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Elmer and the others managed to see the convicting note. They were all
of the same opinion as Landy; and agreed that no one but Hen could ever
have written those fateful words.
"I never would have believed he could ever be such a silly gump!" was
what Lil Artha remarked, after surveying the crooked writing, which, of
course, he knew only too well.
After they had hung around for some time, and Elmer had asked all the
questions he could think of, the boys went outside to talk it over.
"Right now some of those people are looking at us in a sneering way,
suh," observed the touchy Southern boy, indignantly; "and I give you my
word fo' it they're beginning to say among themselves that Hen Condit
belonged to the wonderful Wolf Patrol. Elmer, we've suttinly got to do
something to clear the good name of our patrol."
"We will," replied the other, simply, and yet with that earnestness
which carries conviction in its train. "Already I've got a suspicion.
There may be nothing to it but it's given me an idea where we ought to
look first of all."
"Please tell us about it, Elmer?" begged Toby.
"I just knew Elmer would get on the track in double-quick time,"
asserted Landy, who always believed there was nothing impossible to the
patrol leader, once he set himself to a task.
"It all came about from hearing a boy talking when I was down in the
market yesterday morning. You know who he is, Johnny Spreen, the
fellow who always ships out a raft of dried ginseng roots every year,
and in the Spring sends a bunch of muskrat skins to the city."
"Sure we know Johnny," assented Toby, quickly; "he comes to town with a
load of hay once every two weeks. His folks live a long ways off, up
beyond the two lakes where we used to go camping."
"That's right, Toby," said Elmer, "and their farm borders that terribly
big Sassafras Swamp lying beyond Lake Solitude. Well, I happened to
hear Johnny tell how he had taken a look through the swamp the other
day, just to find out how the muskrats were coming on, so as to get a
pointer on his winter business this year. He said he honestly believed
there must be some man hiding there, because in several places he had
come on tracks."
"But people sometimes go in Sassafras Swamp to hunt, don't they,
Elmer?" objected Lil Artha.
"Not in August, because there are no woodcock up there, you know, and
nothing else can be shot at this time of year," Elmer continued; "but
Johnny had something else to say that interested me considerably. It
seems at one place he found ashes that told of a fire, and while
rooting around he picked up a piece of steel that he allowed me to see.
It had evidently been _filed_; and boys, can you guess what it made me
think it must have once been?"
Although all of them looked eagerly interested, they shook their heads
in the negative, as though unable to hazard even a guess.
"Go on, Elmer, and tell us," urged Toby.
"Yes, let down the bars and relieve our anxiety, please, Elmer," added
Lil Artha.
"Unless I'm away off in my reckoning," said the other, solemnly, "it
was part of a pair of steel handcuffs such as officers fasten to the
wrists of prisoners when taking them to the penitentiary!"
CHAPTER III
A PROMISING CLUE
It was about four o'clock on the following afternoon when a wagon drawn
by a pair of husky horses moved along the shore of Lake Solitude, many
miles away from the town of Hickory Ridge.
This vehicle was filled with lively lads, all of them in the faded
khaki uniforms that, as a rule, distinguish Boy Scouts the wide world
over.
Counting them it would be seen that they numbered just seven, and this
included all of those whom we met on the road under the spreading
branches of the big oak, and Mark Cummings in addition. Since the
entire membership of the Wolf Patrol consisted of eight, it was plain
that the only one now lacking was the unfortunate Hen Condit.
After making up their minds to exert themselves to the utmost in hopes
of finding the runaway, and bringing him back home, Elmer and the
others had set to work preparing for the campaign.
The patrol leader gave such advice as was required by some of the
others, telling them to go as light as possible, since they would have
to be moving around, and ordinary camp material could not be considered.
If they were compelled to remain out in the open for one or more
nights, there were plenty of ways whereby they could secure shelter
without carrying along such a cumbersome thing as a tent.
Each fellow had his rubber poncho strapped to his pack. Elmer and Lil
Artha carried a gun each, not that they expected to shoot any game, but
to use as a threat should they be faced by a desperate escaped jail
bird. Besides this the boys had seen to it that each one had some sort
of food supply, in the shape of sandwiches, dried beef, and such things
as could be most easily packed.
As Lil Artha had gaily declared, they expected to be like "Sherman's
bummers," and live off the country as they went along, though willing
to pay ready cash for any and all eggs, fowls or bread secured from
farmers' wives.
