CHAPTER XXX
SETTLING ACCOUNTS—CONCLUSION
“How are you making out?” those outside the cabin heard Slugger Brown ask.
“It’s slow work with such a small file,” grumbled Nappy Martell. “If I had a big file I could get the padlock off in no time.”
“What’s the matter with smashing it off with a rock?” growled the bully. He arose to his feet and hobbled to where his crony sat. “Give it to me—I’ll soon have it off!”
“Come on,” whispered Jack to his cousins and Mr. Powell. “They are in there and trying to open the treasure box!”
It took the party but a few seconds to reach the door of the cabin. Jack pushed upon it, to find the barrier locked in some manner from the inside.
“Hello! who’s there?” shouted Slugger.
“Maybe it’s your father and Professor Lemm come back,” added Nappy.
The bully came to the door and threw it open. When he found himself confronted by the Rovers and a strange man, he fell back in consternation.
“You!” he gasped. “How—er—did you get here?”
“You let us alone!” cried Nappy, in alarm; and, leaping to his feet, he tried to hide the precious box behind him.
“So we’ve got you, have we?” exclaimed Jack. “Nappy, you hand over that box.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” stammered the lad addressed.
“See here! you haven’t any right to come in here in this fashion,” blustered Slugger, recovering somewhat from his surprise.
“Haven’t we though!” broke out Randy.
“We’ve caught you, and we intend to make you suffer for what you’ve done,” said Andy.
As lame as he was, Slugger attempted to edge his way toward the door, thinking he might get a chance to run away. But Jack caught him by the arm and sent him flying backward into a corner of the cabin.
“You’ll stay right where you are, Slugger Brown!” declared the oldest Rover boy. “Don’t you dare to run away!”
By this time Randy and Fred had approached Nappy, and suddenly the youngest Rover darted behind the youth and snatched the blue tin box from his grasp.
“Hi! you give me that box!” stormed Nappy. “You’ve no right to take it from me!” and then he, too, tried to run from the cabin. He got as far as the doorway when Andy put out his foot and sent him headlong into the snow outside. Then Andy quickly sat down on him, and, rushing up, Randy did the same.
“Don—don’t smash me!” spluttered Nappy, whose face was partly in the snow.
“We’re not going to let you get away,” came firmly from Andy.
“Let’s tie his hands behind him and make him a prisoner,” suggested his twin, and this the two boys proceeded to do, using some skate straps for that purpose.
In the meanwhile, Slugger attempted to draw a pistol, but was promptly hurled back by Jack and Fred. Then Mr. Powell disarmed the youth, and he, too, was made a prisoner.
“You’ll catch it for treating us this way!” growled Slugger, when he realized that he could do no more. “Just wait until my father hears of this!”
“And just you wait, Slugger, until Mr. Stevenson gets here,” retorted Jack, and this answer made the bully turn pale.
Now that the two rascals had been captured, the Rover boys felt very much elated, the more so since they had recovered Uncle Barney’s treasure box without the contents having been disturbed.
“Won’t he be glad!” murmured Fred, as he looked the box over.
“Let’s go out and see if we can’t signal to him in some way,” returned Randy.
He went outside and three shots were fired in rapid succession, a signal which had been agreed upon when the boys had first gone out hunting. After the signal had been given, Mr. Powell said he would go out and watch for the coming of the Stevensons. While he was doing this, the Rovers talked matters over with Slugger and Nappy.
“You’re a fine pair to act in this fashion,” said Jack sternly. “Don’t you know you might have killed Barney Stevenson?”
“Oh, we didn’t hurt him much,” grumbled Slugger.
“And it was stealing to run off with this box!” said Randy.
“No, it wasn’t! That box has got deeds in it that ought to go to my father!”
“I don’t believe it, Slugger. Those deeds belong to Barney Stevenson.”
A minute or two later all those in the cabin heard Mr. Powell give a shout.
“A couple of men are coming!” he cried.
“It’s my dad and Professor Lemm!” broke out Slugger. “Now you fellows will catch it!”
“Be on your guard, everybody!” sang out Jack to his cousins, and each of them caught up his gun and waited.
A few minutes later, Professor Lemm and Mr. Brown appeared in front of the cabin. Their arms were full of camp supplies. Evidently, this place had been a rendezvous for the entire Brown party for several days. It was from here that Slugger and Nappy had gone up to the other end of the island to spy upon Uncle Barney.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Mr. Brown, when he found himself confronted by the Rovers.
“It means that we have made your son and Nappy Martell prisoners,” explained Jack calmly.
“Prisoners!”
“Yes. And I think more than likely we’ll have to hand them over to the authorities.”
“I don’t understand this at all,” put in Asa Lemm, and his voice trembled a little.
Mr. Powell had now come up, and the Rovers told him who the men were. He at once took charge of matters.
“This is a serious business, Mr. Brown,” he said sternly. “Your son and this other young man attacked old Barney Stevenson in a most outrageous manner and robbed him of a box of valuables. What Mr. Stevenson will do in the matter I don’t know. I expect him here very shortly.”
