THE LOST TRAP.
It was a quiet evening.
Outside, the moon was just creeping up over the trees, and shining
from a cold looking sky.
Out upon the broad river the current swept past with its constant
gurgle and swish, ever heading into the mysterious Southland,
which our boys yearned to reach.
Maurice was doing some sort of writing at the table, by the light
of the only lantern they possessed, and which did not afford any
too generous a light.
Thad was rummaging about, looking everywhere for a steel trap he
had once possessed, and which now seemed strangely missing.
"I wanted to try it ashore the worst kind tonight, because I've
never stopped thinking of that fine 'possum we had; and from the
signs where we picked up our wood I'm just dead sure a family of
the ringtails hold out," he was saying, as he turned things over,
and looked in the most inaccessible corners.
Thad was gifted with a streak of stubbornness; when he wanted
anything badly he hated to give it up the worst kind.
Consequently, although he had apparently hunted that whole cabin
over from one end to the other, he kept "nosing around," as his
cruising mate observed, rooting here and there, and muttering his
disgust.
"I've been told that there's such a thing as putting a thing away
too carefully, and now I believe it," remarked Maurice, as he
looked up for the tenth time to see the other bending far over,
and actually pawing into a dark hole under the sheathing of the
cabin side.
"But you remember seeing that trap after we started?" complained
Thad.
"Sure I have; but since that early day you must have tucked it
away in some place that's just disappeared. Joking aside, I wonder
if it was that thing fell overboard the other day when you were
romping about the deck with Dixie?" continued Maurice, as if a new
idea had come to him.
Thad had a broad grin on his face as he turned around, still on
his knees.
"What's this?" he remarked, holding some object up.
"Well, now," drawled the other, in his Kentucky way, "looks to me
like it might be a trap; and since we only had one aboard it must
be the missing muskrat gripper. Where'd you hit it?"
"In this blessed hole, and for the life of me I don't remember
ever putting it in there. If I did it must have been while I was
asleep and dreaming."
"Sure you didn't expect to get a rat, and try and call it a bally
'possum? Hey! what are you after now? Expect to find the mate to
it perhaps. Think traps grow from seed like corn?" Maurice
exclaimed, as he saw the other once more thrust his arm into the
hole.
"Why, I tell you this ain't the trap I had at all. Must have been
one poor old The Badgeley owned. P'raps he kept his traps in here.
Say, wouldn't it open your eyes some now if I pulled out a second
one of the same? Now, what d 'ye think of that?"
"I declare if it isn't another of the same kind. They do grow
then. Any more where that came from, Thad?" demanded the boy at
the table, beginning to show a decided interest.
"Oh! I don't know. Would you say that was anything like the
breed?" and he continued to drag out objects which he held up
until Maurice had counted five.
"Here, you've gone and loaded that hole to have the laugh on me;
now just own up!" he exclaimed, finally, throwing up his hands as
if surrendering.
"Honest Injun, I never set eyes on a single one of the lot before
now. You can see they're awfully rusty, too, and need oiling,
because they've been lyin' in that cubbyhole lots of months. I've
had the Tramp nearly a year now, and the old fisherman built it
himself, he told me, meaning some day to float down the
Mississippi. Just to think that we're doing it instead of him."
"Sure there's no more of 'em inside that bully old cache?"
demanded Maurice, laughing as he surveyed the pile of rusty traps,
which no doubt has once been used by the former owner of the boat
to add to his scanty income by supplying him with numerous pelts
of muskrats in the swamp not far from the town on the Ohio.
"I reckon I got the whole bunch; but no harm in making one more
try," and as he spoke Thad pushed his arm again into the dark
opening.
Maurice watched him as if amused.
"Another, eh?" he laughed, as he saw Thad draw back, with an
exclamation of surprise and wonder.
"No trap this time; but something else poor old The must have
shoved in there for safe-keeping."
When he held the object up Maurice saw that it seemed to be a
little packet, wrapped in a dingy piece of oiled cloth.
"Well, I declare, that's mighty queer. Looks like the old fellow
used that hole for keeping his valuables in. Bring it over to the
light, Thad, and let's take a peep at it."
Thad was only too eager to do so, for somehow the fact of finding
a treasure-trove aboard the Tramp excited him not a little.
So he knelt down beside the rough little table that served them in
so many capacities, yet which could be turned up against the cabin
wall in case more room was needed at any time.
"Here, take my knife and cut that cord," said Maurice, when his
chum had been clumsily fingering the wrapping that bound the odd
little packet for what to him seemed an unnecessarily long time.
"Guess I'll just have to," observed Thad, with a grin; "since my
fingers all seem like thumbs. Here she goes, then," and he started
to use the keen edge of the steel blade.
"Wonder what it is," remarked the other, his eyes glued curiously
on the packet, which was not more than five or six inches in
length.
"Feels just like a book," returned Thad, starting to unwrap the
cloth that bound the object in its waterproof folds.
"A book, eh? Like as not some sort of diary. I've never heard you
talk much about the old fellow; was he educated at all, and could
he write d'ye think?" demanded his comrade, with awakening
interest.
