The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “But he virtually did that afterward,” remarked Scout Master Hall.

  “A proof of the truth of what I said. No doubt Zip trailed Alvin for a little way or until he discovered that the scent had changed and he was on the wrong track. Then he turned back and hunted out the right one.”

  “If that explanation is correct,” said the amazed Mr. Hall, “it proves that the bloodhound was able to detect the emanations, or whatever it was that exhaled from Alvin’s feet, and could be differentiated from Mike’s even though it must have passed through the leather worn for days by Mike.”

  “Unbelievable as it sounds we have to admit it, but,” added Burton, “we mustn’t lose sight of what doubtless was a contributing factor. It was not Mike’s shoes alone that told the secret, but his clothes. He brushed the trees and limbs when carried on the backs of his friends, and while walking. It was that which was probably the surest clue to Zip, as it was with Isaac and Hoke, and made it impossible for any one of the three to mislead the dog.”

  CHAPTER XX

  Speed the Parting Guest

  George Burton and his dog Zip had won golden opinions from the Boy Scouts, who urged their visitor to spend several days with them, but he declined, saying he would set out on his return to Mouse Island directly after dinner, which was eaten at one o’clock. Truth to tell his tastes differed from those of his new friends. He cared little or nothing for bird lore, or the study of trees, or roughing it in the woods. But he was an athlete, who could outrun any one of the Boy Scouts and last longer on a tramp. He was putting himself through a course of training, with a view of making the football team when he should enter Princeton University, for which he had already matriculated. His sole companion on his long runs or the hours devoted to hardening his muscles was Zip, between whom and himself, as had been shown, there was a strong affection.

  Accordingly, while the afternoon was quite young, Burton shook hands with all his friends, promising soon to see them again, and stepped into one of the canoes moored in front of the bungalow. He sat on the bottom with Zip between his knees, while Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes manipulated the paddles. Mike Murphy sat in front of Burton and assumed the airs of a captain. Burton had intended to pass around the eastern end of the lake, and over the rough trace to the highway, and so on to Boothbay and Mouse Island, thus reversing this tramp of the day before. Considerable of this long course could be saved by using the boat.

  “I don’t see how you can reach Mouse Island before night,” remarked Alvin as he slowly swung his paddle.

  “I can’t.”

  “Then why not stay with us and make your start in the morning?”

  “What’s the difference? The weather is clear and cool, and the moon is near its full. I can reach Boothbay Harbor some time in the evening and stay there over night, and hire a launch to take me to Mouse. Or if I feel lazy, I can find accommodations at Bovil, which you know is a little village between that frightful road over which your supply team labors and Boothbay. Zip and I don’t mind a little thing like that.”

  “Hello!” exclaimed Chester, “are we never to be rid of those pests?”

  On the shore of the lake to their right, two men were seen standing with their attention fixed upon the canoe and its occupants. The distance was so slight that the three boys instantly recognized them as their old acquaintances,—Buzby Biggs and Saxy Hutt. It would have been thought that after their recent experience they would have lost no time in getting out of the neighborhood, but it will be remembered that when they leaped in a panic from the wagon of our old friend Jake, instead of running away from Gosling Lake, they headed toward it.

  Zip was quick to identify the vagrants. Looking toward them he emitted a throaty growl.

  “He hates tramps so, that I have to restrain him when we meet them.”

  “And why do ye reshtrain him?” asked Mike from his place in the boat. “Why don’t ye gratify his appetite for such spalpeens, though I’m thinking he runs risk of being p’isoned?”

  “So long as the tramps keep out of mischief I am willing to leave them alone.”

  “But that is what they don’t do; they seem to have a spite against Doctor Spellman and his family.”

  “Against Doctor Spellman!” exclaimed Burton; “you don’t mean Doctor Wilson Spellman?”

  “That’s his name.”

  “Where is he?”

  Alvin lifted his paddle and pointed a little away ahead and to the right.

