CONFRONTED BY THE ENEMY
Fred had broken one of his snowshoes while running away from the deer,
and Joel Runnell’s first work after Harry and Joe had left Snow Lodge
was to repair this.
“You want to be more careful in the future,” said the old hunter, when
the job was finished. “So far you have tumbled into nothing worse than a
snowbank. If you should slide over a cliff and land upon the rocks, you
might get badly hurt.”
“I intend to be careful in the future,” answered the youth. “I am sorry
I ran away—now,” he added, regretfully.
“Well, lad, as to that, it’s often much safer to run than to stand your
ground. I dodged an old buck once for half an hour, and then escaped
only by the skin of my teeth. Something got the matter with my gun, and
it wouldn’t go off.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yes, two days later. I made up my mind I’d have him, and I traveled
nigh on thirty miles to lay him low.”
After the necessary work around the lodge was concluded time hung
heavily on Fred’s hands, and he decided to try his luck once more at
fishing.
“It’s better than doing nothing,” he said.
“Well, it’s all right, only don’t fall into the hole, and get drowned,”
cautioned Joel Runnell. And then Fred disappeared with his outfit,
whistling merrily.
Left to himself, Joel Runnell proceeded to split some more wood, and
pile it up in a corner of the living-room. To his experienced eye he
could see that another snowstorm was not far off, and how long it would
last there was no telling.
“We’ve got meat enough,” he reasoned to himself. “And so long as we have
wood, too, there will be no cause to worry.”
The thermometer had gone down once more, and he had to work at a lively
rate to keep warm. He wondered how Fred was making out with his fishing,
and grinned to himself.
“Wager he won’t stay there long,” he muttered. “If he does, he’ll be
frozen stiff.”
The old hunter had just carried in his sixth armful of wood, when a
shadow crossed the open doorway, and looking up he found himself
confronted by Hiram Skeetles.
The real estate dealer was a tall, thin man, with a leathery face and
broken snags of yellowish teeth. He chewed tobacco constantly, and the
corners of his mouth were much discolored in consequence.
“So ye hain’t taken my warnin’, I see,” snarled Skeetles.
“Hello, Skeetles; what brings you?” demanded Joel Runnell, as cheerily
as he could.
“Ye know well enough what brung me, Joel Runnell. Didn’t I warn ye not
to trespass on my property?”
“I’ve told you that I don’t know as it is your property. So far I think
it belongs to the old Crawley estate, and it’s in the sheriff’s care.”
“It ain’t so; it’s mine, every foot of it.” Hiram Skeetles’ eyes blazed.
“I want for you to git out, an’ be quick about it.”
“And I ain’t a-going,” answered Joel Runnell, doggedly.
“You ain’t?”
“No.” The old hunter sat down by the fire, with his gun across his
knees. “Now, what are you going to do about it?”
“Did you see the notice I had Dan Marcy leave?”
“I did; but that counts for nothing with me.”
“I’ll have the law on ye!”
“Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won’t, Hiram.”
“Don’t Hiram me, Joel Runnell. I don’t put myself on a level with a
vagabond o’ a game stealer like you. If——”
“Hold on there, Skeetles. I am no game stealer, and if you say so——” The
old hunter had leaped up, gun in hand.
“Don’t—don’t ye shoot me!” howled the real estate dealer.
“Then don’t say such things again. Every bit of game I bring in I come
by honestly.”
“Where are those Westmore chaps?” questioned Hiram Skeetles, deeming it
best to shift the subject.
“They have gone out to bring in some game we shot yesterday.”
“Did they see the notice?”
“They did, and they care for it as little as I do.”
“Think they can ride over me, eh?” Hiram Skeetles took a turn up and
down the apartment. “Must say the lot of ye are carryin’ matters with a
high hand.”
“What did you do with Dan Marcy?” asked Joel Runnell, suddenly.
“That’s my business.”
“If you brought him along to worry us you did a very foolish thing,”
went on the old hunter. “I haven’t forgotten how he tried to run down my
girl with his ice boat.”
“Your gal had a right to git out o’ the way.”
“I won’t argue the point. But if Marcy worries me any more he’ll get
something he won’t like.”
“We’ll see about this. I’ll call on the sheriff,” said Hiram Skeetles;
and without another word he passed out of the lodge, and made his way
toward the upper end of the lake.
Anxious to learn what would be the man’s next move, Joel Runnell
followed. But Skeetles broke into a run, and soon disappeared from view
among a patch of woods.
In thoughtful mood the old hunter walked back to the lodge, and then
toward where Fred was fishing. He found the youth safe, and surprised to
learn that the real estate dealer had showed himself in that
out-of-the-way place.
“He doesn’t like it that Joe and Harry are here,” said Fred. “I really
think he’s afraid they’ll find that pocketbook he says he once lost.”
“I hope they do find it—if it’s got those missing papers in it,” was the
answer.
Fred had already caught several fish, and said he intended to catch as
many more before he quit, no matter how cold it grew.
“I’ll show them that I can catch fish even if I’m no good at deer
hunting,” he explained.
“Have you seen anything in the shape of game since you came down?”
“I saw something that looked like a black bear. But he didn’t come near
here.”
“A bear? Where?”
Fred pointed out the direction, and Joel Runnell started off to see if
the report was true. But he could find nothing, and in half an hour he
returned.
“You must have been mistaken, Fred. Perhaps it was nothing but a
shadow.”
“Well, I was busy fishing, and didn’t notice particularly,” returned the
boy.
He said he wanted to catch just two fish more, and would then return to
the lodge.
“All right, but don’t get frozen stiff doing it,” answered Joel Runnell.
“When do you think Joe and Harry will return?”
“They ought to be along inside of an hour. They’ll find that load a
pretty heavy one.”
“I heard some shooting over there a while ago. But it has stopped now.”
To warm himself, the old hunter walked briskly in the direction of Snow
Lodge. He felt uneasy; why, he could not explain.
“Those boys may have gotten into trouble,” he thought. “Perhaps I had
better slip after them and find out.”
As he came in sight of the lodge an exclamation of astonishment burst
from his lips. All of their traps and stores had been tumbled in a heap
on the edge of the clearing, and the door was tightly closed, and the
broken-out window partly barred.
“This is Skeetles’ work!” he muttered.
“Stop where you are!” came in the real estate dealer’s voice, as Runnell
walked to the door and tried it, to find it locked. “If you attempt to
come in you’ll get shot.”
“That’s the talk,” was added by Dan Marcy. “Possession is nine points of
the law, and we want you to take your stuff and be gone!”
“But see here——” began Joel Runnell.
“We won’t argy with ye!” snarled Hiram Skeetles, as he appeared at the
window, gun in hand. “Clear out, an’ be quick about it.”
Joel Runnell was about to say something far from complimentary to the
pair, when a yell from the lake shore reached his ears. Fred was running
toward him with a face full of fear.
“The bear! The bear!” he yelled. “He’s after me!”