The Boy Scouts in A Trapper's Camp Part 19

The Indian's expression changed as he squatted once more and picked up the bills. He was too shrewd a sign reader not to know when it was useless to follow a trail further. The fox couldn't be bought, therefore it must be obtained in some other way, by craft or violence. If he could get near enough to the boy to disarm him the rest would be easy. If not--well, there was another way. He would avoid it if possible, for the boy's friends were too near. They would be on his trail inside of twenty-four hours. It would mean a long, hurried flight across the border with two of the best woodsmen in the whole section behind him, and every warden and lumber camp on both sides of the line watching for him. It would mean a battle if ever they came up with him, a battle to the death. But a thousand, perhaps two thousand dollars! One would dare much for such a sum. He had friends across the border. Through them the skin could be disposed of while he remained in hiding. Once across the line with the booty he had no fear, that is if he could obtain it without committing the blood crime. He would strike north and then market the pelt in the spring. It would be difficult to prove that it was not of his own killing. There were no witnesses. It would be only the word of this boy against him even should he be traced. Given a reasonable start he had little fear of this.

He looked over at the black fox and the l.u.s.t of greed glittered in his eyes. The animal was of unusual size, and the fur was extra prime.

a.s.suredly it would bring a great sum. After all, it was but a boy with whom he had to deal and by the looks of him a novice in the woods. He stuffed the money bag back in his s.h.i.+rt and rose, his axe in hand. Then without warning he leaped forward, axe upraised, his face contorted with rage like that of a demon.

"Stop!"

There was something menacing and sinister in the sound of the word, but more menacing and sinister was the muzzle of the little rifle into which he was staring. It brought him up short in the middle of a stride. He had seen the boy shoot and now the rifle was held as steadily as when it had been pointed at the fox. There was something in the sound of the boy's voice that warned him that he would not hesitate to shoot again, and at that distance he could not miss. The Indian froze into a statue.

"Turn around and git!" commanded Sparrer. He was not afraid. He knew that the rifle gave him the whip hand. A boy of his age from higher walks in life might have been intimidated. Not so Sparrer. Young in years, he was old in experience. He had seen too many drunken brawls, too many "bad men" in his street life, and knew too much of human nature to feel fear with that gun at his shoulder. Instead a white hot consuming rage welled up within him as when he had rushed to the defense of some weakling against the attack of a cowardly bully. He saw red.

"Youse git!" he repeated and there was a threat in the very way in which he said it.

For a brief second the Indian hesitated. Then with an ugly snarl like that of a trapped beast he slowly turned. Baffled rage distorted his face until it was more like that of some savage animal than of a human being. It was humiliating to be balked by a slip of a boy. It was worse to have a fortune almost within his reach and be forced to leave it.

There was murder, black murder, in his heart as he slowly shuffled forward a few steps.

Suddenly he turned like a flash and with a peculiar swing threw the axe.

Sparrer knew nothing of the art of axe throwing at which many woodsmen are expert and are deadly in their quickness and precision. He was wholly unprepared for the move and it caught him off guard. He caught a glimpse of glinting steel and instinctively ducked as he had learned to do in fighting. At the same time he threw up his rifle. The axe struck the barrel of the latter just enough to be slightly deflected from its course and the end of the handle instead of the keen blade struck the boy a cras.h.i.+ng blow on the side of the head. Without a sound he dropped in his tracks.

A slow grin overspread the face of his a.s.sailant as he strode over and looked down at the white still face of his victim. After all it was better so. He had not killed him and there was less to fear from the long arm of the law. Contemptuously he touched the still form with the toe of a shoe. Then gloatingly he picked up the fox, hesitated and picked up the rabbit. Without another glance at the huddled form on the snow he turned and vanished among the trees.

CHAPTER XVI

THE CONFERENCE

Sparrer's eyelids fluttered, then slowly lifted. Dully and uncomprehendingly he stared up at a fretwork of bare brown branches against a background of blue. Where was he? What had happened? Then a throb of pain in his head cleared his senses and memory returned all too vividly. His brows contracted in a black scowl, and slowly and painfully he rolled over and got to his feet, staring about for his a.s.sailant. But of the outlaw there was no sign save the broken crust where the axe had plunged through. Nor was there any trace of the black fox save a little spot of crimson and two or three black hairs where the animal had lain.

