UNCLE TOD’S CAMP
For several seconds Rick and Chot stood there silent—gazing at the
astonishing sight which met their eyes. For it was astonishing—to think
that they should thus unexpectedly come upon the stolen auto for which
so many officers were searching.
Good luck had attended their whim to take a trolley ride and visit the
cave. But now all interest in the cave vanished. Their whole attention
was centred on the overturned auto, which lay on one side in a tangle of
bushes and small trees.
“They tried to make too short a turn and upset,” was Rick’s opinion.
“Yes,” agreed Chot as an examination of the ground, showing where the
wheels had skidded in soft sand and mud, bore this idea out.
Then a new thought came to the boys, though Rick was the first to
express it.
“Maybe they’re there now,” he said. “Under the car.”
“Dead?” asked Chot in an awed voice.
“Maybe.”
“Let’s look.”
“Better not.”
“Why?”
“The coroner, or somebody like that, always has to be first to look at a
dead body. That’s the law.”
It wasn’t, exactly, but it was near enough.
“But maybe some of ’em are there—hurt,” suggested Chot. “If they are
we’d better—”
“I’m not going to get shot!” objected his chum. “They’ve got guns, it’s
likely.”
“They can’t shoot if they’re hurt,” reasoned Chot. “Come on, let’s
look.”
“I wish we had Ruddy here,” voiced Rick.
“It would be better,” agreed his chum. “But I reckon it’s all right; I
don’t hear a sound, and if any of ’em was hurt we’d hear groans.”
“Unless they were unconscious,” Rick said.
However they listened and heard not so much as a whisper coming from the
overturned car. Then they plucked up courage to go nearer. Still no
sound—no motion—nothing.
“The car isn’t broken much, as far as I can see,” said Rick in a low
voice.
“That’s good—maybe it’ll run after its turned right side up,” spoke
Chot.
They had now approached close enough to make sure that no one—certainly
no wounded or injured bank robbers—were in the overturned car. There was
a little pool of blood on the ground, however, which seemed to indicate
that some one had been hurt. But of the men there was not a trace. And,
as far as the boys could see, none of their baggage or Mr. Campbell’s
was missing—at least none of the large pieces.
“Maybe they’re hiding in the cave,” suggested Chot.
“Who?”
“The bank robbers.”
“That’s so,” agreed Rick, with an uneasy glance at the dark and
brush-choked entrance to the cavern. “If Ruddy was here he could soon
tell.”
“But if he went in they might shoot him.”
“That’s right. I’m glad we didn’t bring him. Say, we’d better go back
and tell the sheriff about this.”
“Sure we had,” assented the other lad. Pausing only long enough to walk
around the car again, and to make sure that most, if not all of their
belongings were there, the boys hurried back through the woods, across
the fields and to the place where they had alighted from the trolley
car. They were lucky enough to see coming the very electric vehicle they
had taken out from Fayetville.
“You didn’t stay long at the cave,” remarked the conductor, who was on
his return trip.
“No, but we found something,” said Rick, and they told their story.
“You’d better telephone in when we get to Roseland,” suggested the
trolley man, naming the nearest village. “Then you can wait and take the
sheriff right to the place.”
It seemed sound advice and the boys followed it. The sheriff was
astonished and, in a measure, disappointed at the news. Astonished
because no one of his officers had thought of looking in the direction
of the cave, and disappointed because it was evident that the robbers
had escaped. They had probably fled when the car overturned, injuring
one of them, if not more.
“Unless maybe they’re in the cave,” suggested Rick over the telephone.
“We’ll soon find that out,” said the sheriff grimly.
The boys waited in the Roseland store from which they had telephoned,
the sheriff telling them he would call for them there and take them on
to the cave. And Rick and Chot were the centre of a group of wondering
and eager men and boys who gathered when news spread of the locating of
the car in which the robbers had fled.
In due time Sheriff Hart and some of his constables arrived, and a small
cavalcade followed him and his party out to the cave. There were some
tense moments as officers, with ready guns, entered the cavern calling
on the robbers to surrender. But there was no answer, and no shots and
when lights were brought and the cave examined there was no trace of the
criminals.
“Probably they didn’t go in there at all,” said the sheriff. “They may
have headed for this hiding place, but when they turned too quick, and
upset, they just naturally scattered. Well, we’ll get ’em yet!”
