Back to the Farm
The minutes which passed as Joe and his friends lay in the hollow into
which the upset of their sleigh had thrown them proved, as they rapidly
increased in number, that plans, however carefully made, do not always
become accomplished. It had been agreed between the little hunter and
our hero that it was their plain duty to capture Hurley; for was he not
an escaped criminal, a murderer, a brute who sought to slay them? But
try as they might to circumvent the rascal, he outwitted them.
"It aer one of them tarnation difficulties that one don't realize till
one comes up agin them," said Hank after a while, for immediately on
their upset Hurley had caused his own team of dogs to be pulled up
short, and had himself taken advantage of a hollow. Hidden in it, he
bobbed up every now and again and sent a shot swishing over the little
party, while apparently the bullets fired by Joe and his friend had no
better effect. They were, in fact, merely wasting time.
"Doing no harm, and just keeping us here till his men come up to join
him," ventured Joe.
"Huh!" grunted the trapper. "But we'll see as they don't get quite up
to him, unless, of course, there's a hollow which will give them cover
all the way. Lad, this aer likely to get serious."
"Then why not make a bolt for it?" asked Joe. "I don't mean run away
altogether," he added, as Hank flashed round upon him, "but make a rush
and draw him after us. If Beaver Jack steers so as to take us into
broken country, where there are patches of trees and undergrowth, we
could select a suitable place, stop suddenly, and then shoot as Hurley
came after us."
Hank struck the butt of his rifle violently. "Ef that ain't a wheeze!"
he cried exultantly. "Ef he follows us--and it ain't dead sartin--but
ef he does, Beaver Jack'll manage the move for us easy. Let's see;
yes, there's trees 'way ahead--only to reach 'em we've got to run the
gauntlet."
"Well? What matters?" asked Joe. "Better that than have all those
rascals close up to us and shooting."
"We'll do it," exclaimed Hank. "Beaver Jack, you aer heard this
proposition?"
The Redskin hardly deigned to answer; instead, he swung his dogs round,
pulling them by means of the reins, till he had them lying in the
hollow itself.
"Not do mount here," he said. "P'raps bullet hit us. But creep away
down there till we reach trees. Leave one here to fire now and again;
then, when all ready, jump on the sleigh and get away behind cover."
He held out an attenuated hand, the fingers of which were as fine as
any lady's, and pointed to a patch of trees springing from the side of
the hollow a hundred or more yards away. The gesture and his words
were sufficient explanation of his meaning. If the sleigh were taken
there without its human load, and the feat could be accomplished
without Hurley seeing, then all could mount and start away before the
murderer had become aware of their intentions.
"It aer a cute move, and we'll work it," said Hank instantly. "Now,
Joe, which of us'll stay; you or me?"
"My place," came the ready answer. "I suggested going, therefore I do
the work which will help us to fool Hurley. I'll give him a shot now
and again."
Hank at once slid down into the hollow and joined Beaver Jack. Joe
watched them as they sprawled on their faces, first placing their
weapons on the sleigh; then he saw them slowly move away, the Redskin
beside his team, crawling on all-fours, talking to the dogs and keeping
them well under cover.
Crack! crack! Zip! zip! Two bullets swished overhead, the crisp
sounds they made proving that they had been aimed at Joe and not at his
comrades. At once he bobbed up, aimed for the place where he knew
Hurley was in hiding, and fired; but he saw nothing of the enemy. This
was a duel waged between contestants who kept beneath cover, and hoped
only for a lucky chance to hit an enemy. Joe waited again, and once
more the exchange of shots was repeated. Then he turned his head, to
find that Hank and Beaver Jack had reached the trees and were waiting
for him.
"I'll give 'em one more," he told himself, raising his rifle, "and then
join the others. Hallo! What's this? One of Beaver Jack's pelts.
Suit my purpose admirably."
Two shots rang out again in the distance, and Joe's followed swiftly.
Then he placed the dark-coloured skin on the top of the bank, and
within sight of the enemy, and at once sprawled on hands and knees and
crawled along the hollow. He accomplished the distance to the
rat-a-tat-tat of rifle shots, for Hurley and his comrade had found a
mark to aim at. Then he took his place on the sleigh, on which Hank
and Beaver Jack were already seated, and which they had hauled in
behind the cover of the trees.
