Boys of Oakdale Academy
Page 24
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PROOF.
In the silence which followed the soft, muffled sound of awood-chopper’s axe drifted to their ears from the northern slope ofTurkey Hill. Even the snow, which was now falling thickly, could beheard making an almost imperceptible rustling and whispering amid thebushes. Slowly Barker folded the red silk handkerchief and put itcarefully away in a pocket.
“I think this will be sufficient evidence,” he said harshly; “but wemay as well locate the contemptible whelp if we can, and I fancy we’llfind him with his pals at Lander’s camp. It won’t be possible to followthe snowshoe tracks more than two or three minutes longer, but he wascertainly heading for that camp.”
“If we do find him, be careful with that gun of yours,” again warnedPiper. “Don’t lose your head, Berlin, old man.”
“I’m not a fool,” returned Barker. “Come on.”
The snowshoe trail was soon obliterated, but the last faint tracks wereplainly seen to be pointing toward the island in the heart of theswamp, and they pushed straight on. Finally the old camp came into viewthrough the film of falling snow, and in a hoarse whisper Piper calledattention to the fact that smoke was rising from the piece of rustystovepipe which served as a chimney. With all possible caution thethree trailers crept forward.
Not a sound came from within the camp; the smoking chimney was the onlytoken which gave evidence that a human being had been there in manyhours—possibly many days. After wasting some time in vain listening,Berlin suddenly made a bold move, advancing toward the door.
“Hello!” he muttered, stopping as the others came up behind him. “Lookat this!”
There was a padlock on the door, securing it by means of a staple andclasp.
“My deduction is,” said Piper, “that the den is deserted and themiscreant flown.”
“He’s sus-skipped already,” said Springer.
Investigation revealed that the padlock was really locked. Then theypeered in through the dingy window, and, their eyes after a timebecoming accustomed to the gloomy interior, they saw beyond questionthat no living person was there.
“He hasn’t been gone long,” decided Barker disappointedly, “for thesmoke proves that. There’s still a smoldering fire in the old stove.”
“Let’s bub-bust the door open and look the place over,” suggestedSpringer.
“Let me hasten to caution you against such a proceeding,” interposedSleuth, as Barker seemed to hesitate. “The complete details of ourmorning’s work will doubtless be laid before the public eye, and wemust take every precaution not to perpetrate any act that will reboundto our discredit. Let it not be said that, like the owner of this denof iniquity, we broke and entered.”
“It wouldn’t do any good, anyhow,” said Berlin. “We couldn’t learnanything further, and I feel certain I already have the proof that willnail the sneak fast.”
“What are you going to do about it?” questioned Phil.
“Do?” cried Barker. “I’m going to make him settle—handsomely. I’llteach him he can’t shoot my dog without paying for it.”
“This will come pretty near fuf-fixing Mr. Grant for good aroundOakdale. He’d better pull up stakes and get out.”
“He was practically fixed before this,” said Barker; “but this willcertainly satisfy every doubter as to his character. Even Stone can’thave anything to say in his defense after this.”
By the time the swamp was left behind the snow was coming down in suchan impenetrable mass that they could barely see a few feet in advance,and the wind was rising, forcing them to hold their heads down and bendforward as they breasted the storm.
“It’s going to be a ripper,” said Springer. “Winter came in early thisyear, and it’s sus-soaking it to us good.”
Down the Barville road they went, Barker silently planning his courseof action toward Grant.
Until late in the afternoon the storm continued, the wind piling thesnow in drifts; between three and four o’clock, however, it abated farmore suddenly than it had begun. The wind died down, and the sun,setting beyond Turkey Hill, shot red gleams through a rift in theclouds, gilding the arrow-vane on the steeple of the Methodist church.Men and boys appeared everywhere with shovels, opening paths to housesand clearing the sidewalks. The loafers, who had spent the greater partof the day around the roaring stove in Stickney’s store, discussingnational politics, high finance, and arguing vociferously over originalmethods for busting the trusts, gradually melted away until only tworheumaticky old codgers who could not wield shovels were left.