How long he had been unconscious he had no means of knowing, but it could not have been long, or he would have been frost-bitten. As it was he was merely chilled and numb from the cold. His head ached badly, and pa.s.sing a mittened hand over it he found a big lump where the axe had hit him. Moreover, he felt sick to his stomach, dizzy and weak. But for his physical ailments he had no thought. Wrath, black, boiling rage, surged over him. He had been robbed! He had been treacherously outwitted! For the moment it was the latter fact rather than the former that was the cause of his hot resentment. He, Sparrer Muldoon, who had lived by his wits ever since he could remember, had been caught napping!

"An' me wid de drop on him!" he exclaimed bitterly. "He put me down fer de count, but it was a foul, an' Oi wasn't lookin' fer no foul. Serves me right." He smiled bitterly. "Oi ought t'known better than t' give him an openin'. Serves me right fer listenin' t' his spiel. If ever Oi get de drop on him again he'll wish he'd never set eyes on Sparrer Muldoon."

This was idle boasting, and Sparrer knew it. The chances that he would ever again set eyes on the wily redskin were exceedingly slim. Still, it was possible that Pat and Alec might be able to pick up his trail, and the sooner they were put wise to the affair the better. He would get back to camp as soon as possible. He picked up his rifle, and even as he did so a new thought flashed across his mind. Why tell of his experience at all? Why mention the black fox? He could explain the b.u.mp on his head by saying that he had slipped and fallen, striking his head against a log. Pat and Alec need never know that he had lost the rare pelt for them for all time, nor that he had been such a tenderfoot as to be outwitted by an Indian on whom he already had the drop. Why say a word about it? To tell would be likely to win for himself nothing but contempt--contempt for his weakness in parleying with the outlaw, and for his stupidity in being outwitted.

But there was a hope, a faint one, to be sure, but still a hope, that by some special favor of Providence Pat and Alec might be able to trace his a.s.sailant and recover the skin. Not to tell would be to surrender without a fight, and this was directly contrary to the boy's nature. A double motive urged him to leave no stone unturned that might lead to the capture of the Indian--the desire to recover the rich prize and the spirit of revenge. He could tell of the robbery without in any way committing himself in the matter of the temptation which had led to the parley with the outlaw. This is what he would do. He didn't want his companions to think worse of him than was absolutely necessary.

So with his mind made up to this course he headed for camp.

"Click-clack, coward! Click-clack, coward!" His very shoes mocked him.

He tried to shut out the sound, but he could not. Had Edward Muldoon, Boy Scout, won over Sparrer Muldoon, street gamin, only to lose in the end? Where the trail led close to the end of the big beaver dam he stopped abruptly and a last brief battle was fought between Scout and gamin. When it was over he pushed on with an eagerness he had not felt before, for the Scout had triumphed, and this time he knew that the victory was final. He would tell the _whole_ story from beginning to end and spare himself nothing. "Youse ain't no quitter!" he muttered to himself fiercely. "Youse is goin' ter tell de truth, de whole truth and nothing but de truth."

His progress was slow and his snow-shoes seemed strangely heavy. The fierce conflict within, not less than the effects of the blow he had suffered, had left him physically weak. He felt light-headed. His nervous system had received a shock from which he was now feeling the effects. He was possessed of a desire to sit down and rest every few minutes. But he set his jaws grimly and plodded on. Upton was outside the cabin splitting wood as he approached. He looked up as the click-clack of snow-shoes caught his attention and seeing that it was Sparrer called cheerily, "What luck?"

A shadow of his old-time impudent grin flashed across Sparrer's face as he replied, "What luck wud ye be expecting with a tenderfoot loike me?"

"The greatest luck in the world. It's always that way in stories,"

retorted Upton. Then he noticed the pale face of the younger lad, and dropping his axe he sprang forward, "Say, boy, what's happened?" he demanded anxiously. "You're white as a sheet. Are you hurt or have you had a fright? Spit it out!"

