LOST IN THE BLIZZARD
“I’ve got nothing against the lads,” explained the sheriff, sitting
sideways on the front seat after bringing the horses down to a more
quiet pace, and speaking so the girls on the back seat could hear him.
“But some things I have heard make me suspicious.”
“They seem to have had something to do with a boy called ‘the
Dummy’—he’s been to their house, you know. You told me so yourself,
Parker.”
Mildred flashed Lettie a sharp glance and the red-haired girl had the
grace to blush. So it had been _her_ chattering to her father of what
the Speedwell boys had told them about the island, and Dummy, that had
set the sheriff to looking up Dan and Billy.
“This dummy seems to be the important link in our case against
Steinforth and his co-operators. Most of the gang were arrested months
ago by the Federal officers. But the engraving plates they worked from
and a lot of finished notes, as well as a coiner’s outfit, were cached
by the outlaws before their arrest.”
“Now, this Biggin, and the dummy, who is his nephew——”
“Oh! is he _really_ dumb?” cried Lettie, curiously.
“No. Dreadfully tongue-tied, I believe. A good person to trust a secret
to, for he couldn’t tell it easily,” and the sheriff laughed.
“But is the poor boy really a criminal?” asked Mildred, faintly.
“Why—as to that——No! I fancy he is attached to Biggin. And Biggin was
never really a member of Steinforth’s gang. Biggin drinks—that’s his
failing. He used to go off into the woods on lonesome sprees. That’s how
he fell in with the counterfeiting gang, he told me.
“Well, when the Federal officers got close on the trail of the outlaws
they hid the plates and other things I mentioned, and sort of left
Biggin in charge of the camp. But at once all the sheriffs in the State
got busy. There’s a good, big reward offered for the discovery of the
evidence the authorities need to convict the gang.
“After Biggin talked with me, he got scared. He wrote me he’d send the
dummy to lead me to the place where the plates, and so forth, were
cached. But he never came to me—the dummy didn’t, I mean.
“Now, what you tell me, Parker, about the Speedwells meeting and being
friendly with Biggin’s nephew, has made me suspicious——”
“I’m sorry if it made you suspicious of Dan and Billy,” said the county
clerk. “No need.”
“That may be. But they go out to that island—and I believe the dummy is
on the island part of the time. It may be, from what you tell me about
the paper the Speedwells say he dropped, that the engraving plates and
the other stuff is hidden on that Island Number One.”
“You haven’t any reason to suspect Dan and Billy, just the same,”
declared Mildred, promptly.
Both the sheriff and Mr. Parker laughed. “Now, don’t you put me in your
bad books, Miss Milly,” begged Sheriff Kimball. “I don’t mean to cause
the boys any trouble. I am hoping to-night to catch Harry Biggin and
make him talk plainly. That’s the object of this trip—although it is a
pleasure to take you young ladies for a drive,” and he laughed again.
He spoke to the horses then, and the blacks switched their tails and
“let out a notch” in their speed. They seemed as eagerly desirous of
covering the distance to the Biggin farm in a short time as their
master.
The girls cowered down behind the high back of the front seat, and so
had the wind broken for them. But it was awfully cold. Now and then a
flake of snow slanted down upon them, and the girls’ shoulders were
nicely powdered before the sheriff turned the horses’ heads toward the
far side of the river, and they found an easily sloping bit of bank up
which they could drive.
This was beyond the last of the string of islands, and the lights of
Meadville—on the other bank—were in sight. Just ahead, as the horses
struggled into a well traveled highway, where the runners gritted on the
half-bare ground, was a lamp in a window.
“Biggin’s place,” said the sheriff. “And the folks are up yet.”
The snow was gathering by this time, for it had taken them more than two
hours to drive from Riverdale, spry as the horses had been. And, without
doubt, the blacks were glad of the breathing spell promised them when
the sheriff drove directly under the wind-shelter beside the farmhouse.
This shed offered a warm spot even to the guests the sheriff had
brought.
“Don’t want to take you to the house till I find out how the land lies,”
he whispered, handing the reins to Mr. Parker, and slipping out from
under the robe.
“O-o-o! doesn’t it make you feel de-lic-ious-ly shivery?” whispered
Lettie to the doctor’s daughter. “Just like being on a regular man-hunt
with the sheriff? We’re his posse.”
“Goosey!” returned Mildred. “I’m on the point of shivering, all right.
But only from cold.”
“Are you well wrapped up, girls?” asked the county clerk.
“Oh, yes, sir,” answered Mildred. “And the bricks are still warm at our
feet. But I’m afraid it’s going to snow dreadfully hard.”
“What’s a little snow?” demanded the careless Lettie. “Who’s afraid?”