Even before the snow had ceased to fall, Rodney Grant was out and atwork on the path leading to his aunt’s house, and, having begun thusearly, he was able to complete the task before darkness came on. He hadjust disposed of the last shovelful when, straightening up, heperceived two persons plowing toward him, almost waist deep, along HighStreet. One was a tall, husky-looking man, and the other Rod recognizedwith some surprise as Berlin Barker. He flung the shovel to hisshoulder and turned, but the voice of the man hailed him.
“Hold on, young feller! We want to see you a minute.”
His surprise redoubled, Grant dropped the blade of his shovel to thesnow, leaned lightly on the handle and waited. The man he had oftenseen around Oakdale, but did not know his name. He fancied thatBarker’s cold, grim face wore an expression of malignant, butrepressed, triumph.
“You’re Rod Grant, old Aunt Kent’s nevvy, ain’t ye?” questioned theman, coming up.
“I am Rodney Grant, Miss Priscilla Kent’s nephew,” was the calm answer,although the man’s tone and Barker’s appearance forewarned the boy fromTexas that something disagreeable was about to take place.
“I’ve got a few questions I want to ax ye, young man, and I advise yeto answer ’em truthfully.”
“Save your advice; I’m not in the habit of lying.”
Barker laughed shortly, sneeringly, and Rod was seized, as he had beenscores of times before, by an intense and almost irresistible desire tolay hands on the fellow.
“All right,” said the man. “Now what I want to know fust is this: Didyou go out gunnin’ early this morning?”
“Although I consider it none of your business, I’ll answer. I did not.”
“What? You didn’t? Now be keerful. Take keer. You’re li’ble to gityourself into a mess.”
“What’s the game, Mr. Man?” indignantly demanded Rod.
“You’ll find out purty quick. What did you do this morning, if youdidn’t go out gunnin’?”
“I don’t mind telling you that I started to go fishing.”
“Fishin’? Ho! ho! Where was you goin’?”
“That also is none of your business, but I see no reason why Ishouldn’t state truthfully that we started for Coleman’s Pond. We weregoing to cut holes and fish through the ice.”
“We? Who? Who was with ye?”
“Bunk Lander.”
“Didn’t you start out alone?”
“No, sir.”
“Didn’t you take a gun with ye?”
“No, sir.”
“Now hold on, hold on. Be keerful. You’re li’ble to git twisted.”
“Let me inform you, my friend, that you make me plenty tired. I don’tknow what you’re driving at, but I do know that your insinuations thatI am lying are insulting. There’s no reason why I should lie.”
“Mebbe not. Did you go over to Coleman’s Pond? That’s a right longdistance; ’bout five miles or a little more.”
“No, we didn’t go over there.”
“Why not?”
“Because after we reached Lander’s camp, where we stopped a while, thisstorm began, and we decided it would be right foolish to attempt anyfishing through the ice to-day.”
“H’m!” grunted the inquisitor skeptically. “Did the Lander boy have agun with him?”
“No, sir.”
“How’d you happen to stop at his camp?”
�
��We went there for fishing tackle.”
“And built a fire?”
“Yes. We weren’t in any hurry and the place was cold, so Bunk started afire.”
“H’m! You’ve got it fixed up purty well, ain’t ye?”
Rod felt his cheeks burn. “I don’t know what you mean, for there wasnothing to fix up. I do know that you’re making me right sore with yourquestions and your nasty doubting manner, and I don’t propose to answeranything further until you inform me what all this is about. What areyou driving at?”
The man reached into his pocket and brought forth a red silkhandkerchief, which he offered to Rod.
“I guess you dropped this handkercher on your way, didn’t ye? It’syourn, ain’t it?”
Grant took the handkerchief and looked at it. “Yes,” he replied,forgetting his determination to answer no more questions, “it’s mine.”
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