The Rival Campers Ashore; or, The Mystery of the Mill

by Ruel Perley Smith

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE FORTUNE-TELLER

  Mr. Bangs proved to be a genial companion in the days that followed.Nothing suited him better than to fill up the _Flyaway_ with the crew ofcampers and go sailing on the pond. No longer seeking to support afallen dignity as skipper, he was pleased to receive instruction fromHenry Burns and Harvey, and even occasionally from Little Tim, in theart of sailing.

  They showed him how to sail the craft nicely to windward, without thesail shaking; how to run off the wind, with no danger of jibing her; howto reef with safety, and how to watch the water for signs of squalls.He, in turn, told them good stories of the Fishing Club; and, as hereally did know how to fish, he returned their instruction with lessonsin this art.

  It was certainly a pretty piece of sport, when Mr. Bangs would take hislight, split-bamboo fly-rod and send fifty feet of line, straighteningout its turns through the air, and dropping a tiny fly on the water aseasily as though it had fallen there in actual flight. Even Harvey, andTom and Bob, who had done some little fly fishing, found Mr. Bangs anexpert who could teach them more than they had ever dreamed, of itspossibilities. Little Tim, who had threshed brook waters with an alderstick, using a ragged fly, was an apt pupil, when Mr. Bangs entrusted tohim his fine rod, and showed him how to make a real cast.

  "There, you're catching it, now," exclaimed Mr. Bangs to Tim, onemorning, as they floated on the still surface of the pond, about a halfmile above the camps. "Don't let your arm go too far back on that backcast. Don't use your shoulder. You're not chopping wood. Just use thewrist on the forward stroke, when you get the line moving forward."

  Tim, enthusiastic, tried again and again, striving to remember allpoints at once, and now and then making a fair cast.

  It was only practice work; but, somehow or other, a big black bassfailed to understand that, and suddenly Tim's quick eye saw the water ina whirl about his fly. He struck, and the fish was fast.

  "Well, by Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Bangs. "One never knows what's going tohappen when he's fishing. I didn't think they'd take the fly here atthis time of year. Let him have the line now, when he rushes. That's it.Now hold him a little."

  The light fly-rod was bending nearly double. Intermittently, the reelwould sing as the fish made a dash for freedom and the line ran out.

  "Look out now; he's turned. Reel in," shouted Mr. Bangs, more excitedeven than Little Tim. He wouldn't have had that fish get away foranything. "Here he comes to the top," he continued. "Reel in on him.Hold him. There, he's going to jump. Hold him. Don't let him shake thehook out."

  The black bass, a strong active fish, made a leap out of water, shookhis jaws as though he would tear the hook loose, then shot downwardagain.

  "Give him a little on the rod when he hits the water," cried Mr. Bangs."That's right. Keep him working now. Don't give him any slack."

  Little Tim, alternately reeling in and lifting on the road, and lettingthe fish have the line in his angry-rushes, was playing him well. Mr.Bangs applauded. Gradually the struggles of the big bass grew weaker.His rushes, still sharp and fierce, were soon over. By and by he turnedon his side.

  "Careful now," cautioned Mr. Bangs. "Many a good bass is lost in thelanding. Draw him in easy."

  Little Tim followed instructions, and Mr. Bangs deftly slid the landingnet under the prize. He dipped the bass into the boat, took out a smallpair of pocket-scales and weighed him.

  "It's a five-pounder!" he exclaimed. "You've beat the record on Whitecapthis year. Well, fisherman's luck is a great thing. You're a born luckyfisherman."

  "Now," he added, "we'll just row down to your camp and I'll cook achowder that'll make your eyes stick out, and have it all ready when theboys return. Save them getting a breakfast."

  They went back along shore to the empty camp, deserted by the boys, whowere out for early morning fishing.

  "What do you say?" inquired Mr. Bangs, "Think they'll care if I go aheadand cook up a chowder? Guess I can do it all right. Oh, I've seen 'emmade, a thousand times, up at the Fishing Club."

  "They'll be glad of it," said Little Tim. "Go ahead."

  Mr. Bangs, rummaging through the campers' stores, proceeded to constructhis chowder; while Tim busied himself about the camp, after building afire.

  Mr. Bangs, stirring the mess in a big iron kettle suspended above theblaze, waved a welcome to the boys, as they came in.

  "Thought you'd like to have breakfast all ready," he cried. "The_Flyaway's_ waiting for us all to get through."

  They thanked him warmly.

