“Look!” he exclaimed.
“At what?” asked both Tom and Dick.
“Over in front of that clothing store. There is Dan Baxter, and Jasper Grinder is with him!”
“Sam is right,” came from Dick. “They must have struck up some sort of a friendship, or they wouldn’t be here together.”
“Let’s go over and see what Baxter has to say for himself,” said Tom boldly.
“All right,” returned Dick. “But we want to keep out of a row; remember that.”
They crossed the street and walked straight up to Baxter and Jasper Grinder, who were holding an animated conversation in the doorway of a clothing establishment which was closed for the night.
As they came up, Sam caught the words, “There is money there, sure,” coming from Baxter. He paid no attention to the words at the time, but remembered them long afterward, and with good reason.
“Hullo, Baxter!” said Dick, halting in front of the bully.
Dan Baxter gave a start, as if detected in some wrong act. Then, as the light from an electric lamp shone upon Dick’s face, he glared sourly at the oldest Rover.
“Where did you come from?” he asked, and then, seeing the other Rovers, added: “Been following me, I suppose?”
“No, we haven’t been following you,” said Dick. “We just came from, the college boys’ concert in the hall down the street.”
Jasper Grinder looked as sour as did Dan Baxter. Then he shook his finger in Dick’s face.
“I haven’t forgotten you, Richard Rover,” he said bitterly. “And I am not likely to forget you.”
“As you please, Mr. Grinder,” was the cool rejoinder.
“And I shan’t forget you, Jasper Grinder,” put in Sam. “You were the means of my going to bed with a heavy cold.”
“Bah! it was all put on,” exclaimed Jasper Grinder. “Had I had my way, I would have kept you in the storeroom all night, and flogged you beside.”
“Captain Putnam did a good thing when he dismissed you,” put in Tom. “It’s a pity he ever took on such a cold-hearted and miserly fellow.”
“You Rovers think you are on top,” said Dan Baxter savagely. “But you won’t stay on top long, I’ll give you my word on that.”
“What are you going to do about it?” asked Dick, not without considerable curiosity.
“Never mind; you’ll learn when the proper time comes.”
“Is your dad going to try to break jail again?” asked Sam.
“It’s none of your business what he does—or what I do, either.”
“We’ll make it our business if you try any of your games on us again,” said Dick. “We’ve stood enough from you and your kind, and we don’t intend to stand any more.”
“Are you going back to school after the holidays?” asked Dan Baxter, after a pause.
“That’s our business,” answered Tom.
“All right; you needn’t answer the question if you don’t want to.”
“What do you want to know for?” asked Sam.
“Oh! nothing in particular. I suppose it’s a good place for you to go to. You are all Captain Putnam’s pets, and he won’t make you do a thing you don’t like, or make you study either, if your father shells out to him.”
“We study a great deal more than you ever studied, Baxter,” said Dick.
“Let them go,” cried Jasper Grinder, in deep irritation. “I want nothing to do with them,” and he turned his back on the Rovers.
“We’re willing to go,” said Dick. “But, Baxter, I warn you against doing anything in the future. You’ll only put your foot into it.”
So speaking, Dick walked away, and Tom and Sam followed him. Baxter shook his fist at them, and Jasper Grinder did the same.
“They’re a bad team,” said Tom, as they walked to the hotel. “If they try, perhaps they can give us lots of trouble.”
CHAPTER XI
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
“Hurrah! Here we are again! How natural Oak Run looks!” exclaimed Tom on the following day, as the long train came to a halt at their station and they piled out on to the narrow platform.
“There is old Nat Ricks, the station master,” said Sam. “Remember how you nearly scared him to death once by putting a big fire-cracker in the waste paper he was burning and then telling him a yarn about dynamite being around?”
“Well, I just guess I do,” answered Tom, with a grin. “Hullo, Mr. Ricks!” he called out. “How are you this fine and frosty morning?”
“Putty well, Tom,” grumbled the old station master. “Been troubled a lot lately with rheumatism.”
