BANDY-LEGS SUSPECTS
Max Hastings smiled. He at the same time drew a breath of relief,
satisfied to know that his first impression of the sturdy looking young
chap was confirmed, and convinced that the said Obed Grimes must be the
right sort of fellow.
Steve and Bandy-legs fairly gasped, as though they had received a real
shock. At the same time the eyes of the former glistened with
newly-awakened interest.
"A fur farmer, do you say, Obed? And raising foxes for the market, are
you?" he burst out with, delightedly. "Now, I've read a heap about that
sort of thing in the papers and magazines, but I never thought I'd
actually run across anybody that had the nerve and confidence to go into
it as a business. And you say you're making good, are you, Obed? That's
fine!"
"I've turned my 'tention to raisin' real black foxes, first thing,"
explained the other, with a touch of genuine pride in his manner, Max
could easily see; "and if the try turns out as profitable as I reckon
she promises to be, why, then, I'm figgerin' on tryin' to raise mink and
marten and sech other furs as fetch top-notch prices."
"Then I guess you must have trapped all sorts of wild animals before
now, Obed?" suggested Steve, eagerly, "so you know their habits to a
fraction; because, of course, only one who is posted in that direction
could ever hope to make a success of a fur farm."
Obed grinned and nodded his head.
"Oh! I reckon I'm up a little bit in all sech things," he said airily
enough. "And after all, it ain't so _very_ hard to raise foxes. I was
afraid fust off it might be what they told me, that blacks ain't to be
relied on to breed true to strain, but shucks! I've got some cubs that
are dandies. Wait till you see 'em, boys."
That sounded as though, sooner or later, Obed meant to have them visit
his fur farm, and see with their own eyes what he had been doing.
Bandy-legs, skeptical once more, told himself he only hoped the whole
thing might not turn out to be a myth, and that the said Obed himself
prove to be a deception and a fraud.
"I understand that the pelts of black foxes are worth a whole lot of
money," remarked Steve; "fact is, we know that to be so, because we once
had such a skin given to us by a man who made a business of trapping."
"It all depends on the quality of the pelt," explained Obed. "Some ain't
worth as much as three hundred dollars, because they've got defects, yuh
see. Then again a real fine skin has fetched as much as thirty-six
hundred dollars in London markets."
Evidently, Obed was well posted, at any rate, whether he really had
such a fur farm of his own or not, Bandy-legs concluded. And then he
again allowed himself to give imagination free rein, and for a time
even looked on Obed as the essence of truth, doubly distilled.
Sitting there by the fire, which one of he boys replenished every little
while, Obed told them many very interesting things connected with that
strange farm of his. All this in his odd vernacular which Max tried to
get the hang of, in order to judge whether it signified that the country
boy lacked an education or not. He continued to be more or less
mystified, however, though concluding that Obed was just one of those
customary country boys often run across on farms who take especial
delight in joking and playing little tricks which they consider
humorous.
"But he isn't at all bad, I'll stake everything on that" Max also told
himself, as he sat and listened to the really interesting descriptions
given by the other of his successes, and first failures along the
difficult line of breeding foxes in captivity, with scores of things
against him, which had to be overcome.
An hour passed by in this manner. When Max saw their visitor showing
signs as if he meant to leave them, he took a hand in the conversation,
which up to then had been almost wholly monopolized by Bandy-legs, Steve
and the woods boy.
"It's very kind of you to invite us over to inspect this wonderful
little fur farm of yours, Obed," he went on to say; "but you'll have to
give us directions how we can get there, unless you mean to accept our
offer of a blanket by the fire here tonight, when we could go along with
you in the morning."
Obed looked sober.
"I'd like to stay longer with you, boys," he hastened to say, as though
he really meant it, "but I ought tuh be gettin' back home. Thar's some
duties waitin' for me to look after. And then I ain't quite easy in my
mind 'bout them two fellers that's up here in the woods. They ain't
meanin' to do any shootin', even if they have got Lem Scott along as a
guide, and he the meanest skunk in the hull county, lots o' folks do
say, and a poacher in the bargain that the wardens are layin' to grab
one o' these fine days. Now I'll jest up and tell yuh how to get to my
place. It's as easy as water runnin' down-hill."
He entered into explicit directions, and Max pinned them in his memory.
