be the termination of a chain of similar rocks
which abutted from a ridge of low hills off to the northeast.
Beyond, on the other side of this last big boulder, they could still hear
Murky--if it was Murky--renewing his attempts to make a fire. Under the
shelving sides the boys had some shelter. But from the brighter glare on
the other side they knew that the tramp had succeeded in starting his
fire. Was he any better protected from the increasing rain than they?
For quite a time the two crouched, blanket over their shoulders, while
the rain pattered harder and harder. Finally a slight shift of wind to
the westward caused the rain to beat in on them more. They were very
uncomfortable, squatting in the wet mould with their backs against the
damp rocks.
"See what I got?" Paul held up something that Chip cautiously felt.
"Where did you get that?" Chip was astonished.
"I knew we had one at the camp. But I thought it was lost. But today I
found it in one of our bags. When we started I managed to slip it into my
pocket. We're only two boys, and Murky is a grown man. Why, you've got
bruises on you now that he gave you--" Paul was showing a pistol.
"Hs-sh!" whispered Chip. "Not so loud. Lemme see that gun!"
"All right," and Paul passed it over. Chip looked at it closely. "I can't
tell yet if the chambers have any cartridges. We might need it."
By the mere feel of the thing they did not make sure, so Paul, before Chip
had time to remonstrate, struck one of his own matches. By this light the
two bent closely, the light flaring out into the night air. At last, as
the match went out Chip declared:
"The chambers are all empty except one, and I can't see--hold on!"
Forgetting his previous caution, Chip himself struck another match.
While they bent again to see if the cartridge was a full one they were
appalled when a deep, rough voice from out the apparent wall of rock
behind struck on their boyish ears like a knell of coming destruction.
They turned, Paul grasping the dubious pistol, while Murky, still wet,
covered with mud and doubly forbidding by reason of this, seized Chip
Slider in one hand and reached for Paul with the other.
Where had Murky come from? How did he suddenly appear apparently out
of what the boys supposed to be a solid wall of rock? But at any rate
there he was with Chip squirming in his grasp while Paul, darting to one
side, barely eluded his left-handed clutch. Altogether it was a ticklish
situation.
But Paul was plucky. In a trice, remembering the one cartridge, he
levelled the pistol and began pulling the trigger.
"Let go that boy!" his almost childish treble rang out. "Leggo, I say!"
Click--click--click went the hammer as he pulled the trigger, at the
same time jumping back further from Murky's gripping hand. Meantime Chip
managed to loose himself. Murky, hearing the empty sound of the striking
hammer, growled:
"Huh-h! She's empty, blame ye--"
Just then--crack! came the sound of the full cartridge; but Paul's aim
being unsteady, the ball just clipped Murky's left ear.
It maddened him more than anything else. With a yell of rage and pain he
sprang at Paul, catching the lad as the latter tried to spring backward,
but stumbling in the mud, while the pistol flew from his hand. By this
time the light of Murky's fire was blotted out by some passing object that
darted swiftly out of the obscurity whence Murky had sprung. At the same
time Chip, now free, leaped pluckily to the assistance of his friend.
But on the instant the unknown object, emitting a Swedish howl of rage,
burst through, striking Murky with an impact that sent him headlong out
into the night. With this collision back came the light that had been
momentarily blotted from view by the last welcome intruder.
When this last stood revealed, big, heavy, yet strangely hampered by
his half useless arms, the two boys were in turn again astonished yet
gratified to behold--Nels Anderson. Accompanying this appearance came
the sounds of rapidly retreating steps as Murky, recognizing defeat,
made himself scarce as fast as he could. The three looked at each other,
grinning the while as they looked.
"Say, Mr. Anderson," began Paul, "it was bully of you to come, and you
still crippled in your arms!"
At a glance both saw that Nels, while active as ever in body and legs,
held his arms loosely, both hanging down at his sides.
"My arms no good," he began, "but I bane all right yet. Coom--ve look fer
dot feller."
He turned, diving through a side passage hitherto hidden from Paul and
Chip, while they, following, emerged into a recess where two gigantic
boulders, leaning together, made the shelter under which Murky had started
the fire that, flaring out into the darkness, had so puzzled the boys
before. Here Murky, becoming aware that someone was beyond him, had crept
up between rocks, listening when the boys arrived, and had sprung upon
them as has been described.
For half a minute Nels stood, glaring at the embers of the fire and around
to see what else might be there. But there was nothing, apparently, beyond
a few scraps of eatables and a remnant of wet tow sacking.
"Coom on!" shouted the big Swede. "We bane get nothin' here!" And he
darted off in the darkness towards where Murky's retreating steps had
last been heard. But nothing resulted except a trio of tired searchers
with deep mud on their legs and a sense that Murky had eluded them again.
"I don't see any signs of money round here," gloomily owned Paul, looking
about the rocky recess where Murky had been quartered but a short while
before. "It is dark as pitch everywhere else. One thing, Chip. I fancy we
got his grub, whatever he had left after eating."
"That's something," owned up Chip. "A feller can't git along much in these
woods unless he has something to fill his belly with."
Anderson, paying little heed to this, was staring into the fire, doubtless
thinking matters over. Chip picked up the tow-bagging, scanned it
closely and turned to Paul standing near. He pointed at a shred of the
bagging that, without being detached from the sack, had somehow caught a
small patch of greenish paper inside its loose clutch. Carefully Chip
picked out this, and handed it to Nels and Paul.
"That looks like a piece of money," quoth Chip. "Ain't it the corner of
a bill of some kind?"
