The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  A few rods farther and he came upon a sight which caused him to halt as abruptly as before, with a strong inclination to turn about and go back to his canoe.

  In a small open space a fire of pine cones, twigs and branches was burning beside the trunk of a fallen tree. Resting on the top of the blaze was a tomato can, filled with bubbling coffee, whose aroma reached the nostrils of Mike at the moment he caught sight of the fire. On the log sat a ragged, frowsy tramp, with a crooked stick in his hand tending the blaze, while on the ground half lying down and half sitting up, was a second vagrant sucking a corncob pipe.

  You remember the two nuisances who called upon Dr. Spellman and because of their insolence were sharply rebuffed by him, though his wife, in the kindness of her heart, gave them food. These were the same hoboes, who it will be noted had not as yet wandered far from the physician’s home. You remember, too, their characteristic names,—Buzby Biggs and Saxy Hutt. Lazy, shiftless, dirty, rugged of frame, thieves and unmitigated pests, they were straggling through this part of Maine, in mortal dread of two afflictions,—work and a bath. They were ready to suffer harsh treatment and privation rather than submit to either.

  Mike’s sensitiveness revolted at sight of them, but before he could turn away, both of the men, who must have heard his approach, raised their heads and looked toward him. Hutt, who was smoking the pipe, slowly rose to his feet, stretched his arms over his head, and beckoned with his grimy forefinger.

  “Welcome, my lord!” he called in his husky voice; “wilt thou not come into our baronial castle and partake of a flagon of wine with us?”

  The grotesqueness of the invitation appealed to Mike and he walked forward, recalling that he had not his buckthorn cane with him. Had he gone for a tramp through the woods he would have held it in his hand, but it was in his way when using the canoe. He never carried firearms, for to do so is to disobey one of the strictest rules of the Boy Scouts, besides which, as you know, an Irishman believes in the use only of nature’s weapons, with the addition perhaps now and then of a stout shillaleh. Not that Mike Murphy expected any trouble with these men, but the thought which came to him was natural under the circumstances.

  He approached in his confident fashion, with a grin on his face, halted a pace or two from the fire, and with the couple examining him, made the Boy Scout salute.

  “’Tis so kind of ye that I will halt a brief while and enj’y the hospitality of the Knights of the Ragged Shirt and Dirty Face.”

  This was a pretty crisp salutation, but it need not be said that Mike felt no more regard for the couple than do all respectable persons. He remained standing and did not go nearer.

  “Aren’t yer afraid of being arrested fur yer beauty, young man?” asked Biggs with a grimace.

  “Not while yersilves are in the counthry.”

  “Who are you anyway?”

  “Mike Murphy of Southport, State of Maine. I would exchange cards wid ye, but I’m afeard ye couldn’t return the compliment.”

  “I left my pasteboards at home on the piany. We gather from your dress that you’re one of them Boy Patrols.”

  “Ye’re right, excipt jest now I’m on this side of the lake.”

  “Gee whizz! but you’re keen. How long do you chaps intend to stay there?”

  “Probably until we lave. We’re not among the folks who hev to be kicked out by their betters.”

  “Meaning us?”

  “As ye plaise; I want to be agreeable to ye.”

  Mike had not shown tact. He ought to have reflected that it was imprudent to rouse the resentment of two full grown men of so lawless a character as these tramps undoubtedly were. Combative as Mike was by nature, he would have hardly been the equal of one of them in a “shindy” which could be easily started and which it seemed he had set out to provoke.

  “I observe,” said Biggs, “that you have a brass chain dangling from yer coat pocket in front; does the same signify that there’s a watch anchored at t’other end?”

  Mike answered the question by flipping out his time piece and displaying it.

  “The best Waterbury chronometer made,—price a dollar and a half.”

  “I should like to borrer the same for my pal and me.”

  “I’m thinking ye would like to borrer a good many things ye can’t; I carry a little loose change in me pocket. Mebbe you’d like to borrer the same?”

