BAD NEIGHBORS
"It seems to be getting worse and worse, the further we go, don't it,
Thad?" Allan asked, after he had had time to digest the startling
information which his chum had imparted, as they stood there within the
outer edge of the glow cast by Giraffe's camp-fire under the overhanging
ledge of rock.
"Looks that way," replied the other, seriously enough, for he did not
exactly like the situation.
"Seems like it wasn't bad enough for us to be wrecked, and marooned on
this queer island, but we have to fall across the trail of some unknown
parties who may be up to all sorts of unlawful dodges, for all we know.
But Thad, tell me more of what you saw and heard."
"When I started out from here," the scoutmaster began, "I knew that I'd
probably only have to look around at this end of the island, because no
sensible man was going to take up his quarters where these storms always
strike in. And then I figured it out that the chances were, these
parties, if there were more than the one fellow I'd seen sneaking
around, and spying on us, would want to be down close to the water, for
a good many reasons. You can understand that, Allan?"
"Yes, and I think that notion would have come to me, just as it did
you," replied the other promptly, showing that he was following the
narrative closely.
"Well, that being the case," resumed the scoutmaster, "I stuck to the
lower part of the land, climbing over and around such outcropping rocks
as I came across. The moon wasn't helping me very much, though it's up
there behind the clouds; and on that account you see the darkness is
never so bad as when there's no moon at all.
"It wasn't so very long before I heard something knocking softly near
by, and listening carefully I made up my mind that it must be a boat
that was kept in a snug cove perhaps, and yet where it got more or less
wash of the sea beyond.
"That was just what it turned out to be, Allan, a fair sized motorboat,
stoutly built, and yet something of a hummer when it would come to
speed. Her outlines told me this as soon as I could make her out down in
the berth she occupied between the rocks where they had protected the
sides of the little basin with logs to keep her from chafing too much.
"Now, speed indicates that the people owning that boat expect to show a
clean pair of heels, as they say, at times. They want to be in
condition to skip out in a hurry, and be able to outrun any ordinary
craft that might try to overhaul them. Wouldn't you think that way,
Allan?"
"You're speaking my mind to a dot, Thad."
"But I wasn't satisfied wholly, and made another move, to see whether
they had any sort of a cabin around. Seemed to me that if they were
using Sturgeon Island for some sort of shady business, they ought to
have a shelter. Well, I found it before ten minutes had passed, and by
just creeping along what I made out to be a regular trail leading from
the boat up the shore a piece."
"Good for you, Thad; no woodsman could have done better!" exclaimed the
other scout, who, having had practical experience extending through many
trips into the wilderness with hunting parties, was pretty well posted
on the numerous little "wrinkles" connected with woods lore.
"Oh! that was the most natural thing in the world for any one to do, and
I don't deserve any credit, Allan. But there were times when I admit I
did have to almost smell that trail, for it passed over little stretches
of rock, you see. At such times I had to look around, guess about where
it ought to be found where the earth began again, and in that way pick
it up once more."
"And it really led you to a cabin, did it?" Allan asked, as the other
paused.
"Yes, and there had been a fire burning in front of the shack, though I
found only the ashes, as though it had been-hurriedly put out, perhaps
when they first saw us heading toward the island, just before the storm
came along."
"The ashes were still warm, then?" queried Allan, knowing that to be the
logical way a forest ranger always learns about how long past a fire has
burned out, or been extinguished.
"They were, and I could see that the brands had been torn apart, showing
that some one was in a hurry to keep its light from betraying the fact
of any person being camped on Sturgeon Island."
"Just what I'd think myself, Thad."
"After I saw that there was a cabin," continued the scout-master, "I
wondered whether I had better take chances, and crawl up close enough to
hear what they were saying, if so be there were men there. Before I had
gone far in that scheme I realized that it was a little too risky,
because I could hear a moving about, as though several men might be
passing in and out. I also caught an occasional low muttering tone; but
the noise of the waves dashing against the rocks, and the rattling of
the branches of the trees that overhung the lone cabin, kept me from
catching more than a single word now and then.
"After listening for quite a while I thought you would be getting
anxious about my staying so long; and as I couldn't get any real
satisfaction out of the game by hanging around any longer, why, I made
up my mind to clear out. I'd learned several things, anyway, and by
putting our heads together thought we might get at the meat in the
cocoanut."
Of course that was a neat way of admitting that he wanted to talk
matters over with his best chum, on the supposition that "two heads are
better than one." Allan took it that way, for had he not on numberless
occasions done just about the same thing?