"Best get into position and comfortably settled afore we set out," said
the little hunter. "Gee! What a racket they're making! They ain't
spotted this business, I hope?"
"Shooting at one of Beaver Jack's pelts," said Joe dryly. "He left it
behind. I thought he'd be able to spare it."
"My, you'll do!" exclaimed Hank, laughing outright. "I've known young
chaps as could fight all right, but who were always mighty serious when
bullets war flying, and couldn't think of things like that. You'll do,
Joe. You aer got a sense of humour. Now, Beaver Jack, you get in at
it, and don't drive 'em too fast after the fust bust of speed. We aer
got to draw that Hurley cuss close up to us."
Shouts of anger and disappointment greeted the party as they swung out
from behind the cover and into the open. Shots were fired in their
direction also. But Beaver Jack was a master of stratagem; he kept the
patch of cover that had already helped them so much between the sleigh
and the enemy, and Hurley, seeing that the men he desired to kill were
rapidly increasing their distance, rushed for his own sleigh, leaped
aboard, and bellowed to his driver to set the team in motion; and,
thanks to the lighter weight the pursuing sleigh bore, and in no small
degree to Beaver Jack's skill and cunning, Hurley slowly gained upon
the three men flying before him. He leaned upon his elbow, for he had
again adopted the position which Hank had first shown him, and, taking
a long and careful aim, sent a bullet flying after them.
"Time we stopped!" cried Joe abruptly, gripping his elbow, for the
missile had struck him. Not that it was a severe wound--on the
contrary, it was little more than a graze--but even that causes pain
and rouses a man to exertion. Joe was determined to put up no longer
with Hurley's attempts upon his life and upon those of his comrades.
"Let's stop this business right here and now," he cried hotly.
"There's a long patch of wood ahead; let's fix to pull in the team
there."
"Good fer you, lad!" answered Hank. "Beaver Jack, you aer heard the
order? Now, Joe lad, listen to this. I has fust shot; ef I miss,
you're welcome to try; only I somehow feel as ef this war my special
business. Here we are; now fer it."
Beaver Jack brought the team to a halt in masterly manner, while Joe
and the hunter rolled off the sleigh. Then Hank took post close to the
edge of the wood and just in the open.
"I ain't the one to fire at a man without giving him a chance," he
said. "Ah! he's seen us; he's stopped. That was a near 'un!"
There was a heavy thud as Hurley's bullet struck the tree beside the
hunter. Then up went Hank's weapon. He took a rapid sight, and then
flung down his rifle almost before the report had come to Joe's ears,
while the latter watched for the result of the shot with more than a
little anxiety. A little time before he would perhaps have wished
Hurley to escape injury, for Joe possessed a soft and forgiving heart.
Now, however, he had a different opinion as to his merits. It was,
therefore, with no great amount of sorrow that he saw the ruffian
suddenly throw up his arms and tumble over.
"Wiped out clean," growled Hank. "Dead as a trapped beaver."
There could be no doubt that that was the end of the murderer. Hank's
bullet had, in fact, killed Hurley instantaneously, and had thereby
provided a fitting punishment for the detestable crime he had
committed. As for Hurley's companion, the half-breed leaped on to the
sleigh which, like his master, he had abandoned for the moment, and
sending his whip cracking over the dogs, turned them in the opposite
direction and raced away for safety.
"Not as he's got anything to fear from me," said Hank; "I aer done what
I promised. And now, young chap, guess there are something more for us
to look into--there aer that letter."
It was uppermost in his mind as in our hero's, and it is not to be
wondered at that they boarded their sleigh and swung their team back
towards the dark figure lying prone in the snow behind them. But would
Hurley have the document still? Had he destroyed it? In fact, had he
ever had it, or was it possible that both Hank and Joe had conjured up
a conspiracy which had never existed? Supposing Hurley had merely
fallen upon their trace by accident, and then, learning that two of the
men who had previously helped to hound him down were of the party, had
endeavoured to slay them?
Those were the fears and the questions which raced through their minds
as Beaver Jack sent the dogs straining across the snow towards the body
of their enemy. They found him lying face downwards, a crimson stain
spoiling the beautiful white of Nature's own making.