  “Yer guessed it the fust time; while yer turning over that turnip and chain yer may as well h’ist out the few pennies in yer garments.”

  The tramp took a step toward the lad, his companion grinningly watching proceedings.

  The words and manner of Biggs left no doubt that he meant to rob Mike of his watch and money,—though neither was of much value. Was the Irish youth angry? I cannot do justice to his feelings, so let us try to imagine his state of mind.

  Prudence demanded that he should try to conciliate the scamps, or, failing in that, to dash off at the top of his speed, but two reasons checked this course. You know he was not formed for running, and either one of the tramps could have overtaken him by half trying. The other reason was that Mike never ran from any foe. He would die fighting before showing the white feather. Convinced that nothing could avert a fierce struggle, he instantly prepared for it. He would have felt better had his shillaleh been in his grasp, but it has already been shown that his only weapons were those which nature had furnished and no youth of his years could have known better how to use them.

  I should be distressed if I had to describe Mike’s fight with two full grown men, for it was impossible that he should not get much the worst of it. While it may be a relief to picture one in his situation as baffling, if not defeating two burly despoilers, yet to do so would be contrary to truth.

  The youth recoiled a single step, closed his fists and assumed an attitude of defense. Saxy Hutt, still stood grinningly listening and watching. As he viewed the situation it was preposterous to think his pal would need his help. None the less, he would be quick to give it should the call be made.

  “Come on as soon as ye plaise, and I’d as lief take both as one; don’t kaap me waiting.”

  “Hear him talk,” said Biggs, still advancing, though more slowly than before; “he makes believe he ain’t scared half to death.”

  “Ye’ll be thankful in less nor a minute if ye’re allowed to escape wid yer life.”

  This sounded like the wildest kind of boasting, but it was justified. Since Mike Murphy faced the two tramps, he saw what was behind them, which they did not. In a direct line with Biggs, slightly to the left of Saxy, and no more than a dozen paces to the rear, stood Dr. Spellman with leveled revolver and face red with anger.

  “Move a little to one side, Mike, so I shall run no risk of hitting you,” called the physician; “just now you’re right in line with that ruffian.”

  Buzby Biggs leaped fully a foot in air, and with a gasp flashed his head about and stared at the point whence the dreadful voice had come. Then his spiky hair seemed to rise on end and lift his dilapidated hat to a height of several inches.

  “Shall I wing him, Mike?” asked the doctor, with the weapon still at a level.

  “Folly yer own plisure in that regard; I don’t begrudge ye the enj’yment, as Mrs. O’Flaherty remarked whin she refoosed to fire at the bear that was chasing her husband.”

  At that instant, Biggs emitted a howl, and with what was left of his fragmentary hat fluttering to the ground, dashed in a headlong panic through the wood and undergrowth toward the lake.

  The sharp crack of the Smith and Wesson rang out, and the fugitive made another bound in air, as if he felt the sting of the bullet, and dived out of sight.

  “I missed him on purpose,” remarked the doctor; “he isn’t worth a cartridge, but I’m undecided about you.”

  As he spoke he shifted his aim to Saxy Hutt, who was a-tremble with fear.

  “I—I—I’ve got an engagement,” he stuttered, beginning to shamble in the direction taken by his compan
ion; “I’ll bid you good day.”

  “Hold on!” sharply commanded his master; “wait till I decide what’s best to do with you.”

  “Why—why, boss, I haven’t done anything.”

  And too weak to stand in his excessive terror, Saxy sagged back and sat down heavily on the log. Mike could not help pitying him.

  “It was t’other spalpeen that meant to rob me, docther.”

  “One is as bad as the other; this one would have helped had it been necessary.”

  “Oh, doctor,” protested the aggrieved Saxy, “how can yer think such a crool thing of a gentleman like me? I was just going to stop Buzby when yer spoke up.”

  The physician lowered his weapon with a laugh.

  “Off with you! I hope never to see the face of yourself or Buzby again. You may drink your coffee if you wish before you leave.”

