KEEN ON THE TRAIL OF THE PUZZLE
Breathless with excitement, Dick crouched over the hole in the dirt
floor, unwilling to make a move until the other fellows had joined him.
That didn't take long.
Hen Dutcher was one of the first to get a glimpse at what had filled
Prescott with so much excitement.
"Gracious! It must be Captain Kidd's treasure!" gasped Hen.
"Guess again," replied Tom Reade. "A pirate would be doing a poor
business who didn't get a bigger lot of loot than that together."
"But this is a valuable lot of stuff," argued Harry Hazelton, as he took
a look.
"I wonder who could have buried it here?" demanded Dan.
"I think I know," nodded Dick. "Now, then, stand back a little and I'll
take the stuff out."
The first thing that Prescott drew out of the hole was a paper parcel.
This he unwrapped, then gave a whoop of joy.
"The fan I bought mother for Christmas!" he almost shouted.
Something yellowish glinted and caught his eye down in the hole. Dick
fished the object out.
"Who's is this?" he queried, holding up a curiously engraved gold watch.
"It looks like Dr. Bentley's," replied Dave Darrin, eying the timepiece.
"I saw it often enough when I had diphtheria and he was taking my
pulse."
"Yes; it's Dr. Bentley's," glowed Dick. "Won't he be the happy man,
though?"
"He will if we manage to get it back to him," assented Tom dryly.
Then a dozen rings, some of them set with gems, and all tied on a
string, came to light. There were half a dozen boxes containing jewelry;
these boxes undoubtedly had been stolen from women in stores or on the
street. A few more rather valuable articles came to light, and then
Dick, after opening one jeweler's box and looking inside, emitted a
whoop of wild joy.
"This must be the very watch that Fits stole from our parlor--the watch
intended for my Christmas present," Prescott cried. "Yes, sir; I'll
wager this is my watch."
But at last Dick put it aside with the other loot, and then applied
himself to emptying the hole of its few remaining treasures.
"There must be five or six hundred dollars' worth of stuff in the lot,"
guessed Tom.
"More than that," said Dave.
"So, now, of course, you fellows can guess who hid the stuff here," Dick
went on. "It was Mr. Fits who stole Dr. Bentley's watch, and who stole
mine, too. So Mr. Fits must have hidden here all this stuff, which
represents Mr. Fits's stealings."
"Then all I have to say," observed Tom, "is that if our friend Fits
would apply the same amount of industry to honest work he'd be a
successful man."
"Until the day before Christmas," Dick continued, "Fits had at least two
confederates, whom we helped to put in jail. Probably this stuff was
stolen by them all, and then hidden."
"And that was why Fits came back here, and was so anxious to get us
out," muttered Dave. "Now, I begin to understand why Fits wanted a
hiding place for his plunder even more than for himself. He wanted to
leave the stuff in this lonely cabin, and be sure it was safe, until he
could find a place where he could sell it. Naturally our coming here
upset Mr. Fits's plans, and so bothered him into the bargain."
While the other boys were busy with examining the other pieces of loot,
Dick took many an alternate glance at his mother's fan and his own
watch.
"I wish we could get this back to Gridley at once, and turn it over to
the rightful owners," sighed Greg.
"That wouldn't be the way to go about it, though," Dick responded.
"Why not?"
"Because stolen property, when recovered, has to be turned over to the
police first of all. Then, if the thief is caught, the police have the
loot as evidence against the thief."
"How long do the police keep the stuff?" demanded Greg.
"Until the thief's trial, if there is one, is over."
"Then, if Fits is caught, Mr. Dick, it may be a long time before you'll
have the right to wear your own watch."
"I can wear it now, out here," retorted Prescott, slipping the silver
watch into a vest pocket and passing the chain through a buttonhole.
"On second thought, though, I won't. We're not sure that Mr. Fits may
not reappear. If he did, and found me wearing a watch, he would
understand, and might get fighting mad. If Fits had a fellow rascal or
two along with him, they could put up more fight than we boys could
take care of. If Fits should come along, and not see any proof that we
had found his plunder, he might wait until we are all out of the way
before he made any effort to find it. Oh! While I think of it, Greg, I
wish you and Hen would take buckets and go to the spring for water."
Dutcher grumbled a bit, though he felt that it wasn't safe to rebel
openly. He and Greg were gone some time, for, as usual, the ice over the
top of the spring had to be chopped away before the water could be
obtained.
So, when Hen came in, after pouring his bucketful into the barrel, he
noted that the plunder had vanished.
"What did you do with all the stuff?" Greg demanded curiously.
"It has vanished," smiled Dick.
Greg said no more, but started outside, followed by Hen. Later in the
afternoon Greg was told, in whispers, where the plunder had been hidden
anew. Hen, too, demanded this information, but the Grammar School boys
thought it best not to enlighten him. If Dutcher were caught alone in
the cabin by a fellow like Mr. Fits, Hen wasn't likely to hold out his
knowledge against threats, and Fits must not be given another chance at
the plunder he had first stolen and then hidden.
Soon after darkness came on supper was ready.
"I wonder if we're going to hear the ghosts to-night," muttered Greg.
"No one knows that," Dick answered. "But I think we'd better keep one
fellow on guard when the rest go to bed. The guard can take a two hour
trick. He can keep the fire going, and, if anything happens, he can warn
the other fellows in turn."
So, at nine o'clock, when the others turned in, Greg, the air rifle in
one hand, paced softly up and down the cabin, watching, listening.
But nothing happened during Greg's watch. At eleven he called Tom Reade
to relieve him.