"Search him," said Joe, turning his head away from such a gruesome
sight. "Search him, then let us go."
"Got it! Huh! I said so, didn't I?"
Hank's face was radiant. He held aloft a long envelope, stained with
much handling, and then, having run through all of Hurley's pockets, he
dragged the document from the envelope and coolly perused it. Joe
himself had now no qualms as to reading it also.
"You are on the high road to 'making good'," said Hank. "There ain't
no reason now in waiting longer. Read! It aer as clear as daylight
that Hurley had made up his mind to wipe you out and then to make for
England with the idea of passing himself off as your father."
When they were able to gather all the details, this, indeed, proved to
be the crux of the whole conspiracy, and the death of Hurley had alone
put an end to it. It is not for us to raise doubts here as to his
prospects. Doubtless there was many a slip which he might have made,
for criminals are ever careless; but matters were decidedly in his
favour. That receipt, still within the envelope, would obtain for him
all the proofs of Mr. Bradley's birth and life and parentage. The
signature, doubtless, he would learn to copy, while the very fact of
Joe's father having kept so much to himself would have made Hurley's
non-recognition at the Bradleys' old home of no moment. The weak
point, however, arrived when he expected residents in the little
provincial town where Joe had spent his early existence to recognize in
Hurley the cycle maker who they knew had died quite lately.
"He'd have been had there," said Joe thoughtfully, "unless, of course,
he had declared that he never lived in England after he was twenty
years of age. Ah! that was his game; he had become a colonist. No
doubt he could have imported some scoundrel to swear to the fact that
Hurley was not known as Hurley at all, but as Bradley. However,
there's an end to the matter. Wonder what this uncle of mine's like?
Don't feel over-keen on writing to him."
Circumstances saved Joe that necessity, for no sooner had he sent
information to the London solicitors who held the proofs which his
father had deposited, than he learned that his uncle was dead. He had,
in fact, survived Mr. Bradley but a few months. Thus Joe was the heir
to the property.
"Let it go hang for the time being," he said, when he and Hank and the
Fennicks were discussing the matter together; for the trio had safely
returned to the settlement at the head of the valley in New Ontario.
"I've something far more interesting here, I can assure you."
He said that with truth, too, for never was there a more fascinating
business than Sam Fennick had created. That spring, in fact, more than
twenty families joined him, shacks were run up rapidly by the
corporation into which they formed themselves, while machinery was
already arriving. Soon the workers were divided into parties, each
with their tasks assigned, and by seeding time not only had every
family a good roof over its head, but an extraordinary amount of ground
had been broken.
There is little to add with regard to our hero. That winter which
followed he ran over to England, and then, having placed his affairs in
the hands of lawyers, and having let the property to which he had
proved his title, he returned to join his comrades. Up at the end of
that valley Peter Strike, and Hank, and many another are now located.
A railway draws its steel lines through the heart of the settlement,
while a school is already building. That is the way with Canada, red
tape has scarcely an existence; it is merely a bad memory imported from
the old country. Yes, there is a school building, while the telephone
is fitted to houses rapidly replacing the rough shacks. But that is
not all. Electric light is generated by water power at the foot of the
lake, while there is a lumber mill down south, and logs pay handsomely.
Motors buzz, too, out on the fields, and acres of soil are ripped open
and ploughed in as many hours as days were taken formerly with horse
tackle. Joe himself is rather proud of the potatoes he grows on his
holding, while he has hopes some day of beating all at the annual fruit
show in Toronto. You may ask with reason, perhaps, whether he ever
pines for London or a city. No, emphatically no! Joe is an open-air
man, a jovial, hard-working, contented fellow, who loves the wilds of
the Dominion, and who now and again sneaks off into the backwoods with
his old chum Hank. But business is his main consideration. His
purchases close to Peter Strike's old settlement have increased
enormously in value, while elsewhere he is making money.
"Not as it matters much to a chap same as you," said Hank one night,
for he and Joe lived together; "you're rich without these here acres.
But guess it's not the dollars you're after; it's makin' good, eh, Joe?
Making good 'lows a man to be proud of hisself, and, jingo, it aer
worth doing!"