  But the tramp had lost his thirst as well as his appetite for the time. He came unsteadily to his feet, and began moving gingerly over the trail of his companion.

  “I say, doctor,” he said, pausing a few steps away, “if you feel like firing off that little thing in your hand, please p’int t’other way.”

  “I shall take your request into consideration, but don’t advise you to bank on my granting it.”

  Saxy increased his pace until it equalled that of him who had gone before. Dr. Spellman extended his hand to Mike.

  “I hope that is the last of them. I supposed they left the neighborhood, but they will do so now.”

  “Why do ye think that, docther?”

  “Heretofore we had nothing positive to bring against them. Now I can bear witness that they tried to rob you. They know it and have no wish to go to jail while the weather is so pleasant outside. Let’s sit down on this log for a wee bit, before going to my house. Tell me how you came to be in this place.”

  “I was on me way from Uncle Elk’s cabin whin the smoke of this camp caused me to turn aside, wid the result that I’d been mixed up in the biggest shindy of me life if ye hadn’t took it in yer head to spoil the picnic.”

  “It was mighty lucky for you that I did so, Mike. Did Uncle Elk send any message to me?”

  “He did that,” gravely replied Mike, who thereupon told his friend of the assertion of the hermit that he and the physician must not meet.

  “I had begun to suspect some such feeling on his part, though not to the degree he shows. I have called there twice, the last time with my wife, who insists that the old man was in his cabin at the time and purposely kept out of our sight. He can depend upon it that I shall not put myself in his way, though I am wholly at a loss to understand his enmity. But we may as well go to the house, Mike.”

  As he spoke, the doctor rose to his feet, and the two began threading their way through the wood to the point where Mike had left his canoe.

  CHAPTER III

  A Strange Occurrence

  It was not far to the edge of the lake, and, as you will remember, there was abundant undergrowth, but the fleeing tramps had left a trail of broken and twisted branches which it would have been easy to follow, even with greater distance and more uncertainty of direction. Mike kept a few paces in the lead, and soon caught the shimmer of water, but when he glanced around saw nothing of his craft. He stood perplexed when Dr. Spellman stepped beside him.

  “Where’s the canoe?” asked the man.

  “That’s what meself would like to know.”

  “Is this the spot where you stepped ashore?”

  Mike moved farther until his shoes touched the water. He recognized the projecting limb of a beech which had attracted his notice when he came ashore.

  “There’s no mistake about the same. Now, docther, that boat can’t hev a habit of sneakin’ off whin ye’re not watching—what’s the matter?”

  His companion touched his arm and pointed over the water.

  “There’s the answer to your question.”

  “It beats me, as the drum said to the drum stick.”

  Some two hundred yards out on Gosling Lake was the canoe heading toward the western end of the sheet of water. In it were seated Biggs and Hutt, the two rascally tramps, their appearance suggesting that they were owners of the graceful craft in which they were making a pleasure excursion. Their backs were toward the two on shore, but Hutt who sat near the stern turned his head. Observing the indignant couple, he waved his hand in salutation and grinned so broadly that the gleam of his yellow teeth showed.

  Neither Mike nor the doctor spoke for a moment or two. Then the youth solemnly extended his hand.

  “Docther, would ye mind shaking?”

  “Certainly not, but what is the idea, Mike?”

  “’Cause I can’t think of anything ilse to do, as the p’liceman said whin he prosaaded to break his club over the head of ivery one in sight.”

  “Were there ever two such pests? The next time I get a chance I won’t kill them, but I’ll give each something he’ll remember.”

  “Where’s your boat?”

  “At the foot of the path leading to the house; the distance is so short that I did not use it, but strolled to this point.”

  “Let’s jump into the same and make fur these spalpeens.”

  The physician was so angry that he did not hesitate. They hurried through the wood to the spot where the other craft lay as it had been left by its owner. It has been shown that from this spot the house was not visible and therefore the wife and daughter knew nothing of what was afoot, which perhaps was best. The doctor, being the most skilful with the paddle, took up the implement, and headed after the other craft, which was making good progress toward the farther end of the lake.