  “He has put up one of those patent houses among the trees, where you can’t see it from the lake, though we observe the smoke from his fire now and then. There he and his wife and little girl Ruth are spending several weeks in the most sensible manner possible.”

  “Why, he’s my uncle,” added the surprised and delighted Burton; “I knew he had gone on an outing in Maine, but thought it was at the Rangely Lakes. Now, as the expression goes, isn’t that ‘funny’?”

  “You will like to call on him?”

  “Most certainly; I’m very fond of him, and of Aunt Susie and Ruth.”

  The boat was sheered toward land at a point where the canoe of the physician was seen drawn up the bank. The two tramps stood so motionless and fixed in their attention that they suggested a couple of scarecrows. Mike turned his head and grinned.

  “Head the boat toward them, as if ye intinded to call and lave yer cards.”

  The bow was whirled further around, and pointed straight for the vagrants. Zip was tremulous with eager expectation. Resting his paws on the gunwales, he twitched his ears and growled. One good look at the canine was enough for the men. They turned about and dived among the trees as terrified as when the bullets of Doctor Spellman’s revolver whistled about their ears.

  “Howld on!” shouted Mike, “till we can talk politics wid ye, and thry to agraa as to whether the Bool Moose ought to be the next President.”

  But the scamps paid no heed, and Mike looked commiserately at the dog.

  “’Tis a cruelty thus to disappint ye, Zip, as me dad said whin he walked five miles to have a shindy with Terence Googhagan, and found he’d been drowned; but ye may git a chance at ’im later on.”

  A few minutes afterward the nose of the canoe slid up the bank, and the boys stepped out. It being early in the afternoon, Doctor Spellman was seated in his camp chair in front of his house, smoking a cigar and looking over the Boston Globe. His wife, having set things to rights, had come forward to join him, with Ruth directly behind her.

  The meeting was a pleasing one. When Burton remarked that he had time for only a call, the doctor and his family put so emphatic a veto upon it, that he was obliged to yield and agreed to remain until morning.

  After mutual inquiries and answers had been made, Burton told of the forenoon’s test of Zip’s marvelous power of scent. The story was so remarkable that even Sunbeam, as she sat on Burton’s knee, silently listened. The two were old friends. The little girl was the only one besides his master whom the hound would allow to become familiar with him.

  “I wish I had a dog like him,” remarked the doctor.

  “That is impossible, for there isn’t another like him,” replied the owner.

  “I have been so annoyed by a couple of tramps that I should like to get Zip on their track and have him drive them out of the neighborhood.”

  Alvin and Chester had told the guest of the doings of the nuisances, and there was laughter at their panic when, looking over the side of the canoe, they saw the frightful head of the sea serpent, apparently in the act of rising up to crush the boat or them in its jaws.

  “I can’t understand why they persist in staying in these parts, after the hints they have received,” said the doctor.

  “Can they have any special design in view?” asked Burton.

  “I have thought of that, but can’t imagine what it is. All such pests are thieves, but that is the worst that can be said of them. There is nothing in my home that is specially tempting; they know I have a gun and a revolver,—a
nd that I am quite ready to use it if they give good cause. Yet when I kill a man,” added the doctor with a grim smile, “I prefer to put him out of the way in my professional capacity. There are no unpleasant consequences to myself.”

  “Couldn’t one of the spalpeens be ill?” suggested Mike. “He may be trying to screw up his courage to the p’int of asking ye for a prescription.”

  “He will find me ready, and I’ll charge him no fee.”

  At this moment, the physician supplemented his words by a remark which, in the light of after events, was singular to the last degree.

  “George, I have arranged a system of signals with my young friends here.”

  “I don’t catch your meaning.”

  “When young Jack Crandall broke his leg some time ago, there was no telling what complications would follow. It was therefore agreed that in case I was needed in a hurry, some of the Boy Scouts should fire one of their revolvers several times in quick succession. Then I would paddle to the bungalow as fast as I could.”