At once there was a wordy quarrel, Mr. Brown showing his temper in anything but a dignified manner. He wanted his son and Nappy released, and threatened all sorts of things, but all to no purpose. Mr. Powell was obdurate, and the Rovers kept themselves in readiness to use their firearms should the occasion require. Asa Lemm had little to say.
The discussion was growing exceedingly warm when there came another interruption, and Uncle Barney, followed by Frederic Stevenson, burst into the cabin. The old lumberman gazed at the assembled crowd, and then at the Rovers.
“My box? Did you find my box?” he questioned quickly.
“Yes, Uncle Barney, we’ve got the box safe and sound,” answered Jack, and handed it over.
“Did those young rascals have it?” and Uncle Barney pointed to Slugger and Nappy.
“Yes. And that fellow was trying to file away the padlock when we got here.”
“You whelps, you!” cried the old lumberman, his eyes blazing. And as he strode toward Slugger and Nappy they shrank back as far as the corner of the cabin permitted.
“Don’t you hit me—don’t you dare!” howled the bully.
“I—I didn’t mean anything by it!” whined Nappy. He was now thoroughly cowed.
Another war of words followed, and the discussion grew even hotter than before. Again Mr. Brown threatened all sorts of things, but Uncle Barney simply laughed at him. Then Frederic Stevenson took a hand.
“Uncle Barney,” he said, catching the old man by the shoulder, “you let me manage this for you, will you?”
“All right, Fred. You do as you please—only they can’t have Snowshoe Island,” was the old man’s answer. Evidently the long standing differences between the pair had been patched up at last.
“What I’ve got to say, I can say in very few words,” came from Ruth’s father, as he confronted Mr. Brown and Professor Lemm. “You have tried to carry matters here with a high hand, and the result has been that you have laid yourselves liable to a suit at law, whi
le those two young rascals are liable to go to prison.”
“Oh, Dad! don’t let them have us arrested!” pleaded Slugger.
“I don’t want to bother with the law—I want to be left alone,” said Uncle Barney in a low voice.
“This island belongs to my relative here—Mr. Barnard Stevenson,” proceeded Ruth’s father. “He has a free and clear title to it, as I well know. I understand something of your underhanded work, Brown. And I understand, too, how you and Professor Lemm found out that this island contained some very valuable zinc ore beds. But your scheme to gain possession of this place has fallen through.”
“Don’t be so sure of that!” snarled Slugger’s father.
“I am sure of it. Unless you leave my relative here alone, you are going to get yourself into pretty hot water. And not only that—if you bother him again, I’ll see to it that your son and that other young man are sent to prison for what they have done.”
“Say! will you let us go if my dad gives up his claim to the island?” broke in Slugger eagerly.
“If your father and Professor Lemm will promise never to bother Barnard Stevenson in the future, I think he’ll be willing to let this case against you drop.”
“All right then. Dad, let’s do that. We don’t want the old island, anyhow!”
“You can’t do anything without those deeds,” added Nappy.
“Shut up! You boys make me sick!” grunted Mr. Brown.
“But Martell is right—we can’t do anything without the deeds,” whispered Professor Lemm. He was growing more fearful every moment over the outcome of what had taken place.
More words followed, but in the end Mr. Brown and Professor Lemm promised to let their so-called claim on Snowshoe Island drop. Then Slugger and Nappy were released, and all were told to take their departure as soon as possible.
“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” grumbled Slugger to Jack, when he was ready to go. “You just wait, Jack Rover! I’m not going to forget you and your cousins in a hurry!”
“And I won’t forget you, either!” added Nappy Martell.
What these two unworthies did in the future to worry the Rovers will be told in another volume, to be entitled, “The Rover Boys Under Canvas; Or, The Mystery of the Wrecked Submarine.” In that volume we shall meet many of our old friends again, and learn the particulars of some out-of-the-ordinary happenings.
“Well, I’m mighty glad they’re gone,” said Fred, after the visitors had disappeared in the distance.
“Glad doesn’t express it!” added Andy. “I could fairly dance a jig for joy!”
“And to think we saved the treasure box!” broke in Jack.
“That’s the best of all,” came from Randy.
Old Uncle Barney was exceedingly happy, not only to have the box restored to him, but also because the trouble between himself and his relatives had been completely cleared away.
“I guess I was something of an old fool to quarrel with Fred and his family,” he remarked to Jack later on, when talking the matter over. “It shows that a man should not be too hasty and headstrong. If I had only listened in the first place, all this would never have happened.”
“I’m glad you’re friends once more,” said Jack.
“I owe you boys a great deal for this, just as I owe you a great deal for saving the treasure box and saving my life in the woods that time,” answered the old lumberman with feeling.
The next day was spent by Uncle Barney and Mr. Stevenson in going over the matter of the deeds. Ruth’s father insisted upon it that they be duly recorded and then placed away in a bank vault. It may be added here that later on this was done, and, later still, the zinc ore beds on the island were opened up and found to be fully as valuable as anticipated. Old Uncle Barney became quite a rich man, and took up his home with the other Stevensons.