  "Oh, I'm having as much fun as you are out of it," he responded. "Getyour plates and I'll fill 'em up."

  He ladled out a heaping plate of the chowder for each, and they seatedthemselves on two great logs. Henry Burns tasted his mess first, andthen he stopped, looked slyly at his comrades and didn't eat any more.Harvey got a mouthful, and he gave an exclamation of surprise. LittleTim swallowed some, and said "Oh, giminy!" Tom and Bob and the Ellisonbrothers were each satisfied with one taste. They waited, expectantly,for Mr. Bangs to get his.

  Mr. Bangs, helping himself liberally, started in hungrily. Then hestopped and looked around. They were watching him, interestedly. Mr.Bangs made a wry face and rinsed his mouth out with a big swallow ofwater.

  "Well, I'll be hanged!" he exclaimed. "If it isn't sweet. Sweet chowder!Oh dear, isn't it awful? What did it?"

  Henry Burns, looking about him, pointed to a tell-tale tin can which,emptied of its contents, lay beside the fire.

  Mr. Bangs had made his chowder of condensed milk, sweet and sticky.

  "I say," he exclaimed, "just throw that stuff away and we'll go up tothe landing for breakfast. I thought milk was milk. I never thoughtabout it's being sweetened."

  They liked Mr. Bangs, in spite of his mistakes; and he wasn't abashedfor long, when he had pretended to be able to do something that hedidn't know how to do, and had been found out. He had a hearty way oflaughing about it, as though it were the best joke in all the world--andthere was one thing he could really do; he could cast a fly, and theyadmired his skill in that. And when it came time for them to leave, andbid him good-bye, they were heartily sorry to take leave of him, andhoped they should meet him again.

  But Mr. Bangs was not to be gotten free from abruptly. There wasbottled soda and there were stale peanuts over at the landing, whereCoombs kept a small hotel a little way up from the shore; and Mr. Bangsinsisted that they should go over and have a treat at his expense.

  "You don't have to start till four o'clock," he urged. "You've gotplenty of time." And they needed no great amount of persuasion.

  "Funny old place Coombs keeps," he remarked, as they walked from thecamps over to the landing. "All sorts of queer people drop in there overnight. Last night, there were some show people in some of the rooms nextto mine--they're going to leave to-morrow, for the fair up atNewbury--and they kept me awake half the night, with their racket.

  "They've got a fortune-teller among them, too," he continued. "Say,she's a shrewd one. Of course, she's one of the fakers, but she'sdownright smart--told me a lot of things about myself that were true.Suppose she looked me over sharp. Say, I tell you what I'll do; I'll gether to tell your fortunes. How'd you like to have your fortunes told?I'll pay."

  As matter of fact, they were not so enthusiastic over it as was Mr.Bangs; but they didn't like to say so, since he seemed to take it forgranted that they did. So, after they had had the soda and peanuts, Mr.Bangs ushered them, one by one, into a room, where the fortune-tellerawaited them.

  Perhaps she flattered most of them over-much; perhaps she even hinted atcertain bright-eyed, yellow-haired young misses, whom some of themmight fancy, but were not of an age to admit it. At all events, as theycame forth, one by one, they made a great mystery of what she had saidto them. Little Tim didn't take kindly to the idea at all, in fact; and,when it came his turn, Henry Burns and Harvey had to take him and shovehim into the room.

  He was inclined to be a bit abashed when he found himsel
f in thepresence of a tall, dark, thin-faced woman, whose keen, black eyesseemed to pierce him through and through. In fact, those shrewd, quickeyes were about all anyone might need, to discover a good deal aboutLittle Tim, whose small but wiry figure, tanned face, bare feet anddress indicated much of his condition in life.

  "Come over here and sit down," said the woman, as Tim stood, eying hersomewhat doubtfully. The boy complied.

  "So you want your fortune told, do you?" she asked.

  "I dunno as I care much about it," answered Tim, bluntly.

  The woman smiled a little. "No?" she said. "Let's see your hand."

  Tim extended a grimy fist across the table, the lines of which were soobscured with the soil of Coombs's landing that it might have puzzledmore than a wizard to read them. But the woman, her keen eyes twinkling,remarked quickly, "That's a fisherman's hand. You're the best fishermanon the pond."

  Tim began to take more interest. "I've caught the biggest bass of theyear," he said.

  "That's it; what did I tell you?" exclaimed the woman. "I think you'regoing to have a lot of money left to you some day," she added, noting ata glance Tim's poor attire. Little Tim grinned.