  “Could you count upon hearing the reports?”

  “Yes,—as a rule; there is nothing to obstruct the sound on the water, unless it might be a strong wind, and as to that we shall have to take chances. My signal may vary.”

  “Your signal,” repeated the astonished nephew; “what need can you have for anything of the kind?”

  “Probably not any, and yet there’s no certainty that I shall not. I brought some fireworks for the amusement of Stubby. Among them are a dozen sky rockets. If we should find ourselves in need of help at night, three rockets sent up in the sky will notify the Boy Scouts, who I know will make all haste hither, and a score of such young fellows form a force that even a half dozen men dare not despise. If I need them after they have retired I can use my rifle or revolver the same as they would use their weapon.”

  “Suppose the emergency should happen in the daytime?”

  “We have our firearms to appeal to; with them we can duplicate the call of the Boy Scouts.”

  “I suppose the system is the best that can be devised,” said Burton, “and yet it strikes me it is as likely to fail as to succeed.”

  “Why?”

  “For your rockets to serve, some of the boys must see them,—and what certainty is there that they will do so?”

  “Of course there’s the possibility that they may not,—but until Scout Master Hall and his charges retire for the night, all or a majority of them are on the piazza and some of them would be certain to observe the rockets as they streamed upward, leaving a trail of fire behind them.”

  “But why talk of your needing our help?” asked Alvin; “it strikes me as absurd, though the reverse of the rule is sensible.”

  “I may as well confess that I feel uneasy over the persistent hovering of those tramps in the neighborhood. I fear to leave wife or Ruth alone, and I never do so even for a short time without making sure my revolver is loaded and at her instant command.”

  “When you come to the bungalow, you can bring Sunbeam and her mother with you,” said Chester Haynes, “as you have generally done.”

  “That is my rule, but it leaves the house without the slightest protection, and those tramps, if they wish, can work their own sweet will.”

  “You did not visit us today, doctor.”

  “Crandall is getting on so well there’s no need; he moves about so readily on those crutches you fellows presented him that his rapid recovery is assured. If tomorrow is fair, you may expect us over to dinner.”

  Alvin and Chester felt that this visit really belonged to young Burton,—so, after remaining a brief while longer, the three bade them all good-bye and paddled back to the bungalow, which they reached in the latter part of the afternoon.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Call For Help

  On the evening of one Thursday in August, Scout Master Hall and the members of the three patrols composing the troop of Boy Scouts were lounging on the piazza of the bungalow or clubhouse which stands on the shore of Gosling Lake in Southern Maine. It was the day succeeding the departure of George Burton and his bloodhound Zip.

  The hours had been busy ones for our young friends. There had been fishing, strolls through the woods, investigation of the different kinds of trees, the study of birds, besides a “deer hunt.” I hasten to say that this was not a real hunt, a dummy being used with bows and arrows as weapons. This is one of the most popular forms of amusements among Boy Scouts, who enjoy it to the full.

  So when the youths came back to headquarters, they brought keen appetites, overflowing spirits and healthy tired bodies. The gathering on the piazza was a pleasing reunion of all the members. There were experiences to be told, good natured chaffing, the laying of plans for the morrow, and now and then Mike Murphy, in answer to the unanimous demand, sang for them. As I have already said, this remarkable youth, despite his unrestrainable waggery, would never sing anything of a frivolous or “rag time” nature, but inclined to sentimental or religious themes. When that marvelous voice of his, like the notes of a Stradivarius violin in the hands of Ole Bull, or Spohr, or Kubelik, was wafted across the placid lake, it was easy to believe the story of the sirens of Lorelei.

  Thus the party was grouped on the night I have named, and the hum and chatter of conversation was at its height, when Scout Master Hall exclaimed:

  “Look!”