While the Stevensons were consulting about the deeds, the Rover boys went out on another hunt, this time accompanied by Mr. Powell, who was quite a sportsman. They had considerable luck, bringing in over a dozen rabbits, four squirrels and several partridges.
“And now we’ve got to get ready to go home,” said Jack, a day or two later.
“Yes. And get ready for the grind at Colby Hall,” added Fred.
“But we’ve had some dandy times on this island!” declared Andy.
“Couldn’t have been better!” came in a chorus.
And here we will say good-bye to the Rover boys.
THE ROVER BOYS UNDER CANVAS
CHAPTER I
A GAME OF BASEBALL
“Now for a home run, Jack!”
“Soak it out over the bleachers!”
“Show the Hixley boys what we can do!”
“Give him a swift one, Dink! Don’t let him hit it!”
“Oh, dear, I do hope Jack scores!” came in a sweet, girlish voice.
“Of course he’ll score!” returned a youth sitting near the girl who had made the remark. “He’s been holding back for just this chance.”
“Oh, do you think so?” asked another girl in the grandstand.
“Surest thing ever was,” was the airy rejoinder. “This is the time we’re going to show the Hixley boys what’s what.”
“Not on your life!” bellowed a heavy voice from the rear. “Here is where Colby Hall gets snowed under.”
Then came a series of yells, followed by the tooting of horns and the sounding of rattles, making a din that was almost ear-splitting.
The occasion was the annual baseball game between Hixley High and Colby Hall. It had been scheduled to take place on the high-school athletic field, but at almost the last minute this field had been declared out of condition, and it had been decided to hold the contest on the athletic grounds attached to the military academy.
Hixley High was very anxious to win this game. During the previous fall, as related in a former volume of this series, the high-school lads had lost the annual football game with Colby Hall by a single touchdown. This defeat still rankled in their minds, and they were determined if possible to take the baseball game by a score that should be well worth while.
And they had good reason to be hopeful of doing this. While their football team had always been considered by the other teams of that locality to be of the “second string variety,” the baseball nine was a remarkably strong organization. At its head was Dink Wilsey, a pitcher who was destined at some time in the future to show himself in one of the big leagues.
“Why, Dink alone can walk off with that game,” was the way more than one Hixley High student had expressed himself.
But more than this—Hixley High had an exceptionally good first baseman and a trio of outfielders whose batting average was high.
“We’re going to put it all over Colby Hall this trip,” was the way the manager of the Hixley High ball club declared himself on the day previous to the match.
The game was now at the second half of the sixth inning, and the score stood, Hixley High, 4; Colby Hall, 2. Colby Hall was at the bat with two men out and one man at second.
It was therefore no wonder that the military academy students became anxious when Jack Rover took up his bat and walked to the plate. A home run would mean the tying of the score, and with a chance to do even better.
“Take your time, Jack,” said Gif Garrison, who was the manager of the nine. “Make him give you a ball just where you want it.”
“Watch yourself!” yelled one of the coaches to the runner at second, for the Hixley High pitcher had suddenly whirled around, sending the ball down to the second baseman. There was a quick drop by the runner, and he escaped getting caught by a few inches only.
“Close shave! Watch yourself, Dan!” yelled Gif Garrison; and Dan Soppinger, at second, nodded to show that he understood, and then danced away in the direction of third base as before.
The firs
t ball pitched to Jack Rover was a slow in-curve, and he stepped back and allowed it to pass him.
“Ball one!”
At this decision a howl of delight went up from the followers of Colby Hall, while a corresponding groan came from Hixley High.
“That’s the eye!”
“Better get a pair of glasses!”
“Sure! The umpire must be blind! That was a perfect ball!”
“Sure it was a perfect ball! That’s the reason he called it a ball!”came from Andy Rover, who sat on the substitutes’ bench.
The second ball delivered was a fairly good one, although rather low. Jack swung at it, and high into the air spun the sphere, well back of the catcher’s head.
“Foul!”
“Run, Billy, you can catch it!”
Flinging off his mask, the Hixley High catcher rushed back toward where the ball was coming down. But it was too far away for him, and it struck slantingly on one of the back posts, rolling off toward the grandstand.
“Line it out, Jack! Don’t be fooling with fouls!” yelled Fred Rover.
“Show ’em where the river is!” added Randy Rover.
The next ball to come in was a wide out-curve, and again Jack let it pass him.
“Ball two!” shouted the umpire.
“That’s the way to do it, Jack! Make ’em give you what you want!”
With two balls against him, the noted pitcher for the high school exercised a little more care in his next delivery. He sent in a straight, swift one, directly over the outer point of the plate. It was not exactly what Jack desired, but it was good enough, and he swung at it with all his strength. Crack! And the ball went sailing directly over the head of the shortstop and into the field beyond.
“Run, Jack! Run! It’s good for a two-bagger!”
“Leg it, Dan! Leg it for home!”
“Send the ball in, Wiffles! Don’t let ’em get home!”
These and a hundred other cries rang out as nearly every spectator sprang to his or her feet in the excitement. Dan Soppinger, half way to third when Jack made the hit, had now touched that bag and was tearing for the home plate.
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