"A little of both, Oi guess," confessed Sparrer, sitting down wearily on a handy log. "Are de others back yet?"

"Not yet, but they're coming now," replied Upton as a faint yell reached them. "That's Hal, and by the sound of his voice they've had luck of some kind. But what happened to you?"

"It's a long story, and Oi'll tell it when de others get here," replied Sparrer. "Oi think Oi'll go in and get a d-d-rink of somethin' h-hot."

His teeth chattered. It was the result of nervous reaction quite as much as cold. Upton, with real concern in his face, sprang forward and put an arm around the shaking youngster and led him into the cabin, then hastened to make him a cup of hot soup. With this in his stomach Sparrer rapidly recovered and by the time Pat, Alec and Hal arrived, the latter whooping joyously, he was quite himself. They brought with them three marten and a fisher.

When these had been duly admired Upton demanded that Sparrer tell his story, and this he did, sparing himself nothing. At the first mention of the black fox there was an eager leaning forward on the part of all his listeners, and when he told of the successful shot Hal whooped with joy.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

"Oi don't know," replied Sparrer, and could not restrain a rather pathetic grin at the blank look of astonishment that swept over the four eager faces. Then he hurried on, blurting out a full confession of his temptation and winding up with the incident of the axe throwing and his final recovery of consciousness.

"De skunk didn't even leave me de rabbit," he concluded.

The faces of Pat and Alec had changed rapidly from interest and astonishment to seriousness, anger and determination. Both knew that murder and nothing less had been back of the throwing of that axe, and that it was merely the accident of good fortune that Sparrer was with them now instead of lying a corpse out there in the beaver swamp. Pat reached forward and pulled Sparrer's cap from his head, disclosing an ugly lump where the blow had fallen. Till that moment no one had noticed that the boy had kept his cap on.

"You may thank the good G.o.d that it was the handle and not the blade that struck you, son. 'Twas He alone that saved you this time,"

exclaimed the big fellow, a note of reverence in his voice. "'Tis an ugly b.u.mp," he added, pa.s.sing his fingers lightly over the swelling.

"'Tis a wonder it didn't break your skull, as it was. The cap saved you, I guess. Why didn't you tell us you had that nasty lump, you young spalpeen? It ought to have been treated long ago."

"It ain't nothing," replied Sparrer sheepishly, for he hated to have a fuss made over him.

Upton was already heating water and preparing a bandage. As soon as the water was hot he added a little tincture of arnica, and despite Sparrer's protests a hot bandage was soon applied, and he was forced to admit that it brought almost immediate relief. This attention having been given the victim Pat called a conference.

"It's plain enough," said he, "that this is the work of one of the black-hearted crooks who have been stealing our furs, for 'tis my belief that there is probably more than one and likely not over two." Alec nodded concurrence with this belief. "That they'll stop at nothing Sparrer's experience proves. I've known murder to be committed for less than the price of a prime black fox pelt. Now that they've got it 'tis like that they will pull camp at once rather than take the chance of being discovered. On the other hand they may think that their camp is so well hidden that they can just lie low. If, as I suspect, they have been run out of one of the Canadian lumber camps, this may be what they will do. They know that Sparrer here is a tenderfoot and that there is only his word against theirs. Besides, they can hide the pelt and deny all knowledge of it. Sparrer hasn't a shred of proof but the lump on his head, and it would take more than that to convince a court of law in these parts that he had killed a genuine black fox.

"It's my opinion that their camp is a whole lot nearer than Alec has supposed. There are plenty of draws back in these hills where a camp could be hidden and discovered only by chance, unless some one was making special search for it. The fact that that b.l.o.o.d.y-minded Injun was hanging around the beaver pond so late in the day is evidence enough for me that his camp isn't many miles away. I'll bet it's within five miles of us this blessed minute. They probably located our trap lines, then built their camp in a place we were not likely to visit and then by working back up through the hills kept their trail hidden, and crossed on the ice to work our long lines, as Alec suspects. They left our short lines alone, partly because they could not get at them without leaving a trail in the soft snow and partly so as not to arouse suspicion.