“That’s too bad, Mr. Ricks. Caught it hoisting trunks into the cars, I suppose.”
“Don’t know how I caught it.”
“Or maybe lifting milk cans.”
“I don’t lift no milk cans no more. Job Todder has that work around here.”
“I see. Well, you must have caught it somehow, or else it caught you. Ever tried the old Indian remedy for it?”
“Indian remedy, what’s that?”
“Gracious, Mr. Ricks! never heard of the old reliable Indian remedy? I’m astonished at you,” went on Tom, in mock candor.
“I’ve heard tell of Indian vegetable pills—but they aint no good for rheumatism,” was the slow answer.
“Where is the pain mostly?”
“Down this left leg.”
“Then the Indian remedy will just cure you, sure pop, Mr. Ricks.”
“Well, what might it be?”
“It might be cover-liver oil, but it isn’t. You get a quart bottle—a red quart bottle, for a white one won’t do,—and fill it with cold spring water, tapped when the moon is full.”
“Is that all?”
“Oh, no, no! Then you take the spring water and boil it over a charcoal fire, same as the Modoc Indians used to do. You remember all about that, don’t you?”
“I—I—’pears to me I ought to,” stammered the old station master.
“Well, after the water is boiled,” went on Tom, with a side wink at Dick and Sam, who were already on a broad grin, “you strain it through a piece of red cheesecloth—not white, remember—and add one teaspoonful of sugar, one of salt, one of ginger, one of mustard, one of hog’s lard, one of mercury, one of arrowroot, one of kerosene oil, one of lemon juice, one of extract of vanilla, one of mushamusha——”
“Hold on Rover, I can’t remember all that. I’ll have to put it down,” interrupted Nat Ricks.
“No, you don’t put it down until everything is in and well mixed. Then you put it down, half a pint at a time, four times a day. It’s a sure cure, and inside of a week after taking seventeen quarts and rubbing the empty bottles on your left shoulder blade you’ll feel like dancing a jig of joy; really, you will.”
“Oh, you go along!” growled the old station master, in sudden wrath. “You’re joking me. Go oh, or I’ll throw something at you!”
“No bouquets, please, Mr. Ricks. Then you won’t try the cure? All right, but don’t blame me if your rheumatism gets worse. And as I can’t do anything for you, will you kindly inform me if you’ve seen anything of Jack Ness around here, with our turnout?”
“If you want your hired man you go find him yourself,” growled the station master, and hobbled into his office.
“Oh, Tom, but that was rich,” laughed Sam softly. “When you said extract of vanilla and mushamusha I thought I’d explode. And he was listening so earnestly, too!”
“Here’s Jack Ness!” cried Dick, as they turned to the rear of the station. “Hullo, Jack! Here we are again!”
“Master Dick!” exclaimed the hired man, with a grin. “An’ Tom an’ Sam! Glad to see you boys back, indeed I am. Here, give me them bags. I’ll put ‘em in the back of the sleigh.”
“How is the sleighing?
” asked Sam.
“Sleighing is quite fair yet, Master Tom. In you go. All the folks is dying to see you.”
They were soon stowed away in the big family sleigh, and Jack Ness touched up the team, and away they went, through Oak Run and across the bridge spanning the Swift River—that stream where Sam had once had such a thrilling adventure. The countryside was covered with snow and with pools of ice.
It did not take them long to come in sight of Valley Brook. While still at a distance they saw faithful Alexander Pop come out on the broad piazza and wave his hand at them.
“There’s Aleck!” cried Tom. “He’s been on the watch!”
“There is father!” came from Sam, a moment later; “and aunt Martha and Uncle Randolph!”
Soon they turned into the lane, and Jack Ness brought the sleigh up to the piazza block in fine style. Tom was the first out and ran to greet his father, and then his uncle and his aunt, and the others followed.
“I am glad to see you back, boys,” said Mr. Anderson Rover. “You all look first-rate.”
“We’re feeling first-rate,” came from Dick.
“Are you sure, Sam, that you are quite over your cold?” asked Aunt Martha anxiously.
“Quite sure, aunty dear,” he answered, and kissed her very warmly, not once, but several times.
“Here, don’t eat Aunt Martha up!” cried Tom. “Leave some for me.”
“You dear Tom!” murmured the lady of the house, as she kissed him and then embraced Dick. “Full of fun as ever, I suppose.”
“Oh, no, aunty! I never do anything wrong now,” answered Tom solemnly. “I really haven’t time, you know.”
“I’m afraid, Tom, I can’t trust you.” And Mrs. Randolph Rover shook her head sadly, but smiled nevertheless. She loved the jolly lad with all her heart.
There was a warm greeting from Randolph Rover also, and then the boys turned indoors, to greet faithful Alexander Pop and the others who worked about the place.
“Yo’ is a sight fo’ soah eyes, ‘deed yo’ is, boys,” said the colored man. “I can’t tell yo’ how much I’se missed yo’!” And his face shone like a piece of polished ebony.
“It’s more like home than ever, to get where you are, Aleck,” said Dick. “You’ve been through so much with us you are certainly part of the outfit.” And at this Aleck laughed and looked more pleased than ever.
It was the day before Christmas, but in honor of their arrival there was an extra-fine dinner awaiting them. Mrs. Rover had wanted to keep her turkey meat for Christmas, so her husband, Anderson Rover, and Aleck had gone into the woods back of the farm and brought down some rabbits and a number of birds, so there was potpie and other good things galore, not forgetting some pumpkin pies and home-made doughnuts, which Aunt Martha prepared with her own hands and of which the boys had always been exceedingly fond.
“I’ll tell you what,” remarked Tom, as he was stowing away his second generous piece of pie, “the feed at the Hall is all right, but when it comes to a real, downright spread, like this, the palm goes to Aunt Martha.” And Dick and Sam agreed with him.
There was, of course, much to tell about on both sides, and after dinner the family gathered in the big sitting room, in front of a cheerful, blazing fire. Mr. Anderson Rover listened with keen interest to what his sons had to say about Jasper Grinder and Dan Baxter.
“I sincerely trust they do not plot against us,” he said. “I am getting old, and I want no more trouble.”
“I don’t believe Dan has the backbone his father has,” answered Dick. “And I believe Mr. Grinder is good deal of a coward.”
“If only young Baxter would turn over a new leaf!” sighed Mrs. Martha Rover. “I declare I’ll not feel safe, on your account, until that young man is taken care of.”
The evening was passed in talking, singing, and playing games, and it was not until late that all retired.
The Christmas to follow was not one to be easily forgotten. There were presents for everybody, from Mr. Rover down to Sarah, the hired girl, and everybody was greatly pleased.
At the Christmas dinner Alexander Pop insisted upon waiting on the table, just as he had so often done at Putnam Hall. He had on his full dress suit, and his face wore one perpetual smile. The boys had all remembered Aleck handsomely, and he had not forgotten them.
In the afternoon the boys went skating, and on the pond met several of the boys of the neighborhood, and all had a glorious time until dark. Then they piled home, once more as hungry as wolves, to a hot supper, and an evening of nut-cracking around the fire.
“Tell you what,” said Sam on going to bed that night, “I almost wish Christmas came once a week instead of once a year!”
CHAPTER XII
THE BRASS-LINED MONEY CASKET
It was on the day following Christmas that Dick brought out the brass-lined money casket which he had picked up in the cave on Needle Point Island, in Lake Huron, as related in a previous volume of this series.
As old readers know, this cave was stumbled upon by accident. It had once been the hiding place of a band of smugglers who plied their unlawful calling between the United States and Canada, and the cave was found filled with numerous articles of more or less value. The Rovers had gone back for these things, but had found some money gone, also a curiously shaped dagger and a map, which had been in the cave on a rude table. They were pretty well satisfied in their minds that Dan Baxter had taken these things, but had never been able to prove it.
The brass-lined money casket was an odd-looking affair, which Dick found thrust in a big box of fancy articles of various descriptions. The box was about a foot long, six inches wide, and six inches deep. It was of rosewood, with silver corners, and the lining was of polished brass, curiously engraved. The box had contained a few odd Canadian silver coins, but that was all.
“Do you know, I would like to know the history of this box,” observed Dick, as he looked it over. “As it belonged to one of those smugglers it ought to have quite a story to tell.”
“It will make a nice jewel casket,” put in Tom. “When you settle down with Dora, you can give if to her for her dia——”
“Oh, stow that, Tom! If Dora ever does take me for a husband, it won’t be for some years to come, you must know that.”
“Let me take a look at the box,” put in Sam. “I never got the chance to look it over carefully.”
“It’s odd that they should engrave it inside,” went on Dick. “Especially since the outside silver corners are plain.”
“Perhaps there is a secret spring hidden by the engraving,” suggested Tom. “Hunt around. It may fly apart and let out a hundred thousand in diamonds.”
“Don’t be foolish, Tom,” said Dick. “It isn’t likely there is a spring.”
“But there just is a spring!” exclaimed Sam, who was handling the box. “Hark!”
He ran his finger nail over a spot on one side of the box, and there followed a tiny click. Then he ran his finger nail back, and there was another click.
“Hurrah! Sam has solved the mystery of the sphinx!” cried Tom. “Can you open it? I claim a third share of the diamonds!”
“Give me the box,” said Dick, also a bit excited. When he got it in his hands he, too, ran his finger nail over the engraved brass. Several tiny clicks followed.
“There must be some opening beneath the brass lining,” he said.
“Take it to the window, and perhaps you’ll be able to see something more,” suggested Sam.
Dick did as advised, and, with his brothers gathered close beside him, worked over the money casket for fully quarter of an hour.
“It seems to click, and that’s all,” he said disappointedly. “If I could only——Oh!”
Dick stopped short. His finger had run across the lining in a certain way. There were three clicks in rapid succession, and on the instan
t one of the brass plates of the box flew back, revealing a tiny compartment behind it, not over a quarter of an inch in depth.
“No diamonds there,” said Tom, his face falling. “Full of emptiness.”
“No, here is a sheet of parchment,” returned Dick, pulling it forth. “A map!” he added, as he unfolded it. “Well, I never!”
“Never what?” came from Tom and Sam.
“Unless I am mistaken, this is like the map that was on that table in the cave, only this is much smaller.”
“That’s interesting, too,” said Tom.
“The back of the map is full of writing,” said Sam. He looked closer. “It’s in French.”
“This box must have belonged to one of those French-Canadian smugglers,” said Dick. “We’ll have to get Uncle Randolph to read the writing and tell us what it says.”
The three boys had been up to Dick’s room. Now they lost no time in going below. In all eagerness they burst into the library, where Anderson Rover sat reading a magazine and Randolph Rover one of his favorite works on scientific farming.
“Dick has got the money casket open!” cried Sam.
“And he has found a map,” added Tom. “We want Uncle Randolph to read the writing. It’s in French.”
“Found a map in that old brass-lined box, eh?” said Anderson Rover. “That’s interesting.”
“I am afraid my French is a trifle rusty,” remarked Randolph Rover, as he put down his book. “Let me see the map.”
He took it to the window, and both he and Anderson Rover looked it over with keen interest.
“Why, this is a map of the locality around Timber Run,” said Randolph Rover. “That’s a great lumbering section in the Adirondacks.”
“Timber Run!” echoed Tom, and for the moment said no more. But he remembered what Dora Stanhope had said, that after the holidays Nellie and Grace Laning were going on a visit to an aunt who lived at Timber Run.
“Yes, Thomas, this is a map of Timber Run. This stream is the Perch River, and this is Bear Pond. The naming is in French, but that is the English of it.”
“Please read the writing on the back,” said Dick. “If the map is worth anything I want to know it.”
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