Josh had arranged to "tote" a coffee pot along, together with a supply
of the ground bean; while Landy had a capacious frying-pan fastened to
his pack, which the others just knew would be frequently tripping him
up, and making all sorts of noises when they wanted to steal silently
along.
Just what they meant to fry in that pan no one fully knew; but they
were strong in "hopes," and believed that things would turn up to
satisfy their hunger when the sensation became too acute.
The team had been hired at the town livery stable, and they had been on
the road now since early in the morning, for it was a long way up to
Lake Solitude.
As this region had been the scene of some of the earliest camps of the
Hickory Ridge scouts, of course, the conversation covered many memories
connected with those experiences.
The horses had shown signs of playing out some miles back; but Lil
Artha proved himself to be an artful as well as clever driver. He
managed to coax them along, and there was little doubt now that they
would reach their intended destination inside of a short time.
This was a farmer's place that lay adjacent to the swamp at the head of
the solitary lake. Here they would arrange to leave their team while
searching the dark recesses of the swamp. As all of them had had
considerable experience in such unsavory places they believed they knew
fairly well how to go about the hunt.
"Well, we ought to fetch that old farm mighty soon now, I should think,
Elmer," remarked the driver, as he flecked the back of the off-horse to
disturb a big green fly that was trying to stab the sweat-covered
animal in a tender spot.
"From what I've been able to find out, and what I know in the bargain
from my own experience up here," the patrol leader explained, "the head
of the lake lies just beyond that patch of willow trees, and we'll see
the farmhouse as soon as we make the next turn. Easy there, Art, you
came near dumping us then."
"The pesky old road is so narrow it's hard to keep going straight,"
complained the other, in disgust; for one wheel had, indeed, slipped
over the edge, and their escape from a bad spill had been what Lil
Artha himself would have called a "close shave."
"I reckon suh, Sassafras Swamp must lie over in that direction then?"
remarked Chatz, pointing as he spoke.
"Just what it does," replied Elmer.
"It looks particularly gloomy, I should say," remarked Toby.
"Swamps always do, you must know," Elmer told him; "some of them are
always half dark even in the middle of the day. That's because of the
jumble of vines that hang from tree to tree, and the canopy of branches
overhead. Why, down South, as Chatz here can tell you, where Spanish
moss covers the trees, it's almost dark in some swamps."
"But, Elmer, there's one thing I just don't understand," suggested
Landy.
"Out with it then; and if I can explain I'll be only too willing," he
was told.
"Supposing now for the sake of argument that stranger was a bad man who
had escaped from a sheriff somewhere, when being taken to the
penitentiary; and that he managed to get a strangle hold on our chum,
Hen Condit, so that the other just had to do whatever he was told--get
all that, do you? Well, if they skipped out of Hickory Ridge night
before last, how under the sun could they get away up here in a day or
so?"
"Yes, it's something like thirty miles, I should say, Elmer, and it
takes that boy Johnny a day and a night to get to our place with his
load, all down-grade, too. You remember that Hen Condit never was
anything to brag of in the line of a long-distance walker."
"He may have made up his mind that he had to do some tall sprinting,"
said the other, "when he realized what a hornets' nest he'd stirred up
back there."
"Yeth," remarked Ted Burgoyne who had been listening to all this talk
with certain ideas of his own, "and lots of times it ithn't tho very
hard to get a lift on the road. Wagons and autoth happen along, you
know, and the farmers around here are thoft things, you thee."
"I was just going to say that same thing, Ted," Elmer remarked, "when
you took the very words out of my mouth. Yes, they may have had a
lift; or else Hen had to stretch himself to do the tallest walking of
his career. All of which is based on the supposition that they did
come away up here, and are hiding right now somewhere about Sassafras
Swamp."
"You're figuring on what Johnny said, eh, Elmer?" asked Mark.
"I'm figuring on a whole lot of things," replied the other; "and among
them is the fact that some unknown man has been using the swamp for a
hiding-place of late."
"P'raps we'll learn a heap more about it after we stwike the farm we're
heading for," suggested Ted.
"And there, if you look now you can see the house among those trees,
with smoke coming out of the chimney at the kitchen end," said Elmer,
pointing ahead.
Lil Artha deliberately took chances by removing one hand from the
lines, and vigorously rubbing his stomach with it.
"Oh! I know something of what bully suppers farmers' wives c'n serve
up," he hastened to say, throwing all the longing he could into looks
and words; "and here's hoping we get an invite to stay over there till
morning. If they are very pressing, Elmer, I entreat you not to hurry
us off. Things can wait that long, and we don't expect to do much in
the night-time, you remember."
The patrol leader made no rash promises. He simply smiled, and started
to talk of other subjects; so poor Lil Artha, who did feel so empty
after such a little lunch by the wayside, was left in suspense.
"What's this farmer's name?" asked Toby.
"Trotter," replied Elmer. "You know Johnny Spreen is really a bound
boy, and he has to work for the farmer until he gets a certain age,
when he is supposed to be given a sum of money, and be his own boss.
That's the law."
"Well, all I hope is that we pick up some decent clue around here,"
said Lil Artha; "Yes, and a bully supper in the bargain, that'll fill a
horrible vacuum, and put us all in fighting condition."
Their arrival created something of a sensation. Dogs began to bark,
roosters to crow, cows to moo, and even a donkey started to bray in a
fearful fashion. Immediately Johnny Spreen, the boy who trapped
muskrats in the winter, came running out from the big barn where he was
probably milking some of the cows, for he held a three-legged stool in
one hand as though it might be a weapon of defense.
The farmer, a long, lanky individual with a keen face, also bobbed in
sight, holding a currycomb; while at the kitchen door could be seen the
buxom figure of his wife, evidently bound to learn what was happening
even if her dinner did burn in consequence.
Three tow-headed, wild-eyed little Trotters, who had been playing at
teeter with a plank laid over a carpenter's "horse" for a seesaw,
ranged themselves all in a row, and gaped their fill at the strange
spectacle of a wagonload of boys all dressed pretty much alike.
"Are you Mr. Trotter?" asked Elmer, as he jumped down, and the other
came forward toward him.
"That's my name, son; what fetches the hull lot of you up this way?
Ameanin' to camp on the lake-shore, it might be? I've heard about the
scouts daown at Hickory Ridge; Johnny yonder's been apinin' to jine 'em
this long time back, but, of course, it ain't to be thunk of, with him
so far away."
"Yes, we are the members of the Wolf Patrol, Mr. Trotter," said Elmer,
who wanted to make a good friend of the farmer in the start. "I'm
Elmer Chenowith; perhaps you know my father, or some of the other
fellows' parents."
He thereupon introduced each one of the boys by name, and even
mentioned the fact that the father of this one or that occupied a
prominent place in the business or professional world of Hickory Ridge
town.
"We haven't exactly come up here to camp out this trip, Mr. Trotter,"
continued the patrol leader, after bowing to the farmer's wife who had
first darted indoors to see that her supper was not burning, and then
hurried to join them.
Elmer knew that the truth might just as well come out in the beginning
as later. On this account he did not intend to hold anything back, but
be perfectly frank with the owner of the lake farm.
"What might be your object then, son?" asked the tiller of the soil,
possibly feeling a bit of natural curiosity in the matter.
"Ask him first of all, won't you Elmer," pleaded Lil Artha, as though
he feared lest this important matter be lost sight of in the confusion
of affairs; "whether he c'n spare us some eggs, and a few broilers to
take into the old swamp with us?"
"I guess ma c'n let you have what you want along them lines," replied
Mr. Trotter, "though seems like somebody's been amakin' free with her
layin' hens lately. They keep disappearin' right along. Sometimes I
think it's a mink that's gettin' 'em, but they ain't any signs of sech
a critter around; 'cause you know a mink'll kill as many as a dozen
fowls in one night, and jest suck their blood."
Elmer exchanged suggestive looks with his mates.
"From what you say, sir," he remarked quickly, "your fowls are carried
off bodily. Is that it?"
"They jest keep on gettin' less an' less right along," the farmer
admitted. "Me and Johnny here was thinkin' o' settin' up with guns to
see if we could get a crack at the chicken thief, whether he was a
mink, a badger, or a two-legged raskil."
"That's what we was meanin' to do," agreed the said Johnny, glad to
have his name mentioned in the matter at all.
"Well, we've got a hunch, Mr. Trotter," said Lil Artha, bound to get
his say in the affair, "that we might put you wise about that same
thief."
"I'd shore be glad to hear it," declared the farmer; "Johnny here has
been asayin' as heow he b'lieves thar's a feller ahidin' out in the
swamp, 'cause he seen his tracks. I even reckoned on sendin' for a
neighbor o' mine, Bay Stanhope, that's got some hounds used to
follerin' people, an' see if we could run him daown."
"Well, Mr. Trotter, that is exactly what we scouts propose doing," said
Elmer. "And now if you'll listen to something I've got to tell, you
can understand what sort of interest we've got in this thing."
So in as few words as possible he narrated the story of how Hen Condit
had acted in such a queer way, robbing his uncle and guardian, and
actually leaving a silly letter that fastened the crime on his own
shoulders.
"He was seen by one of my chums talking with a strange man just the day
before this happened," continued. Elmer. "We believe that man was the
same unknown party who has been hiding in Sassafras Swamp for a time
past, and as you've just told us, living off your flock of fowls.
Johnny here, down in the hay market, gave me something he picked up in
the swamp near some ashes. Here it is, Mr. Trotter, and all of us
believe firmly it is part of a steel handcuff which was filed in half,
showing that the man must be a desperate character escaped from jail."
At that the farmer's wife uttered a little shriek, and began to look
frightened.
"Hennery," she told her husband authoritatively, "you go git your gun
right away. And Johnny, chain the bull-dog close to the kitchen door.
After this I'm meanin' to make sure the bar's in place when I'm left
alone, and Moses kept inside the house along with me."
Elmer guessed that the said Moses must be the bull-dog. He also
figured that, as a rule, the animal was kept indoors nights, which
accounted for his not having interfered with the carrying off of the
farmer's chickens.
Mr. Trotter was plainly deeply interested by this time in the story
connected with the coming of these seven scouts.
"Sure I'll do all I kin to help you land the critters, boys," he
assured them. "But that swamp is some big, an' I guess as haow you'll
have all you want to do achasin' through the same. Supposin' naow you
let things rest till tomorry, and make an early start. Mebbe we might
bag the raskils this very night, if so be they try to make another haul
on my feathered stock, aimin' to git a turkey this time."
Of course, Elmer could see through a grindstone that had a hole in its
center. He knew very well that the shrewd farmer wanted to make use of
them in order to protect his property; but it served Elmer's purpose
just as well to readily agree to the proposition.
As for Lil Artha, his eyes were almost popping out of his head with
suspense; he was also licking his lips after the manner of a hungry dog
when scenting a bone.
"We'll stop over with you then, Mr. Trotter," agreed the patrol leader;
"and before morning try to figure out our plan of campaign looking to
rounding up the chicken thieves who are believed to be hiding in
Sassafras Swamp."
CHAPTER IV
JOHNNY'S CHICKEN THIEF TRAP
"I'm only sorry for one thing, boys," remarked Farmer Trotter's wife,
who had apparently hailed the decision of the seven bold scouts to
guard her fowl-roost with undeniable joy.
"What might that be, ma'm?" asked Lil Artha, in a quivering voice; for
the poor fellow began to have a terrible fear that she was about to
warn them her stock of provisions was too valuable to be wasted on a
batch of tramps.
"Of course, we'll be glad to have you to supper, and breakfast, too,
for that matter," she told them; "but I'm afraid I couldn't find beds
enough to go 'round, even if you all doubled up."
At that the elongated scout gave a loud laugh; the clouds passed from
his face like magic. If he could only be positive of his regular
rations it mattered nothing to Lil Artha where he laid his head.
"Oh! don't let that little thing bother you, Mrs. Trotter," he hastened
to say, thereby making himself spokesman for the crowd; "why, we're
used to camping out, you see, and in our time we've slept in the
queerest beds you ever heard tell of. We can bunk in any old place, I
give you my word."
"What's the matter with sleeping in the barn?" asked Toby, suddenly.
"That's so," added Landy, eagerly; "it's nearly full of nice sweet hay,
cut only a month or so back. Me to hit the hay every time."
In fact, the idea seemed to appeal to all of them. They had planned to
make their camp just as circumstances permitted, and this thing of
spending the first night in a hay barn was romantic enough to suit the
fancy of any scout who loved adventure and the Big Outdoors.
So it was quickly settled.
The boys were shown the barn by the eager Johnny, who could hardly
finish his numerous chores on account of the excitement surrounding
him. It was an event of prime importance, according to his mind, when
seven real scouts came and took the farmhouse of the Trotters by storm.
That supper was one never to be forgotten by the fellows.
Why, according to Lil Artha, and he ought to know as well as the next
one, the table fairly _groaned_ under the weight of good things which
the farmer's wife kept placing upon it.
"Talk about your festive board," the tall scout afterwards remarked to
several of his pards, "that table just talked, that's what it did, and
in the sweetest tones you ever heard. Yum! yum, wouldn't I like to
board with the lady of the Trotter Farm for just one long week. I'd
pick up flesh at the rate of five pounds per day. The only trouble
would be about getting into my clothes in the end."
Johnny had shown them where they were to sleep, so that each fellow
could fix himself to his best advantage. This was done ahead of time,
for all of them knew how difficult it was to manage such things by the
aid of a wretched stable lantern.
Elmer saw that Johnny was fairly itching to tell him something, and so
he managed to get the bound boy aside just as darkness was creeping
along.
"What have you got up your sleeve, Johnny?" he demanded, at which the
other had a laughing spell, and confessed.
"Why, you see, I got a trap all rigged out!" he started to explain.
"A trap for the chicken thieves, do you mean?" asked the patrol leader.
"That's the ticket, Elmer. Yuh see, I reckoned that by now they'd be
gettin' real tired o' jest plain hen, and might feel like climbin'
higher. We gut some whoopin' nice young turks that like tuh roost in a
certain tree. Easiest thing in the world tuh grab a couple in the
night, and kerry 'em off. So I fixed it."
"Suppose you let me take a look at the trap you made, Johnny?"
suggested Elmer, naturally interested.
"Jest what I was agoin' tuh ask yuh tuh do, Elmer. And I guess now it
wouldn't be a bad ijee fur the rest tuh kim along, too. If so be
there's a kerflummix in the middle o' the night, they ought tuh know
what she means."
Now, Elmer himself could not exactly find a definition for that word,
but he had a faint idea Johnny meant a big noise or a row. At any rate
he was glad of the chance to invite the other six scouts to accompany
them.
Elmer lighted a lantern, and after the boys had gathered around he led
them away from the big barn.
Presently, at some little distance, he came to a halt.
"This here's the tree the turks hes picked out tuh roost in. Some o'
'em likes tuh fly 'way up, but others prefers the bottom limbs. If a
feller's keerful he kin climb up and wring the necks o' as many as he
wants. Young turks they don't know nigh as much as old uns, yuh see.
Now I'll show yuh how I sets my trap."
First of all they noticed that there was what appeared to be a drygoods
box exactly under the tree.
"Seems to me you're making it mighty easy for the chicken thieves when
they drop around, with that box right under the lower row of turkeys?"
suggested Toby, upon discovering this fact.
Johnny Spreen gurgled over with laughter.
"Say, d'ye reckon so?" he exclaimed; "well, by hokey! now, that's part
of the game, sure it be."
"Oh! then you really want them to climb up on that big box when trying
to grab one of the young turkeys?" asked Lil Artha.
"Jes' so," chuckled the bound boy.
"Is she loaded, then?" continued Lil Artha, as all of them gravely
examined the innocent-looking box.
"I'll show yuh how she works," Johnny said, proudly. "Mebbe my ijee
ain't good for nawthin', but she's the best I could think up. Course,
the thieves they hain't fotchin' no lantern along, 'cause they'd be
afeared we'd see a movin' light. Then ag'in I don't b'lieve sich
slinkers ever does own a lantern."
"That's right, Johnny," remarked Toby, impatiently, "let's take it for
granted then they come in the dark. What will they do next?"
"Huh! what'd any feller do when he sees sech a nice box awaitin' for
him to git up on, so's to grab the nigh turk?" demanded Johnny. "Now,
if yuh watch me yuh'll git the ijee in a jiffy."
A stout rope seemed to be hanging from the limb overhead. It had a
running noose at the end, which the bound boy was now adjusting on the
top of the drygoods box.
Elmer chuckled as he began to grasp the scheme; it seemed pretty smart
to him, and he was ready to give the bound boy credit for a bright idea.
"Now," continued Johnny, "jest tuh show yuh how she works I'm agoin'
tuh make a wat yuh calls it, a martin o' myself. Hold the lantern,
Elmer, and gimme room."
He climbed up on the big box. The turkeys were craning their necks and
observing him with evident wonder, though they were undoubtedly on
friendly terms with Johnny who had fed and driven them since hatching
time, and knew his raspy voice.
"Yuh see, in the dark he don't notice the loop any," continued the
inventor of the trap, "and when he gits real busy with the turks why
there's a good chanct o' his foot gittin' caught in the loop. She on'y
needs a leetle jerk this-aways!"
He gave the required pull, and instantly a most surprising event came
to pass. That jerk at the rope must have set a hair-trigger going, for
there followed a sudden rattling noise, the loop was instantly
tightened around his ankle, and in a trice Johnny was hanging head
down, as helpless as a snared rabbit.
The scouts clapped their hands in glee.
"Great scheme, Johnny!"
"It sure does you credit!"
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