"Of course you couldn't tell how many of these men there were, Thad?" he
asked.
"I tried to make a stab at it by noticing the different sound of voices;
and I'm dead sure there must have been three anyhow, p'raps more," the
scout-master told him.
"And I think you've said once or twice that they seemed to be a rough
lot?" the other went on to remark.
"That's my impression, Allan, from a number of things which I won't
bother mentioning now. And there's something more. I told you that
when I had a glimpse of the fellow who spied on our camp I thought he
might be a foreigner, or a half-breed, didn't I?"
"Yes, I remember you did, Thad."
"Well," explained the other, "although I heard so poorly while I was
hanging out near that hidden shack there were times when I thought one
of the men was talking in some tongue besides plain United States. Fact
is, he rattled off something in French."
"Oh! then it's plain who they are--half-breed Canadians from the North
Shore. As this island properly belongs to Canada they would have a
right to land here, and our coming needn't bother them any--if they are
honest men."
"Thad, they wouldn't hide out like they do if they were the right sort.
Make up your mind they're doing something that's against the law.
Honest men don't carry on this way, and spy on a camp of Boy Scouts
wrecked in a storm. Why, no matter how rough they might be, they'd drop
in on us, and offer to share whatever they had. It's only fear of
arrest that makes cowards of men this way."
"I forgot to tell you that among the few words I did manage to pick up
by straining my ears to the limit, were just three that gave me an idea
they took us for a detachment of militia, either Canadian or Yankee, out
on the lake on some serious business that might interfere with their
trade. Those three words were 'soldiers,' 'khaki,' and 'arrest.'"
Allan gave a soft whistle to indicate how his state of feeling
corresponded with that of his chum.
"There isn't any doubt about it in my mind, Thad," he asserted,
vehemently; "but that they're here for no good. That fast launch means
they are in the habit of making swift trips back and forth, perhaps
taking the night for it every time, so as to run less chance of being
seen. And here hard luck has marooned us on Sturgeon Island with a
bunch of desperate smugglers, who look on us as soldiers sent out by the
Government to gather them in. If ever we were up against it hard, we
sure are right now, Pard Thad."
"You seem to have set your mind on that one explanation of their
presence here; and I'll admit that this island would be a great half-way
place to hide the smuggled goods on, till the right night came to run
them across to the American shore; but perhaps you're barking up the
wrong tree there, Allan!"
"Oh! I'll admit that when I call them smugglers I'm only guessing,
because, so far as I know we haven't any sort of evidence looking that
way. It only seems the most natural explanation of why they're so much
afraid of us, believing as they seem to that we're connected with the
Government, one side or the other, just on account of these Boy Scout
uniforms, which I reckon they don't happen to be familiar with. But
Thad, you're holding something back; I can tell that by the way you act.
You learned more than you've told me so far; own up to that."
The young scout-master chuckled. He liked to spring little surprises
once in a while. It was just like tapping a peg until he had it set in
the ground to suit his fancy; and then with one master-stroke driving it
home. He had whetted Allan's curiosity now, and the time had come to
satisfy it.
"Yes," Thad went on to say, "there was one little discovery I made that
gave me certain information, and it was strong enough to convince me
that our earlier suspicions about smugglers and all that sort of thing
were away off the track."
"Yes, go on, please, Thad."
"It struck me while I was lying there not so very far away from that
shanty hidden among the rocks and brushwood. Most of the time the wind
was blowing on my left side, but every little while there would come a
pucker or a flaw, causing it to change for just for a second or two.
And it was when this happened the first time I got scent of what was in
the wind, in a double sense. In other words, Allan, I discovered a
distinct odor of fish in the air!"
"Oh! now I tumble to what you mean!" exclaimed the other.
"And every time that wind brought me a whiff of the fishy smell the
stronger became my conviction that these men must be poachers, who knew
they were breaking certain game laws by taking white fish or trout
illegally, and reaping a harvest that honest fishermen were unable to
reach. Stop and think if things don't point that way?"
And Allan did not have to hesitate in the least, for what his companion
had just told him seemed to settle the matter beyond all dispute.
"Yes, Thad," he said, "now you've let the cat out of the bag there can't
be any question about it. These half-breed Canadians are illegal
fishermen, poachers they'd be called up in Maine; and they believe we've
come to arrest the lot. It's a bad lookout for the Silver Fox Patrol;
but we've seen worse, and always came out on top."