Boy Scouts in Northern Wilds Part 2

insisted George.

"I said it was a burglar!"

"But was it a burglar--a real, genuine burglar?"

"Yes, loosen up!" shouted Tommy. "Did he go there just to burgle, or did he go there to get that will?"

"That's another thing we've got to find out!" Will answered. "It's just this way," the boy continued. "We've been sent up here to find this Little Bra.s.s G.o.d. When we find it, we'll know whether the man who stole it was a common thief, or whether he was sent by interested parties to do the job. No living person can open the Little Bra.s.s G.o.d without first learning the way to do it. In fact, the only way the toy can be opened by one unfamiliar with the secret is to break it open with an axe! And that would hardly be done, as the little fellow is rather a cute plaything."

"And so, if the will is there, a burglar stole it. And if the will is not there, some one interested in the disposition of the property walked away with it! Is that it?"

"That's the way we figure it out!" Will answered. "And in the meantime," he continued, "an older will is being offered for probate. If the Little Bra.s.s G.o.d fails to disclose the last will, the property will go to a young man who was intensely hated and despised by the man who built up the fortune. Simon Tupper will turn over in his grave if Howard Sigsbee, his nephew, has the handling of that money."

"I can't see how that's going to get Simon anything!" grinned Tommy.

"Now," George asked, "why do they think the Little Bra.s.s G.o.d was brought into the Hudson Bay country?"

"We have traced it to an antique shop on lower State street," Will answered. "From there to the shabby parlor of a fourth rate boarding house on Dearborn avenue, from there into the possession of a French Canadian who hunts and fishes in the Moose river district."

"That's pretty straight!" George agreed.

"How do they know this French Canadian got this Little Bra.s.s G.o.d out of town?" asked Sandy. "You take a French Canadian of the trapper sort, and get him well tanked, and he'll sell the ears off his head for another drink of brandy. Perhaps he hocked the Little Bra.s.s G.o.d."

"If he did," Will answered, "the search must begin all over again!"

"Who put this will in the tummy of this Little Bra.s.s G.o.d?" asked Tommy.

"The man who made it--Simon Tupper," answered Will.

"Did he tell anyone where it was?"

"On his deathbed, he told Frederick Tupper, his nephew, where to find it. It's a pity the young man didn't remove the doc.u.ment and file it in probate court. It would have saved a lot of bother."

"But he didn't," George suggested, "and that gives us a fine trip to the Hudson Bay country."

"When was the house of this Frederick Tupper burglarized?" asked Sandy.

"On the night following the death of the old gentleman."

"Had the villain of the drama, this Howard Sigsbee, any knowledge concerning the hiding place of the will?"

"He was not believed to have."

"Do they think he went there and got the will himself?"

"Huh!" objected Tommy. "If he'd gone after the will himself, he'd have taken it out of the Little Bra.s.s G.o.d and carried it away with him. And he'd have made a pile of ashes of it in about one minute, at that!"

"Perhaps he couldn't open up the merry little chap," Sandy suggested.

"We don't know whether he understood the secret or not," Will answered. "All we know is that the Little Bra.s.s G.o.d was still intact a week after it had been stolen."

"Then he knew the combination, or he didn't get the will!" argued George.

"Anyhow!" Tommy laughed, "we've got only about a million or more miles of country to search over for a little bra.s.s G.o.d about -----"

"Say, just how big is this Little Bra.s.s G.o.d?" asked Sandy.

"He's about six inches in height, and three inches across his dirty shoulders, and he certainly is about the ugliest specimen of a heathen beast that ever came down the pike."

"What would that French Canadian buy him for?" asked George.

"That's another thing we've got to find out," replied Will.

Tommy was about to ask another question when Will held up a hand for silence. The leaping flames were sending long streamers of light into the thicket on either side and over the glistening waters of Moose river. The circle of illumination extended for some distance on every side, except at the back of the tents, where the level ground lay in shadows.

As the boys listened, the soft sound of a moccasined foot came to their ears. It seemed only a yard away, and yet it was not in sight. George dashed to the back of the tents, followed by a sharp cry of alarm.

CHAPTER III

THE CABIN IN THE SWAMP

When George reached the rear of the tent he saw a crouching figure there. A hole had been cut in the cloth, and the fellow was gazing into the tent. He was dressed in woodsman's attire, leather jacket and leggins and fur cap. The gold rings in his ears quivered and glistened as the light of the fire struck them.

As George rounded the tent the spy turned and ran for the forest.

Without a thought as to the ultimate result, George followed along behind. For some distance the lad kept pace with the mysterious visitor, but, of course, it was impossible for him to do so for any great length of time, as the fugitive was well versed in woodcraft, while George was not.

After a time George lost sight of the fellow entirely, but could still keep track of him by the noise he made in pa.s.sing through the thicket. It was quite evident that the intruder now believed that pursuit, had entirely ceased, for he made his way more leisurely through the swampy growth, and seemed to pay no attention whatever to the sounds of his pa.s.sage.

Using great caution, the boy finally gained the hummock and stood looking at the dark bulk of a log cabin which stood in the center.

He listened for a long time but all was silent inside. Presently he circled the place and came to a small opening which was more like a loop-hole than a window. There was a gla.s.s pane here, and through it he saw that there was a fire on the inside.

By this time the lad was s.h.i.+vering with cold, not having taken the time to provide himself with heavy clothing before leaving the camp in pursuit of the spy. As he glanced through the glazed opening he saw a great fire of logs blazing in a rudely made fireplace at one end of the room. He moved on until he found a door.

"Perhaps the owner of this log mansion will think I'm pretty prompt in returning his call," the lad mused as he knocked softly at the door. "But, all the same, I'm going to give him the pleasure of my company until I can get warm."

There was no response to the knock, and so George opened the door and entered. There was no one in front of the fire; no one in any of the rude chairs. The boy stood looking about the room for a moment and then walked back to three bunks fastened against the wall, one above the other.

When he reached the front of the sleeping places an exclamation of alarm came from a bundle of furs and blankets on the lower bunk and a boy's frightened face gazed up at him. The boy sat observing the other with evident suspicion for a moment, until his eyes caught sight of the Boy Scout medals which adorned the sleeve of the lad's coat.

Then he extended an arm in the full salute of the Boy Scouts of America, and sat back with a grin on his face to note the result.

"Beaver Patrol; Chicago," he said directly.

"I know you," George said with an exclamation of surprise. "You're Thede Carson, and you're about the toughest little wharf rat in Chicago!"

"That's a nice recommend for a patrol leader to give one of his scouts," grinned the boy. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"