  Every voice was instantly hushed. In the gloom the leader’s arm which he had instinctively extended could not be seen, but naturally all who were not already looking out upon the water did so. Every one was in time to see a swift ascending rocket turn and break into a shower of sparks as it dived downward again.

  It was still in sight when a second whirred upward for two hundred feet or more, leaving a streaming, dazzling trail as it circled over, exploded and the stick plunged downward in the darkness.

  Every one held his breath. Most of them rose and stared. It might be that the physician was sending up the rockets to amuse his daughter. If there were only two, they would mean nothing more; if there was another—

  “There it is!” gasped Scout Master Hall; “something is wrong at Doctor Spellman’s!”

  It was the signal which had been agreed upon in the event of their friend finding himself in urgent need of help.

  It seemed as if several minutes passed before, through the tomb-like hush, stole a faint popping sound,—the report of the explosion ending its journey across the lake.

  The dull, almost inaudible call acted as if it were a bugle blast. The whole party dashed off the porch and at headlong speed to the two canoes drawn upon the beach. Even Jack Crandall swung to the steps, and debated a moment whether he should not join the party of rescue, but his common sense told him he would be only a hindrance, and he reluctantly stayed behind and watched the shadowy forms of his friends as shown in the star gleam, the moon not yet having risen.

  “He has called for us,” said Scout Master Hall, “and there isn’t a minute to lose!”

  Standing on the edge of the lake he gave his commands as coolly as an officer marshaling his forces for a charge. In a twinkling the two boats were afloat in the deep water which came close to the bank.

  “There are twenty-one of us; each canoe will carry no more than eight; the other five must hurry along the shore to the doctor’s house.”

  The lads stood breathless, waiting for the leader to name those who must walk. He promptly did so:

  “Isaac Rothstein, Hoke Butler, Gerald Hume, Arthur Mitchell, Gordon Calhoun.”

  It was a keen disappointment to the five, but there was not a murmur.

  “Come on, boys,” called Hoke; “if we do our best we shall not be far behind them.”

  His long legs carried him at a pace that made it hard for the others to equal. In Indian file the procession, with him in the lead, loped along the beach and was speedily swallowed up in the obscurity.

  The crews of the canoes worked like beavers. In a twinkling the boys had adjusted themselves and in each boat t
he two who were handiest with the paddles plyed them vigorously. Scout Master Hall was seated in the stern of one, among his companions being Mike Murphy, Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes.

  At the moment the two craft put out from shore, Mike Murphy repeated the exclamation—

  “Look!”

  The startling performance of a few minutes before was repeated. One, two, three rockets streamed upward in the heavens, curved over, exploded and plunged downward among the trees.

  “What can be the trouble?” was the question which everyone of the rescuers asked himself, as the oarsmen threw their energies into the task, and sent the heavily-laden craft with the utmost speed across the lake toward the home of their friend.

  Alvin and Chester swung the paddles in their canoe, which speedily assumed a slight lead. There was little or no conversation, but each Boy Scout was busy with his thoughts, and burning with curiosity to learn the cause of the strange night call across the lake. Since every one knew of the doings of the two tramps, who had been lurking in the vicinity for several days and had been seen the previous afternoon, it was natural that suspicion should turn to them.

  And yet it was hard to imagine a situation in which so plucky a man as Doctor Spellman, who owned a revolver and a repeating rifle, would have any fear of two unarmed vagrants. Impulsive by nature, and already resentful toward them, he would stand no nonsense at their hands.

  And for a third time were three signal rockets sent streaming aloft, before the canoes had passed half the distance between the bungalow and the home of the physician. The urgency of the summons filled all with anguish. Mike and the Patrol Leader offered to relieve Alvin and Chester with the paddles, but they would not listen and bent resolutely to their task. The other canoe had pulled up alongside, and the two kept abreast with barely ten feet separating them.

  The cause of the call of distress was revealed with startling suddenness and before the craft reached land. Through the gloom, Mike Murphy caught the vague outlines of a man and woman on the beach, and he shouted: