“Listen!”
Both remained silent for several minutes, but nothing out of the ordinary reached their ears.
“We may as well give it up, Sam. It is growing dark and there is no telling where this search would lead us. We might even get lost in the woods.”
They retraced their steps as quickly as they could to where they had left the rowboat.
“What luck?” queried Fred.
“None; he got away from us.”
“It’s too bad,” said Powell; and then the return to the camp was made without further delay.
CHAPTER XXIV
MORE RIVALRY
“Do you mean to tell me that you saw Arnold Baxter?” exclaimed Dick, after listening to Sam and Tom’s story.
“We did,” replied the youngest Rover. “There was no mistake?”
“If it wasn’t Arnold Baxter do you think he would take such pains to get out of our reach?” asked Tom.
“That is true, Tom. But it seems so unnatural. What can he be doing in this out-of-the-way place?”
“As Powell says, he must be keeping out of the reach of the law. Perhaps he expects to keep shady until this affair blows over.”
“As if it would blow over!” cried Sam. “Dick, we ought to do something.”
Captain Putnam had already learned why the four cadets had been late in returning to camp. The Rovers now went to consult him further.
“I agree, something should be done,” said the captain. “Perhaps you had better go to the nearest telegraph office, Richard, and telegraph to your folks. You might also get some of the local authorities to take up the hunt for this criminal.”
“Who are the local authorities?”
“I really don’t know, but we can find out at Oakville.”
In the end Dick and Tom received permission to leave camp for an indefinite time. Late as it was, they hurried to Oakville and caught the telegraph operator at the little railroad station just as he was shutting up for the night.
Having sent the message to their father they made inquiries of the operator and learned that the town boasted of a Judge Perkins and that the local constable was Munro Staton.
“Do you mean the farmer who lives down on the road to Bass Lake?” asked Dick. “The man who has twin daughters?”
“That’s the man.”
“Why, he was in camp to-day, with his daughters,” cried Dick. “Wish I had known of this before. I might have hired him to make a hunt for the fellow we are after. Where does that judge live?”
“Sorry, but he went to New York yesterday and won’t be back for several days.”
The boys said no more, but without delay turned away from Oakville and made their way to the Staton farmhouse.
“Hullo! I didn’t expect to see you again to-day!” exclaimed Munro Staton, as he opened the door for them. “Come in.”
They entered, to find the girls sewing and Mrs. Staton darning stockings. Mr. Staton had been reading his favorite weekly newspaper.
“We have come on a very important errand, Mr. Staton,” began Dick. “We have been down to Oakville and learned there that you are the local police officer.”
“Ah! Do you want somebody arrested?”
“If it can be done.”
“Somebody at the camp?” put in Helen.
“No, I wish he was at the camp,” said Tom. “But I’m afraid he is miles away.”
All of the Statons were interested and listened to the tale Tom and Dick had to tell with close attention.
“Seems to me I’ve heard of this Baxter and his son,” said Munro Staton, scratching his head. “How does he look?”
As well as he was able Tom described the man, while Dick took a sheet of paper and a pencil and made a rough but life-like sketch of the individual.
“Why, you are quite an artist!” said Alice Staton as she gazed at the picture. “I’m sure I’d recognize that man if I met him.”
“So would I,” added her father. “Can I keep this picture?”
“To be sure,” replied Dick. “Now, Mr. Staton, to come to business. What are your services as constable worth a day?”
“Oh, about two or two dollars and a half.”
“Well if you will start a hunt for this man Baxter at once I’ll guarantee you three dollars per day for a week or two, and if you succeed in landing him in jail I’ll guarantee you a reward of one hundred dollars. I know my father will pay that amount willingly.”
“And if he won’t, I will,” said Tom.
“You must be rich.”
“We are fairly rich, Mr. Staton. This man is a great criminal and has been an enemy to our family for years. We don’t want to see him at large.”
“Well, I’ll take the job and do the best I can for you,” said Munro Staton and arose to his feet. “My hired man can run the farm while I am gone.”
He said he knew the spot where the boys had first seen Arnold Baxter, and he would visit it at sunrise the next day and take up the trail as best he could.
“That trail through the woods used to lead to the village of Hopdale,” he said. “Perhaps I’ll learn something about him over there.”
“I sincerely hope that you do,” returned Dick.
The boys, and especially Tom, were worn out with traveling and readily consented to borrow a horse from Munro Staton, on which to ride back to camp. The steed was returned early in the morning.
“It’s rather a wild-goose chase,” said Dick, in talking matters over with his brothers. “But I don’t know of anything else to do. Mr. Staton may catch Baxter quicker than a metropolitan detective could do the job.”
Three days passed, and during that time the boys received two telegrams from home, stating they should do as they thought best in the Baxter affair, and that a detective was on the way. Then the detective appeared at the camp and followed Munro Staton on the hunt for the missing criminal. But the search by both men proved useless, and nothing more was seen of Arnold Baxter for the time being.
The cadets had arranged for a series of athletic contests, to come off at the beginning of the following week. There was to be broad and high jumping, and running, as well as throwing the hammer. All of the students were interested, and for some time these contests formed the total subject of conversation.
The cadets to enter for the various events, eight in number, were those already introduced in these pages and a dozen or fifteen in addition, all lively, wide-awake youths, each of whom looked as if he would do his best to win.
In a manner not to be easily explained, the camp divided itself into two factions, one led by Dick and Major Larry, and the other led by Lew Flapp and Pender. To the former belonged the Rovers and their numerous chums, and to the latter Rockley, Ben Hurdy, and boys of a similar turn. Each crowd had one or more followers entered for every event and, as before, numerous wagers were made as to which person and which crowd would win.
Dick had entered for the high jump, Tom for the hammer throwing, and Sam for a half mile race for cadets of his own class. The boys practiced a good deal, although not always where the others could see what they were doing.
The day for the contests was a perfect one and as news of the events had traveled to Oakville and other places, quite a respectable crowd of outsiders came to the camp to witness the affair.
“I hope you Rover boys win,” said Alice Staton, who had come with her twin sister and her mother in a buggy.
“Thank you,” returned Dick politely. “We shall certainly do our best. But you must remember that we have some first-class athletes at this academy.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. All academies have them,” put in Helen Staton.
The first event to come off was the hammer throwing, to take place in the middle of the parade ground. There were four entries for this, Tom, as already mentioned, Jackson, Powell, a
nd a big boy named Larson.
Larson, who belonged to the Flapp crowd, was looked on as the probable winner, for he handled the hammer exceedingly well. But Jackson could also throw, as the others well knew. Nothing was known about the skill of Tom or Powell in this direction.
The contest began with a throw by Powell. It was not very good and Jackson outdistanced him by three feet.
“That’s the style, Jackson!” cried Lew Flapp. “Show ‘em what you can do.”
“This is the day our crowd comes out on top,” put in Pender.
“Crowing rather early, seems to me,” came from Fred Garrison dryly.
It was now Tom’s turn and he threw the hammer with all the force at his command. It fell just beyond the point reached by Jackson.
“Good for you, Tom!” cried Sam. “That’s the way to do it.”
“Humph! Just wait till Larson takes his turn,” came from a Flapp follower.
Larson stepped to the mark with the air of one who knows just what he is doing. Up went the hammer with a long swing—to land in the very spot where Tom had thrown it.
“A tie! A tie!” was the cry.
“Well done, Larson!” came from Lew Flapp, but he was by no means satisfied over the showing made.
Being tied, it was necessary for Tom and Larson to throw once more, and again Tom took his position at the mark.
“Be careful, Tom,” whispered Dick. “Take your time.”
Again the hammer swung up into the air and went sailing forward.
“Hurrah, eight inches beyond his first mark!” came the cry.
“Larson will have to hump himself to beat that!”
It was now Larson’s turn and he stepped to the mark with a quick, earnest air. He realized that he must do his best if he expected to beat Tom.
Jackson had picked up the hammer and he it was who had handed the article to Tom.
As Larson swung the hammer on high Tom cried out quickly:
“Stop!”
“What’s the matter with you?” cried Jackson uglily.
“I want Captain Putnam to examine that hammer.”
“There ain’t nothing wrong with it.”
“Possibly not. But please remember that I used the one marked A.”
“So did I,” came from Powell.
Captain Putnam brushed forward.
“I will look at that hammer, please,” he said to Larson quietly. He knew that the cadets had several hammers for practicing throwing in the camp.
“I—I guess it’s all right,” faltered Larson. “This hammer is marked B.”
“B!” cried Tom. “That B hammer is about half a pound lighter than the one marked A.”
“It ain’t so!” yelled Jackson.
“Let me see the hammer marked A,” said the captain, and it was brought from the spot where Jackson had thrown it. “It is certainly heavier than this one,” he went on. “Jackson, what do you mean by making such a substitution?”
“I—er—I didn’t know there was any difference.”
“But why did you make the change at all?”
“I—er—I knew Larson liked this hammer better. The handle just suits him.”
“That is so,” replied Larson blandly.
“We will try the contest over again,” said Captain Putnam. “And every contestant will use the hammer marked A.”
“I don’t like the hammer marked A,” grumbled Larson.
“I would just as lief use the hammer marked B,” said Tom quickly.
“So would I,” added Powell, who felt he could not win anyway.
“Very well then, we will use the hammer marked B,” said Captain Putnam. “And after this, Jackson, be sure of what you are doing,” he added sharply, and at the words the boy who had tried to work such a mean trick was glad enough to slink back out of sight as much as possible.
CHAPTER XXV
WINNING THE CONTESTS
Powell was again the first to throw the hammer and this time it went two feet beyond his first mark.
“Good for you, Songbird!” said Tom. “I wish you had made it a yard.”
Jackson came up with a scowling face. He did his best, but this time fell behind Powell by four inches.
“You ought to have stuck to the other hammer, Jackson,” laughed the youth who composed songs.