In fact, Obed simply told them to follow the stream up three miles until
they came to a bunch of seven birch trees on the right-hand bank. There
they were to pick up a trail they would find, follow it half a mile, and
at that they would see a cabin under the hemlocks and pines, which would
be his humble home woods.
"We've got it all down pat, Obed," said Steve, "and like as not you'll
see the bunch of us trailing along there some time tomorrow morning.
I've always been crazy to see a fur farm, after reading so much about
them, and you bet I don't mean to let this chance slip by me."
Max now thought it time to make a few inquiries himself. He wanted to
ask Obed whether he had ever run across a boy by the name of Roland
Chase, a sickly looking chap in the bargain. It might possible to pick
up a clue in this way; and they had reached a point where they could not
afford to let any opportunity for acquiring information get past them.
In order to pursue this course, however, Max realized that it would be
necessary to enter into some sort of explanation concerning the nature
of the peculiar errand that had tempted them to come to the Adirondacks.
"I want to ask you a question or two, Obed," he began, "but first of all
I ought to tell you what brings us here."
Accordingly, Max proceeded to explain how the school had be closed for
two or more weeks in early October, and what a singular thing came about
to tempt them into taking an outing. He was watching the woods boy at
the time he first mentioned Mrs. Hopewell, and spoke the name of Roland
Chase; but if the other gave any unusual signs of interest, Max failed
to catch the same. Still, Obed was listening with all his might, and it
seemed as though the unusual story of the inheritance that was to be
given to the said Roland in case he made good, interested him.
Max in this manner explained just why he and his three chums had
accepted the generous offer of the elderly lady, so deeply concerned
over the welfare of her nephew Boland, that she was ready to spend
almost any reasonable sum in order to at least learn that the poor boy
was alive, and in fairly decent health.
They had been told to assure him, in case they ever managed to locate
the elusive Roland, that he should not worry because of not being able
to comply with the absurd conditions of Uncle Jerry's ridiculous will;
because she had enough of this world's goods for both, and she meant to
leave it all to him, Roland; so she begged him to come back to her, and
live his own life again, even though he had spent the last penny of his
two-thousand-dollar legacy, and was as poor as Job's turkey.
All this made an interesting story, and must have amused the woods boy
more or less, because Max knew how to put considerable pathos in it.
Obed sat there shading his eyes with his hand to keep the glow of the
fire from dazzling him. Occasionally he would interrupt to ask some
natural question, which made Max think he was taking a fair amount of
interest in the account.
"What I wanted to ask you," concluded Max, "was whether you'd ever
happened to run across this same Roland Chase in the mountains. We heard
about a fellow answering his description who was seen in company with a
dissipated guide named Shanks. I thought perhaps you might help us out,
Obed."
Obed looked him straight in the face.
"So far as I knows on, Max," he went on to say, seriously, "I ain't
never met any feller like yuh say face to face. About that man Shanks, I
know he's said to be a tough un. I saw him some months back down at
Sawyer's Forks, and by hokey! now that you mention it, thar _was_ a
sickly lookin' young feller along with him then; but say, his name was
Bob Jenks, or somethin' like that, and not Roland Chase."
"Oh! well, so far as that goes," said Max, "he may have changed his
name. Some people think nothing of sailing under false colors; and if it
turns out that Roland has taken up with such a disreputable character as
this drunken guide seems to be, I don't wonder at him wanting to hide
his identity. So you think you must be going home, do you, Obed?"
"Yep," the other observed, gaining his feet. "And I wanter to thank all
o' ye for givin' me sech a pleasant evenin'. I ain't had sech a good
time this long while back. But then the Grimeses all are 'customed to
roughin' it. Granddad used to be away all by hisself for as much as two
years, trappin' up in Canada. It's in the blood, I reckon. Now, yuh mean
to drop in, and visit me, don't ye? I'll be expectin' yuh, and have
something to eat awarmin', though course I ain't a good cook like you
fellers, as has had so much experience. So long, boys!"
He waved them a cheerful goodbye, once more smiled at each in turn,
whirled on his heel, and was gone, seeming to vanish in the shadows of
the nearby woods like "a wisp of smoke when the wind strikes it," as
Steve remarked.
After the departure of their guest, it was only natural that he should
be the subject of conversation about the fire as the four chums lay
there taking things easy.