Many hands made light work of righting the overturned auto, which, aside
from some dents and scratches, was little the worse for what had
happened. It was in running order and one of the officers drove it back
to Fayetville, much to the delight of Rick and Chot.
When the party of which Mr. Campbell was an unofficial member next
telephoned to the court-house, asking for news and reporting that they
had none to impart, the finding of the auto was related to them, and
they were advised to return and take up the search from the cave;
looking for men afoot rather than for a trio of bank robbers in an auto.
“Well, boys, you certainly brought me good luck!” exclaimed Mr. Campbell
as he greeted Rick and Chot on his return. “I had about given up my car,
and all in it, as gone forever. But there isn’t a thing missing of any
account, and though the machine is a bit battered she’ll run all right.”
Some slight repairs were needed and it was decided that the boys and Mr.
Campbell would remain over night in Fayetville, going on next day.
Meanwhile the search for the robbers was continued by the sheriff and
his officers.
It was assumed that the bank looters had intended to hide in the cave
with the auto until it was safe to venture out and depart for some other
locality. But fate had played against them, as it did to the end, for,
eventually, they were caught and sentenced to long terms in prison.
Rick and Chot hoped they might find some of the stolen money in the
auto, for they wished the thrill of returning it to the rightful owners,
but this was not to be. There was not so much as a stray penny.
“Well, I guess we’re ready to start off once more,” said Mr. Campbell
next day when the auto had been put in good order and repacked with
their belongings. “Uncle Tod will be wondering what has become of you,”
he added.
“Mother wrote and told him we might be delayed on the road,” said Rick.
“But I’ll be glad to get to his camp.”
“So’ll I,” added Chot.
“Not but what we’re having a dandy time!” Rick hastened to say, for fear
Mr. Campbell might think he was not grateful. “But I want to find out
what it is Uncle Tod wants us to do.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Mr. Campbell.
“I don’t believe anything more exciting can happen there than what we’ve
already had,” said Chot.
But he was mistaken, as he had to admit later.
The next two days were rather quiet ones. The party, including Ruddy, of
course, who was glad to be back with his master and the latter’s chum,
journeyed on, up over the mountain passes and soon found themselves in
the Great West. I use capitals because that is how it always impresses
me and how it impressed Rick and Chot. They had never been there before
and it was a wonderful revelation to them.
“Well, I shall hate to lose you boys—you’ve been jolly good traveling
companions,” said Mr. Campbell when, one afternoon, they reached the
town nearest to where Uncle Tod had said he could be found.
“We’ll miss you, too,” said Rick. “But I guess we’ll find plenty to do.”
“I haven’t any doubt of it,” chuckled Mr. Campbell. “Well, we’d better
stop here and inquire how to get to your uncle’s place,” he remarked, as
they reached a forked road in a lonely section. “We don’t want to run up
against any more broken bridges.”
They saw approaching a man riding a mule—a man who looked to be a
typical prospector or miner. Hung about him, fore and aft on the saddle
was a collection of implements and camp stuff—a kettle, frying pan,
shovel, pick and a roll of what might be a pup tent and bedding.
“Good afternoon, strangers,” greeted the prospector, pleasantly.
Mr. Campbell returned the salutation and asked:
“Do you know where a Mr. Belmont has a camp around here? A Mr.
Toddingham Belmont?”
“Toddingham Belmont,” repeated the prospector in puzzled accents.
“Uncle Tod I call him,” said Rick.
“Oh, him—Uncle Tod! Yes, yes! Now I know who you mean! Uncle Tod, oh,
yes!” and he laughed. “His camp’s about a mile beyond that lone pine,”
he said, pointing up the trail. “He and Sam Rockford are there—if you
want to find them,” he added after a significant pause.
“Why shouldn’t we want to find them?” asked Mr. Campbell, struck by a
queer expression on the prospector’s face. “We have come a long way to
locate them—at least these boys have.”
“Oh, all right. It’s none of _my_ business,” said the other quickly. “Of
course if you want to throw in with a couple of—_crazy loons_—why,
that’s your affair—not mine.”
“Crazy loons!” exclaimed Mr. Campbell, “what do you mean?”
“Well you ask anybody around here if a couple of men trying to wait for
Lost River to come back, aren’t crazy, and if they don’t say they are,
I’ll eat my mule’s ears—that’s what I’ll do!” offered the prospector.
“As crazy as loons—that’s what they are! I’ll eat my mule’s ears! I sure
will!”