"With the crust they could go where they pleased, and the Injun took the chance to do a little poaching on the beaver pond, knowing that we would leave it alone. He probably saw Sparrer when he uncovered that trap and followed him through the woods either with the idea of finding out if the youngster suspected anything and then frightening him into holding his tongue or else just to keep track of his movements. He saw the killing of the fox and decided that the fortune in that pelt was worth any risk.

"What he told Sparrer about the skin belonging to Alec and me isn't true. This is a free country, and the free creatures belong to whoever can get them. If the critter had been in one of our traps it would have been a different matter. Then it would have been our property. But the critter belonged to n.o.body until it was killed, and when Sparrer knocked it over every hair on that black hide belonged to him and to no one else. The cunning redskin made up that yarn to tempt Sparrer, and there wasn't a particle of truth in it. Now the question is, what are we going to do to get back Sparrer's property? If it was just an ordinary red fox or even a marten the case would be different, though even then I'd be for getting it back, and running those thieving poachers out of the country. As it is, we owe it to Sparrer to try to get that skin. What's your idea, Alec?"

Alec leaned forward and poked the fire. "Ye ken that the moon's full the night," said he slowly. "I am thinking that you and me might take a bit of a look around. If we could find the camp it would be time enough to decide what to do next. I dinna think that with that prize they will be staying in these pairts long, and what is done has got to be done quickly. I have no suspicioned that the camp was handy till now. I am no saying that I think so now," he hastened to add with characteristic Scotch caution, "but I will admit that it is possible. Ye ken there is no nook or hollow of these hills that I dinna ken every foot of. I hid out here once myself. We can leave the laddies to get a wee bit of sleep while we have a look in the most likely places."

"No, you don't!" protested Hal. "If there's any game like that afoot you can count us in, can't they, fellows?"

Upton and Sparrer voiced eager a.s.sent, but Pat shook his head. "Nothing doing," he declared. "Alec and I are responsible for the safety of you fellows and you'll stay right here and keep this little old cabin from running away. Besides," he added, noting the disappointment in the three faces, "this is no play-scouting; it is men's work and only for those who know the country. Two are all that are needed and more would double the chances of giving alarm. If Alec and I can locate the camp we may need your help to-morrow in rounding up the thieves. So you will be good little boys and stay right here until you're needed. I was thinking of the moon before Alec spoke. When it is up 'twill be almost as light as day. 'Twill do no harm for us to have a look around. Alec says true that he knows every foot of these hills and hollows. I know them pretty well myself, and if those birds of ill omen, bad cess to the likes of them, do not fly too soon we'll come pretty close to locating 'em inside the next twenty-four hours. There's no use in starting before the moon is well up. Meanwhile we'll have supper. I have no mind to travel on an empty stomach, and I've the appet.i.te of a lumber-horse this very minute.

Any of that bear-steak left, Alec?"

Alec promptly produced the desired meat and it was soon sizzling over the fire. While they ate they discussed what should be done in case the camp of the outlaws was discovered.

"Do you suppose they will fight?" asked Hal eagerly.

"Look at Sparrer there and ask sensible questions," returned Pat sarcastically. "Is a man who would attempt cold-blooded murder likely to come at a whistle like a good doggie? We've got to take them by surprise, or somebody is likely to get hurt. That is why I want you boys to keep out of it. This isn't your business; it's Alec's and mine."

"How about me? Youse said a while ago that that skin is mine," piped up Sparrer.

"So it is, me bantam, but your own skin is worth more to you than all the silver foxes that ever lived, and if you cannot keep it whole yourself it's up to us to keep it whole for you," retorted Pat. "It isn't just the matter of that fox skin," he continued. "I'm guessing that Alec and I have a good sized stake in the skins cached in that camp right now. We had a little unpleasantness with those sneaking robbers of honest men to settle as soon as you left and this has simply forced it a little sooner. It's our job, and you fellows are to stay out. That's final."