THE PLOTTERS
Dick Halliard had walked only a short distance along the lonely forest
path when he made a startling discovery.
While he was stealthily following some one, an unknown party was
following him. His own senses were on the alert, and the young hero
caught the faint footfalls not far behind him.
“That’s more than I bargained for,” he muttered, “and now would be a
good time to have my pistol; but I haven’t got it, so what’s the use
of thinking about it.”
There was comfort in the thought, however, that the stranger who was
at his heels was unaware of the fact. Had he wished to approach
secretly, he could have stepped so softly that Dick would have heard
nothing of him.
But the sensation of being between two fires, and liable to run into
both, was so unpleasant that the lad stepped noiselessly from the path
and screened himself among the dense shadows, until the one at the
rear should pass him.
He had not long to wait when the footsteps were heard opposite, and
with the help of a partial ray of moonlight, which reached the path at
that point, he was able to discern the outlines of the party.
It was well that he was so familiar with the route, for, had he not
been, he must have betrayed himself against the overhanging limbs and
bushes, with an occasional depression in the ground, where it was
necessary to step with great care.
Had Dick not known the precise point in the dark where a small stream
wound its way across, he would have learned from an angry exclamation
of the fellow in front, who slipped and fell forward in it. A slightly
longer step than usual placed the eavesdropper on the other side, and
he continued his guarded pursuit.
The next moment brought a sharp shock to Dick, who suddenly became
aware that the footfalls in front had ceased. The fellow had stopped
walking, and seemed to be standing still, as if listening. The first
warning Dick received after he checked himself was a glimpse of his
head and shoulders just in advance.
Fearful of being detected himself, Dick instantly drew back with the
noiselessness of an Indian scout, and stood ready to retreat farther
or dart aside, as might be necessary.
“_Hulloa there!_”
The call had a gruesome sound in the solemn stillness of the woods,
and for a moment Dick was sure he was discovered. He made no answer,
and the hail was repeated, but with no more success than before.
He was convinced that the fellow was not certain any one was behind
him, but was seeking to verify a suspicion he had formed.
Failing of reply, he was quiet a moment longer, when he emitted a low
whistle, like the cry of a night bird.
This, too, had to be repeated, but was more successful than in the
former instance, for on the second call a reply came from a point
farther on, but not far off. Only a few seconds elapsed when some one
was heard approaching, and the couple quickly met in the path, not
more than twenty feet from where Dick was standing.
They began talking, but at first he could not catch the words, which
were uttered in low tones. He therefore stole a little nearer, and
heard them distinctly.
“I suppose you have become pretty well acquainted with the country?”
was the remark of Jim McGovern.
“Well, there isn’t much to get acquainted with. I went down to the
village and took a look around,” replied Wagstaff. “I thought I might
run against Bob, but he must have taken another route. I had a little
lark on my way home.”
“What was that?”
“I was passing Dick Halliard’s home, when I caught sight of his
bicycle leaning against a tree in the front yard, as if it was tired.
I thought right away of what Bob told us about that machine, and saw
it was the very chance we wanted. It couldn’t have been better. No one
was around, and I slipped through the gate, drew the bicycle out onto
the road, mounted and rode it down to the path, where, of course, I
got off and pushed it in front to this place.”
“Good!” exclaimed the delighted McGovern; “that couldn’t have happened
better. Won’t Bob be tickled! You are sure no one saw you bring it
away?”
“I won’t forget how I learned there wasn’t any one watching me.”
“How was that?”
“After I got out in the road I looked around to make sure. Nobody was
in sight, but I turned my head too far, and set the machine to
wobbling so bad that before I knew it I was over on my side, and
thought my leg was broken.”
“A cyclist must become used to taking headers; the wonder is that more
people are not killed. Tom, I want you to do me the favor of letting
me ruin that machine.”
“I don’t know that I have any objection.”
“Have you fixed on a plan?” asked McGovern.
“I haven’t had time to think. How would it do to blow it up with
dynamite?”
“Too risky for the rest of us.”
“Then we can chop it into splinters and make a fire to cook our game
with.”
“The trouble there,” said McGovern, who seemed to be quite cautious,
“is that there is very little if any woodwork about it; it’s nearly
all metal.”
“Let’s dig a hole in the ground and bury it.”
“That takes too much work; you know we’ve all sworn off labor for the
rest of our lives, and we wouldn’t dare hire anybody, for that would
be a dead give away.”
“I have it; we’ll run it into the mill-pond. The water is forty feet
deep, and nobody would ever think of looking there for it, and it can
be done with no trouble at all.”
“That’s the idea! It won’t take five minutes to put it where it will
never be seen again. Where is it?”
“Right up here on the edge of the mill-pond, all ready; it’s queer I
didn’t think of it myself. But since you feel as you do, why, I’m
agreeable.”
The couple moved along the path, and directly behind them stole Dick
Halliard. He had overheard every word that we have recorded, and he
was nearly beside himself with anger.
“So you mean to run my bicycle in the mill-pond, do you?” he muttered
between his set teeth; “look out if, instead of running it into the
water, that you two don’t get run in yourselves!”
It was an extensive contract for the single youth to checkmate these
fellows, but that was precisely what he had determined to do!