Closer inspection revealed, even to Anderson's thicker brain, that the
paper shred had undoubtedly been part of a bank note of some kind. Being
wet, it was easily torn from the parent bank note in the rough handling
the money had undergone. At least such was the conclusion drawn by all
three after a short inspection. Paul was greatly excited.
"What did I say when Phil found that old suit-case? Murky must 'a' put
the money in something else. It must 'a' been all wet. He must 'a' had
that money here. What did he do with it?"
"I'm goin' to hunt for it right now!" said Chip now all eagerness.
"First we find Murky," interposed Nels. "Vere he be, dere ve find money."
"But Murky didn't have no load on him when he tackled us!" was Chip's
objection.
"I goin' make light," said Nels. "You look roun'. Mebbe fin' money. Mebbe
fin' nothin'. I bane go fin' Murky. Make heem tell. Yah!"
And Anderson, who still had some use of his big hands, picked up a hatchet
left by the fugitive in his haste and clumsily began to split some dry
pine which had long lain under shelter, doubtless left there by former
campers or hunters. For several minutes the boys ferreted their way into
or through the neighboring crevices among the jumble of rocks, even
using part of Anderson's splinters to aid them; but nothing did they find.
"Now we go," said Nels at last. "You boys bane tired mooch?"
The truth was all were pretty tired, but not one would acknowledge the
fact. Nels, used to long fatigues, and crippled besides, made both Paul
and Chip reluctant to own up that they needed sleep more than further
travel.
The upshot of all this was that, in a short time, all were following the
mud trail left by Murky in his flight but a brief spell back. The fire had
been replenished, so as to give them some clue as to where they were,
should they wish to return. Chip bore the torch; Paul carried an armload
of fat splinters; while Nels, plodding between, bent his woods-sharpened
eyes on the tracks that were plain enough yet, for the rain had at last
ceased.
After leading them a sinuous path through the blackened wilderness for
perhaps a mile, the tracks turned sharply to the right and upward along
a more gravelly slant until what seemed the backbone of a wooded ridge was
attained. Here the fire in consuming leaves, fallen branches and most of
the thinner undergrowth, had thus swept from the gravel beneath all the
surface refuse. Probably this was accomplished before the rains began.
In consequence the tracks, growing more and more imperceptible, finally
vanished entirely.
"I bane tired," and Nels sat down, shaking his great head discouragingly.
"Gee whiz!" gurgled Jones. "I almost wish I was back in Staretta in my
little bed 'stead of way out here where I don't even know where I am or
how I'll get out again."
But Chip was made of sterner stuff. Seeing his companions were in the
dumps, he perked up and sniffed the night air expectantly.
"What's the use of gittin' discouraged? Mornin' 'll soon be here. We kin
see that fire yet, can't we? Les' go back and git some sleep."
"No use of dat." This from Nels. "It bane very late now. We git fire here.
Sleep a bit."
But it was concluded not to make a fire, as it might give the man they
were hunting a clue as to where they were. So the three prepared to pass
a comfortless night. Fortunately it did not rain any more and, after a
fashion, they managed to endure the rest of the night. At last, cool and
cheerless, the dawn came, and with the first glimmer the three set out
along the ridge. Nels kept to the summit, while the boys patrolled the
sides, keeping an eye out amid the softer mud and ashes for any sign of
foot tracks.
A mile or more might have been traversed thus when, at a shout from Chip,
the others hastened to him and saw that the boy had detected distinct foot
tracks leading away towards the east.
"Fresh ones too," said Paul, pointing. "And--look there. Criminy! I'm
going to take a look inside that hollow log."
He darted towards a rusty looking tree trunk over which the fire had
swept, leaving naught but the solid wood cylinder of dead beech. Most of
the shrivelled bark, moss and dead leaves were reduced to ashes. These
the rain had made into a moist, blackish gray mush. At the larger end
were plain signs as if some heavy body had crawled inside and perhaps out
again. Nels, more up to woods lore, looked, sniffed, fingered clumsily,
then delivered himself.
"Murkee, he bane sleep here yoost li'l whiles. Git oop soon. He bane gone
a'retty--yuss!"
"Gone--yes!" exclaimed Paul. "But where did he go? How did he get away
so all-fired soon--hey?"
Here another call from Chip solved the question. Not far below the hollow
log began a tiny slough which presently widened out until footprints were
discernible in the mushy tussocks of what had before been a fringe of
marsh-grass. It was Chip who led the way now, and eagerly pointed out
further developments in the hunt.
"Do you reckon this really is Murky we are following?" asked Paul while
Nels, tired, hungry and sleepy as well, dragged along dumbly.
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Chip, who was bent on solving the apparently
unsolvable. "Who else would it be way out here in this wilderness? We
wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Murky: Murky wouldn't be here if his
own work hadn't driven him into it. Let's go on."
And on they went, the trail growing plainer as the slough widened and
deepened. Finally they came to a fallen tree extending from one side of
the slough to the other. The scorched, blackened, rain-soaked top reached
to their side. Half way across the branches ceased and nothing but a slimy
black trunk reached to the other side. Already they were about to pass
this when Chip, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped.
"I don't see no more tracks," said he, seemingly nonplussed.
At once Nels came forward, took one look about, then pointed at a sooty
limb projecting landward from the trunk.
"W'at de matter wid dat?" he exclaimed. "She bane go dat way."
"Sure--you're right!" cried Paul, instantly comprehending. "But how will
you get across, Mr. Anderson?"