“Don’t you throw that up to me!” whispered Jackson fiercely. “If you do I’ll hammer you for it.”
“Is that meant for a pun, Jackson?”
“No, it ain’t. I won’t stand being slurred. I’ll pound you good.”
“With the hammer?”
“No, with my fists.”
“Really? Well, you’ll have to spell able first.” Tom came next, as before, and now the hammer flew out four feet and nine inches beyond his first mark.
“That shows what the other hammer can do,” said Major Larry.
Larson was as much out of sorts as Jackson, but nevertheless he resolved to do his best to win the contest. Up went the hammer with a mighty swing and circled through the air. But the throw was behind that of Tom by fourteen inches.
“Hurrah! Tom Rover wins!” was the cry, and many rushed forward to congratulate him, while Larson and Jackson retired as quickly as they could and in great disgust.
The next contest was a dash of two hundred yards and was won by a boy named Bird.
“He’s a bird!” sang out Tom loudly, and at this the crowd laughed heartily.
Then came a race of a quarter of a mile for the little cadets and this was won by Harry Moss, with Joe Davis a close second. Lew Flapp had backed up Ben Hurdy, but cigarettes had done their work on Hurdy and his wind gave out long before the race came to a finish.
“Good for you, Harry,” said Dick, slapping the little cadet on the back. “That was a fine run you made. And your run was almost as good, Joe,” he added, to Davis.
“I don’t care if I did lose,” panted Davis. “Both of us beat Ben Hurdy hollow, and that’s all I wanted to do.”
“Oh, there’s no moss growing on Moss,” cried Tom, and this brought out another laugh.
The next contest to come off was the high jump, for which Dick had entered, along with Pender, Rockley, and four others, including Hans Mueller. What had possessed the German boy to enter was beyond finding out, for he could scarcely jump at all. Yet many, for the fun of it, told him they thought he would surely win.
“Oh, you’ll outjump everybody,” said Sam. “None of ‘em will come anywhere near you.”
“Dot’s it! Dot’s it!” cried Hans excitedly. “I vos chump so high like nefer vos, ain’t it?”
A lad named Lemon was the first to go over the bar, at a height of four feet and two inches. Another cadet followed, going him two inches better.
“Now, Hans, see what you can do,” said Major Larry.
“Vos it mine turn to chump?”
“Yes. Are you ready?”
“Sure I vos.”
“How high up shall they place the stick?”
“Apout like dot,” and Hans pointed to the top of his head.
“All right, fellows, up she goes!” sang out Tom, and the stick went up.
Hans spat on his hands as if going to lift something. Then he squared his shoulders and drew far back from the jumping place.
“Gif me lots of room, eferypotty!” he sang out.
“All the room you want, Dutchy!” cried one of the cadets.
Away Hans started for the stick, running as swiftly as his short legs would carry him. When about ten feet away he made a wild leap, stuck up both legs in the air, and came down flat on his back with a loud whack.
“Hurrah, Hans wins!” cried Tom. “Best fall I’ve seen in a year!”
“Wh—who—vat—” gasped Hans, trying to recover his wind. “Who knocked me
der pack ofer annahow?”
“Nobody hit you, Hans.”
“Who put geese grease der groundt on ver I run, hey?”
“Nobody.”
“Well, did I knock der stick town?”
“No, you didn’t come anywhere near the stick.”
“Do I got some more trials?”
“I think, Mueller, that you had better retire,” said Captain Putnam with a smile. “High jumping does not seem to agree with you.”
“Maype dot’s so, captain. Veil, I ton’t care annahow. I vill drow der hammer ven ve haf some more of dem kondests,” and then Hans dropped to the rear.
Rockley was the next to jump, and his record was an inch better than that already made.
“That’s all right,” said Lew Flapp.
Two other pupils now took their turns in jumping and Rockley’s record was speedily eclipsed. Then Dick came along and sent the record still higher.
“That’s the talk, Dick,” said Tom enthusiastically. “I don’t think Pender can do as well.”
“Can’t I,” sneered Pender. “I’ll show you.”
On he came, measuring his distance with care, and went over the stick at the same height Dick had taken.
“Another tie!” was the cry.
The last boy to jump did not do as well as Rockley, so the contest was voted a tie between Dick and Gus Pender.
“Now, Dick, you must win,” said Sam.
“You think a good lot of his ability,” sneered Lew Flapp, who stood close by, and started to walk off.
He had scarcely taken a step when Dick gave him a quick shove that sent the tall boy flat on his face.
“I’ll teach you to step on my foot, Lew Flapp!” he cried hotly.
“What’s the trouble?” demanded several, while Mr. Strong came forward to investigate.
“Lew Flapp stepped on my right foot, and he did it just as hard as he could,” said Dick.
“I—I didn’t,” growled Flapp.
“I say you did—and what is more, I think you did it on purpose.”
“He did it to lame you, so you couldn’t jump against Pender,” came from Tom.
“Flapp, did you step on Rover’s foot on purpose?” demanded George Strong.
“No, sir—didn’t step on it at all.”
The Rover Boys Megapack Page 119