  "You have some courage, too," continued the woman, who had not failed toobserve the boy's features and the glance of his eye. But at this momentLittle Tim gave an exclamation of surprise. Surveying the room he hadespied the lettering on a partly unrolled banner in one corner, wherethe words, "Lorelei, the Sorceress," were inscribed.

  "Why, I've seen you before," he said. "That is, I haven't seen you,either; but I've seen your picture on that canvas--and you don't looklike that at all."

  The woman laughed heartily. "You're sure you don't think it looks likeme?" she added, and laughed harder than ever. "Well, I should hope not,"she said; "but I fix up like that some, for the show. Where'd you seeme?"

  "Why, it was down at Benton," answered Tim. "You were with the circus."

  Then, as the full remembrance of the occasion came to him, Tim became ofa sudden excited. "Say," he asked, "what did Old Witham want?"

  The woman looked at him in surprise.

  "Old Witham," she repeated, "I don't know who you mean. I don't know anyOld Witham."

  "Oh, yes you do," urged Tim; and he described the unmistakable figureand appearance of the corpulent colonel, together with the time andnight of his visit. The woman's eyes lit with amusement. She rememberedhow the colonel had parted with his money painfully.

  "Oh, he didn't want much," she said. "Somebody had hidden some papers ina factory or mill of some sort--that's what I thought, anyway--and hewanted me to tell him where they were."

  "Oh," replied Tim, in a tone of disappointment. "Is that all?" He hadreally fancied the colonel might have a love affair, and that it wouldbe great fun to reveal it to the boys.

  "Why, what business is it of yours, what he wanted?" inquired the woman.

  "It ain't any," answered Tim. "Guess I'll go now;" and he made hisescape through the door.

  "Oh, she didn't tell me anything," said Little Tim, as the boyssurrounded him a moment later. "Said I could catch fish, though. How doyou suppose she knew that?"

  Mr. Bangs seemed much amused. "She's a real witch," he exclaimed. "Well,good-bye, boys. Come again next year."

  They said good-bye and started off.

  "Say, Jack," said Little Tim, as they walked along together, "that's thefortune-teller that was down to Benton with the circus. Remember I toldyou we caught Witham coming out of the tent? Well, I asked her what hewas there for, and it wasn't anything at all. He was only hunting forsome papers that somebody had hidden--"

  "What's that--tell me about that?"

  Henry Burns, who had been walking close by, but who had been not greatlyinterested up to this point, had suddenly interrupted. "What did Withamwant?" he repeated.

  Little Tim repeated the fortune-teller's words.

  Henry Burns, hurrying ahead to where the others were walking, caughtJohn Ellison by an arm and drew him away. "Come back here a minute," hesaid. "Here, Tim, tell John what the fortune-teller said about Witham."

  John Ellison, listening to Tim Reardon, grew pale and clenched his fist.

  "That's it," he cried. "There _are_ some other papers, don't yousuppose? Lawyer Estes said there might be; but they couldn't find them,though they hunted through the mill. I just know there are some. Withamknew it, too. That's what he was after. Tim, you've found out somethingbig, I tell you. We've just got to get into that mill again and gothrough it. Don't you say a word to anybody, Tim."

  Tim's eyes opened wide with astonishment--but he promised.

  All through the work of striking and packing the two tents, and stowingthe stuff into the wagon, Henry Burns and John Ellison discussed thisnew discovery; what it might mean and what use could be made of it. Andall the way home, on the long, dusty road, they talked it over. Theywere late getting started, and it was eight o'clock when they turned inat the Ellison farm.

  The mill had ceased grinding for two hours, and night had settled down.But, as they got out of the wagon, John Ellison called to Henry Burnsand pointed over the hill toward the mill.

  "Do you see?" he said softly, but in excited tones. "Do you see? That'swhat I see night after night, sometimes as late as nine o'clock."

  There was somebody in the old mill, evidently, for the light as from alantern was discernible now and again through one of the old, cobwebbedwindows; a light that flickered fitfully first from one floor, then fromanother.

  "It's Witham," said John Ellison. "He's always in the mill now, earlyand late. I'll bet he's hunted through it a hundred times since he's hadit. It gets on his mind, I guess; for I've seen him come back down theroad many a night, after the day's work was over, and he'd had supper,and go through the rooms with the lantern."

  "Well," said Henry Burns, quietly, "we'll go through them, too. We'll doit, some way."