Just before midnight the same wailings as on the night before started in
again. Within sixty seconds all of the Grammar School boys were awake
and listening. The wailings continued, and soon came the same sepulchral
warnings of death approaching.
"Queer that the racket doesn't bother us the way it did last night,
isn't it?" smiled Dick Prescott.
"It's awful enough!" shivered Hen Dutcher. But he was the only one in
the cabin who was much alarmed.
"We went all through it last night, and nothing happened," chuckled
Dave. "To-night our address is Missouri, and we'll have to be shown
what we're asked to believe."
"Call us promptly, Tom, if anything real happens," Dick urged, and sank
back in his bedding to compose himself for more sleep. Soon Reade's
watch was a lonely one, for most of his companions were either snoring
or breathing heavily.
"Whoever got this trick up will have to think of something newer and
more 'scary,'" thought Reade, as he paced the floor.
"Well, you fellows might as well wake up," called Dick, after what
seemed to Greg like an interval of possibly five minutes. Greg was the
only boy, beside Dutcher, who hadn't been called in the night for a
share in the watch duty.
"Say, I thought you didn't go on guard until five o'clock, Dick,"
remarked Greg drowsily.
"I didn't, but it's seven, now," Dick laughed. "It'll be broad daylight
in a few minutes more. Move! Get a hustle on!"
Hen Dutcher, though awake, didn't stir. Greg and Harry Hazelton soon
tumbled out of their bunks. Then something odd dawned upon them.
"Where are the rest of the fellows?" questioned Greg. "I don't see Dave,
Tom or Dan."
"You should have long range vision to see them," smiled Dick. "They've
been gone nearly an hour."
"Gone? Where?" Harry wanted to know.
"To the nearest house--for help."
"Help against what?" This from Holmes.
"Greg, the shack behind us had a tenant last night," Dick went on
rapidly. "Mr. Fits was in the shack. At a little after five this morning
I saw him as plainly as I now see you. He was standing by the nearest
window of the shack, and there were sparks traveling up the chimney."
"How on earth did you see him?" demanded Harry. "Did you shove a shutter
back?"
"Come with me, and I'll show you."
That caught even Hen, who made up in curiosity what he lacked in
courage. Dutcher was out of his bunk in an instant, slipping on shoes
and some clothing before he followed the others.
"You see," Dick was explaining, "I've been thinking of this matter ever
since we heard the first 'ghost' noises. I knew the noises had to come
from something. Now, while I was scared, I don't believe in such things
as ghosts. Well, then, the noise must have come from some human throat.
When I got up at five this morning I began to think harder than ever.
Then I went and got this gimlet out of the little tool box and bored a
tiny hole through the wood in this shutter. When I peeped I saw a light,
surely enough, in the shack. There were sparks, too, coming up out of
the chimney. Then I saw a shadow, and next I saw Mr. Fits himself at the
window for a moment. Next I waked up Dave, Tom and Dan, and they dressed
as quietly as they could, and took some peeps, too. Then Dave said it
was so cold that perhaps the snow had a real crust on it. He went to the
door and opened it. We all went out on the snow. We found the crust so
hard and thick that we could stamp on it with force. Dave said that that
was a good enough crust for him. So off he started, and Tom and Dan went
with him. They ought to be back, with men to help, in an hour more."
"Hurrah!" glowed Greg. "Oh, I do hope that the constables get here in
time to nab Mr. Fits."
"It'll be a good thing, all around, if that happens," nodded Dick. "But
now--are you fellows hungry?"
Greg and Harry scurried away to wash hands and faces.
"I think you had a cheek to let three fellows go after help," grumbled
Hen.
"Well, why?" asked Dick patiently.
"S'pose old Fitsey takes it into his head to come over here, on top of
the crust, while there's just us four here?" shuddered Hen.
"There are only three of us here, Dutcher. You don't count," interposed
Greg ironically.
"Fitsey'd eat us up alive if he guessed the truth and came over here,"
contended Dutcher stubbornly. "Hey, Dick! What on earth are you doing?"
"Shoving one of the shutters back," Prescott answered, going on with his
task.
"Hey! Don't do that!" pleaded Hen hoarsely, running over to Dick and
grabbing one of the latter's arms. "Why, this is--it's suicide, that's
what it is!"
"Yes?" Dick queried calmly, shaking off Hen's hold and going on with his
task.
"It certainly is," Dutcher maintained fearfully. "Why, with a shutter
open, Fitsey can jump right through the window glass and be in here on
top of us in a jiffy. Please close the shutter."
"Not much!" Prescott rejoined energetically, and threw back the shutter
in question. "This window doesn't look out upon the shack, but it does
look out the way that Dave and the others will return. I want to see the
fellows when they come."
"Of course; we all do," Greg broke in. "Dick you keep your eye mainly on
the landscape beyond the window. Harry and I will get breakfast."
Dutcher groaned over the risk he knew they were taking, but he felt
certain that no word of his would change the plan, so he wisely held
his peace after that.
But breakfast was on and eaten, and still there was no sign of returning
Grammar School boys.
"Dave and his crowd must-'a' gone through the deep snow at some point
where it was soft," wailed Hen. "That's just what they've done."
"Oh--dry up!" Greg retorted.
"If they ain't back here in another hour you fellows will feel the same
way I do about it," Hen Dutcher predicted stubbornly.
Dick Prescott made no answer, though, truth to tell, he was beginning to
worry inwardly. A mishap in the forest, on this bitterly freezing
morning, would be no simple matter.