"Max, honest to goodness now," Bandy-legs remarked, "do you really take
any stock in that fairy story he told us about an imaginary fur farm? It
struck me Obed is givin to yarnin' just for the love of it. All that
stuff about his relatives may have been true, and again only nonsense.
It's my opinion there isn't any Granddad Grimes, or Uncle Hiram,
Nicodemus and so forth. He grinned like everything when he was reeling
those names off so slick. Yes, he was stringing us, I bet you."
"W-w-why," burst out Toby just then, "who wouldn't have to s-s-snicker
when he had a w-w-whole lot of relations with such f-f-funny names! It'd
make me grin from ear to ear every time I h-h-happened to think of 'em.
You're the greatest hand to s-s-suspect anybody I ever s-s-saw,
Bandy-legs. Now, I want you to k-k-know that I think Obed the
s-s-straight g-g-goods, and I'm taking a heap of s-s-stock in seeing
that bully f-f-fur f-f-farm of his tomorrow; ain't you, Max?"
"Certainly I am," replied the other, without a second's hesitation. "In
the first place, Bandy-legs, you must understand that nobody could talk
so interestingly on a subject unless he knew a lot about it. He told us
a dozen things about fur farming that I never heard before."
"Huh! and perhaps nobody else ever heard of them either, Max," grunted
the far from satisfied Bandy-legs.
"Nothing will ever satisfy him except he sees those kit foxes with his
own eyes," asserted Steve, almost indignantly, "handles them with his
own paws, and asks every little critter whether he really belongs to
Obed Grimes. Bandy-legs is the worst Doubting Thomas going, when the fit
comes on him."
Even this sort of talk did not convince the objector.
"Say what you will, fellows," Bandy-legs went on, stubbornly, "there's a
wheen of queer things connected with this same Obed Grimes, and I won't
take that back till he shows us his wonderful old farm, where he raises
black foxes for the fur market. Stop and think how mysteriously he
popped in on us, will you? Why, he as much as owned up that he had been
spying on us for a long time. If Toby here hadn't discovered him
peeking, and pointed that way, chances are he wouldn't have shown up at
all. Now, what made him snoop around our camp like that?"
"Say, didn't he explain all that just as straight as a die?" objected
Steve, who seemed to have conceived quite a fancy for Obed Grimes, the
woods boy. "He told us he had reason to fear some unscrupulous fellows
were hanging around this region and meaning to steal his pets when they
got half a chance. That was why he wanted to watch, and make sure we
didn't belong to the same crowd."
"Oh! yes, a likely story, too," continued Bandy-legs, with a sneer. "Why
should anybody want to rob a poor boy who was trying to earn his living
by farming, even if it was furs he raised instead of grain or hogs or
stock?"
"Why, you poor ninny, the reason is as plain as the nose on your face,
Bandy-legs, and that's not invisible by a big sight. When a black fox
pelt will fetch a thousand dollars, more or less, and can't well be
traced once it gets mixed with other pelts, it stands to reason that any
thief would want to steal it. As to your doubting that there are any
other people up in this section, you seem to forget, Bandy-legs, that
around noon today we sighted a plain smoke some miles away, which we
opined must have been made by some advance hunters, waiting for the law
to be off deer. Well, why couldn't it have been the people Obed says he
fears, who made that smoke? Now, for my part, I believe every word Obed
Grimes said. He's the straight goods every time, and you can see it in
his eye, for he looks you direct in the face."
Thereupon, Bandy-legs, as though realizing that he had raised a hornet's
nest about his ears, deemed it the part of discretion to shrug his
shoulders after the manner of one who, "convinced against his will is of
the same opinion still."
"We'll let the subject drop, Steve," he said, hastily. "It ain't worth
quarreling over. The proof of the pudding is in the eating of it; and
tomorrow we'll _know_ what's what. But remember, if it turns out that
we've been bamboozled, don't blame me, because I've warned you all."
"If we had a chill from every warning you've sprung on us, Bandy-legs,"
Steve told him, witheringly, "why, say, we'd have gone all to pieces
long before now. You're a regular old bad-weather prognosticator, that's
what you are."
"That's right, get to calling names. It's a habit with people who know
they are in the wrong," grumbled Bandy-legs; but, nevertheless, he "drew
within his shell," and said nothing further about Obed Grimes or his
suspicions concerning the same.