  Each of our friends had asked himself the question as to what Biggs and Hutt meant by their act and what they were likely to do. It could not be seen that the vagrants had anything to gain, for they must soon abandon the canoe and continue their flight on foot. They knew the medical man carried a deadly weapon, and did not seem backward in using it, because of which they certainly could not desire another meeting with him.

  Moreover, a third canoe was involved. It seemed to have disappeared for the time, but must be somewhere near the western end of the lake, which being the case, the tramps were likely to find themselves between two fires, though it was not to be supposed that they had any cause to fear the unarmed Boy Scouts in the invisible boat.

  The flight and pursuit had lasted only a few minutes when an unpleasant truth impressed itself upon Mike and the doctor:—Buzby Biggs, who swung the other paddle, did it so deftly that his boat steadily drew away from the pursuer despite the utmost efforts of Dr. Spellman. In a straightaway race the tramps were sure to win, but the course had bounds, and in the end they must be pocketed, a fact so apparent that they themselves saw it from the first. They had the choice of keeping directly on until they reached the western margin so far in advance of their pursuers that they need give them no thought, or they could take the shorter course to the northern shore, opposite the bungalow. It looked as if they had decided upon the former plan, which would indicate that they knew or suspected nothing of the third canoe, nestling somewhere under the overhanging limbs along shore.

  Such undoubtedly would have been the action of the tramps, had not it changed so abruptly and inexplicably that the astounded doctor ceased paddling and stared without speaking a word.

  Since our friends sat with their faces toward the backs of Biggs and Hutt, they saw their every movement no matter how slight. Hutt was idle, with a grimy hand resting on either gunwale of the canoe. Now and then he glanced back and when he saw the pursuers steadily falling behind, had the impudence to reach out one hand and beckon them to move faster. The other, knowing he could not be overtaken, showed little interest in those who were striving to come up with him. Something far in advance seemed to hold his attention.

  Such was the situation, and the forward boat was within a furlong of the western shore when Biggs suddenly held his paddle suspended as if he had caught sight of some o
bject that startled him. The next moment he flung aside the implement, uttered a cry of terror and dived overboard. Hutt was not five seconds behind him. Both stayed so long under water that our friends suspected they were drowned, but the frowsy heads, one without a hat, bobbed up at some distance from the boat, and they were seen swimming furiously toward the northern bank, which was not far off.

  They had not taken a dozen strokes when they dived again and went as far under the surface as before. Thus diving, swimming and working desperately, they quickly reached land, scrambled out, plunged in among the trees and vanished as if Death himself were nipping at their heels. Never was greater panic shown.

  Doctor Spellman sat mute and motionless until the tramps had disappeared. Then he turned his head:

  “What do you make of that, Mike?”

  The occasion was one of the rare ones when the Irish youth had nothing to say. He sighed and shook his head; he couldn’t do justice to the theme.

  “Something scared both of them out of their wits. It couldn’t have been on the shore ahead, for that’s too far off, nor on their right, for they tried with might and main to reach land there.”

  “Could it have been at the rear?” ventured Mike.

  “That is toward us. We couldn’t have caused them such alarm.”

  “Mr. Hutt may have looked around and catched the frown on me brow; I’m towld I have a tumble exprission when I’m mad.”

  “It must be true to cause them thus to leap into clear spring water, knowing it meant the coldest kind of a bath. No, Mike,” added the doctor gravely, “they saw something in the water that threw them into fits. What could it be?”

  This was the only theory possible and yet it simply deepened the mystery. What could there be in the clear cool waters of Gosling Lake, besides the different species of ordinary fishes that are taken with hook and line? To Mike and the doctor the puzzle was more inexplainable than before.

  One conclusion, however, was warranted by what had occurred: if the tramps had seen something which terrified them beyond imagination, what was to prevent the man and youth from gaining a sight of the same frightful object whatever it might be?