“I wouldn’t want to be caught out on the river in a heavy storm—would
you, sir?” asked Mildred of Mr. Parker.
“It’s a straight road home,” said the gentleman, quite as careless as
his daughter. “The river ought to be better than the road, as far as
_that_ goes.”
“But just suppose we got turned around in this snow?” Mildred objected,
turning her head to watch the flakes falling thicker every moment.
“_Did_ you ever see it snow so hard, Lettie?”
“Lots of times—sure. Don’t be a ’fraid cat, Milly.”
The doctor’s daughter kept her fears to herself thereafter. Mr. Parker
produced a vacuum bottle filled with hot milk. He had been thoughtful
enough to supply himself with that before leaving the house for this
long ride. The hot drink helped the girls immensely.
“Now I can stand anything,” declared Lettie, happily. “When are we going
to be called into action by the sheriff, Pa?”
“He _does_ seem a long time; doesn’t he?” returned her father, as the
horses stamped, and shook their heads, and tinkled the bells on the
harness.
Finally they heard a door shut, and in a moment Sheriff Kimball
appeared. He looked pretty serious in the light of the sleigh lamps.
“What do you know about that?” he said, crossly. “They swear Harry
hasn’t been here, and invited me to search the house for him. And I did
it, too. I’ve got it in for that boy, when I _do_ catch him. He’s only
scared; but he knows more hide-outs in the wild country between here and
Barnegat than anybody else. He’s run wild in the woods most of his life.
“He left a message for me, though. Tells me to go to Island Number One
and see the dummy. Now, I’ve been there—twice. I couldn’t find hide nor
hair of that boy either time.”
“We might stop going back?” suggested Mr. Parker.
“I mean to. But, I declare! it’s come on to snow hard.”
“Oh, a little snow won’t hurt us. We’re neither sugar nor salt,” cried
Lettie. “And chasing outlaws is awfully interesting,” and she giggled
again, seeing her chum’s serious face.
“I guess we won’t wait long at that island to-night,” observed Sheriff
Kimball, when he had backed the sleigh out of the shed and got the
impatient horses headed around again.
“Will you go back by the river, or the road?” asked Mr. Parker.
“Oh, the river. This road is half bare yet, you see,” as the runners
scraped over a “sand-bar.” “We’ll slip along on the ice twice as fast,
you know. Come up, Dandy! Steady, Poke!”
The blacks got into step and they spun away along the short stretch of
road and then down upon the river. At first they did not realize how
hard the wind was blowing, being sheltered to a degree by the high bank.
But when Mr. Kimball headed out into the middle of the stream, intending
to cross to the Riverdale side of the river, the travelers quickly
discovered that they were in the heart of a severe storm.
“Some blow—eh?” shouted Mr. Parker, into the sheriff’s ear.
“This is a bad storm, Parker. I—had—no—idea——”
He was having trouble with his spirited team. The gusts of wind which
drove the snow down upon them, fired the blacks with a desire to run.
They ran in the right direction for a while; but soon they were winded,
for the sleigh pulled heavily through the gathering drifts.
There were flaws in the gale. Suddenly the wind shifted from point to
point of the compass. The two men could not see a light upon either bank
of the river. Indeed, before long it was difficult to know whether the
horses were dragging them down the stream, or up.
The snow fell faster and faster. The girls, locked in each other’s arms
on the rear seat, were covered with a fresh blanket. They did not know
that the men in front robbed themselves to do this.
The cold was penetrating—horribly so! Now and then a swirling, whirling
eddy of wind and snow fell upon the sleigh, the horses, and all, and
well nigh turned them around. The men were choked by the storm; the
horses snorted and plunged, and were able to move on but slowly.
“Dickens of a mess we’ve got into, Kimball!” shouted Parker in the
sheriff’s ear.
“I’m sorry I ever suggested taking these children with us. It’s awful,
Parker,” said the worried sheriff.
At that instant there came a sudden lull in the storm. The wind fell,
and the soft “sh-sh-sh” of the snow seemed rather soothing. But there
was a sharper sound discernible, now that the tempest was lulled.
“Put! put! put-a-put!”
“What d’ye know about that?” cried the county clerk, seizing the
sheriff’s arm. “It’s a motor—what?”
“It is. It’s that motor-iceboat. I heard it to-day when the Speedwells
were trying it out.”
“Then it’s Dan and Billy,” declared Mr. Parker. “Well, now! what do you
think of that? Out on the river in such a storm. Shall we shout to
them?”
“My goodness, do!” cried Lettie, poking her head over the back of the
seat. “If Billy Speedwell is out there, he’ll know the way home—sure.
Let’s _all_ shout, Pa!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------