"Sure he could. Well, what did I tell yo? It's a book all right,
and p'raps old The kept a record of the fish and muskies he caught
winter and summer. He was a queer old duck, though he did seem to
think a heap of me. Wow! look at that, would you!"
Thad's startled exclamation was not in the least surprising,
considering what had happened.
As he idly opened the book there was disclosed a little collection
of genuine government yellowback bills, not one of which was less
than ten dollars in its denomination. No wonder both boys stared,
their eyes seemingly "as big as saucers," as Thad afterwards
described it.
Mechanically Thad began to count the money that had come into
their possession so miraculously.
"Three hundred and thirty dollars! Did you ever hear of such luck
in all your born days?" he said, his face lighting up with
delight.
"But it isn't ours, you know, Thad. He gave you the boat, but how
do we know he ever meant you to have this money? Can't you just
remember something that would explain it all? Didn't he say just a
little to you at some time about it?"
Maurice looked anxiously from the pile of bills to Thad's sober
face, as though urging him to exert himself to the limit to bring
back to his mind some clue that would unravel the mystery.
And Thad suddenly became anxious himself; he cast a quick look
toward the little window of the shanty-boat cabin, just as if
oppressed with a fear that hostile eyes might even then fee
fastened upon them.
So quickly does the possession of riches bring new troubles; up to
that moment such a thing as a possible intruder had been far from
occurring to Thad; but circumstances alter cases, and now they had
something worth stealing--and he grew afraid.
So his first act was to push the money out of sight under an old
magazine that Maurice had been reading, one they had secured from
Bob Archiable, the itinerant clock mender, when aboard his
floating home.
"I remember now that when I went to see poor old The at the
hospital, when they sent for me, he told me that he wanted me to
have the Tramp for my own. Then he started to say something more,
but began to choke so he could hardly breathe. The nurse tried to
ease him, but he died right there before me. I've never forgot how
mournful like he looked at me. I always thought the old man was
trying to tell me something more. And now I believe it was this!"
"That's right, old fellow. But let's look into the book. I see it
has lots of writing in it, and perhaps we'll get a clue that way."
The book proved to be a rude sort of a diary, in which the river
fisherman kept an account of the various little matters which
concerned his rather monotonous life.
Now and then, however, there were references to his expectation of
realizing some long anticipated pleasure; and the name of "Bunny"
began to appear frequently.
"What do you make of it?" asked Thad, after they had read for half
an hour; he relied upon the sagacity of his companion to solve
what was proving a puzzle to him.
"Why, it seems to me that Bunny must have been some one dear to
the old man. I kind of think it was a daughter who married and
went down the river some time or other; for his thoughts seem to
have always been bent on that coming trip away down in Dixie, when
he grew too old to fish alone. But go on and read some more. I
reckon we'll catch on sure before the end."
Maurice settled himself more comfortably to listen.
"Sounds good to me, what you say; and that's about my mind, too,"
observed the one who had discovered the treasure-trove, as he once
more turned to the soiled diary to continue reading what the
former owner of the shanty-boat had written, in his crabbed hand.
"Here it is, at last; just listen," he exclaimed, fully ten
minutes afterward, and then he went on:
"I met a man today that had just come up from down-river way. And
he knows George Stormway well. He told me Bunny was getting on
right well, and had three children. Last time I heard there wa'nt
but two mouths to feed. But he said George was laid up sometimes
with the shakes, and money mighty scarce in their cabin. Time
about for Old The to make up his mind to just drop in on Bunny,
and surprise her. If I live to fall that's what I'm going to do,
sure. I reckon if I left here in October I'd bring up at Morehead
sometime about the end of November. But It'll be a long wait till
then. As I get older I seem to want to see the gal and her kids
more'n more,"
Maurice looked at Thad, and perhaps there was a suspicious
moisture in his eyes as he winked violently several times.
"The poor old chap never hung out, Thad. If he had he would be on
board this boat right now, carrying his little treasure down to
his Bunny, to give her a surprise. That was a tough deal all
right," he said, reaching out his hand for the charts they had
secured of the lower Mississippi.
"What's up?" asked the other and his voice was rather husky, so
that he had to cough several times to clear it.
"Why, d'ye know, I was wondering where that place might be. I
don't remember having noticed it; and p'raps it is too small to be
put on the map."
Thad went on reading in the diary, while his chum placed a
forefinger on the chart, and ran it slowly down. "Here's where we
are, right now," he was saying, half to himself; "and down below--
well, I declare, if that ain't the queerest thing. What d'ye
think, Thad, we must be only a day's run, above Morehead. It's on
the map all right, even if it is only a wood station, where the
river steamers stop to load up!"
Thad had to examine the location to make sure, and all the while
he was saying eagerly:
"It's just like all this happened on purpose, Maurice--my wanting
that trap so bad, and not finding it, and then looking in the hole
in the side of the cabin, to strike this! I reckon old The's
spirit must have been pushing me along; and Maurice, there ain't
but one thing for us to do now."
"Yes," said the other, nodding his head with determination; "this
money don't belong to us. Bunny needs it, and Bunny's going to get
it, if we can find her out!"
"Shake on that, Pard Maurice. I knew you'd say it!" cried Thad.
And then and there they ratified the bargain with a grip that
stood for everything that was loyal and true.