The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
H >>
H. Irving Hancock >> The Grammar School Boys Snowbound
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12
For dinner the main dish was a platter of steak, broiled over the wood
ashes in the fireplace, where the fire was briefly allowed to burn
nearly out.
In the afternoon water hauling was the main occupation, as well as the
only sport, for the boys had tried the slight crust on the snow, and had
found that it would not bear.
"If it grows colder, and stays so for twenty four hours," declared
Dalzell, "then we'll have a crust on all this white stuff that will be
strong enough to bear our weight. Then ho for tramping, and for hunting
with the air rifle!"
"Huh-m-m-m!" answered Harry. "Rabbits and rabbit stew!"
After the water hauling the Grammar School boys settled themselves for
some quiet enjoyment inside the cabin. Dave, Tom, Harry and Greg picked
out books and sat down to read near the windows. Dick, on the other
hand, elected to rove about the interior of the cabin, looking into odd
nooks.
"This water barrel might be a little nearer the fire," proposed
Prescott. "Then we wouldn't have to break a crust of ice mornings. Dan,
you don't seem to be doing anything. Suppose you come and help move the
barrel."
"All right," nodded Dalzell, jumping up. "Where do you want to put it?"
Dick pointed to the spot. As the barrel was two thirds full of water it
had to be rolled carefully, to avoid upsetting or spilling. It was no
easy task for the two boys.
"Hen, you might come and help us a minute," Dick proposed.
"Whatcher take me for?" Dutcher grumbled. Whereat Tom Reade glanced
grimly up from his book to remark:
"Son, when you're spoken to, say 'yes, sir,' and hustle!"
Something in Tom's look induced Hen to move rather promptly. The three
boys succeeded in moving the barrel a couple of feet toward the spot
desired.
"Hullo," muttered Dick, halting and glancing down at the ground where
the barrel had stood since their arrival. "Look at that stone."
The stone lay partly imbedded in the dirt flooring of the cabin. It was
a flat, nearly round stone, some fifteen inches in diameter.
"That stone looks like a lid, doesn't it?" Dick asked.
"Cover to a gold mine," sneered Hen.
Dick did not answer, but stepped over, bent and began to pry at the
edges of the stone. It did not move easily. Dan brought the crowbar and
quietly handed it to his chum.
"What have you got?" demanded Tom, glancing up from his book.
"Don't know yet," Dick laughed.
By the aid of the crowbar Dick pried the stone loose from its setting in
the ground.
"There's a hole underneath, anyway," announced Dick.
"And--Geewhillikins! Fellows, drop everything but your good names, and
come here--quick! Hustle!"
CHAPTER XVI
KEEN ON THE TRAIL OF THE PUZZLE
Breathless with excitement, Dick crouched over the hole in the dirt
floor, unwilling to make a move until the other fellows had joined him.
That didn't take long.
Hen Dutcher was one of the first to get a glimpse at what had filled
Prescott with so much excitement.
"Gracious! It must be Captain Kidd's treasure!" gasped Hen.
"Guess again," replied Tom Reade. "A pirate would be doing a poor
business who didn't get a bigger lot of loot than that together."
"But this is a valuable lot of stuff," argued Harry Hazelton, as he took
a look.
"I wonder who could have buried it here?" demanded Dan.
"I think I know," nodded Dick. "Now, then, stand back a little and I'll
take the stuff out."
The first thing that Prescott drew out of the hole was a paper parcel.
This he unwrapped, then gave a whoop of joy.
"The fan I bought mother for Christmas!" he almost shouted.
Something yellowish glinted and caught his eye down in the hole. Dick
fished the object out.
"Who's is this?" he queried, holding up a curiously engraved gold watch.
"It looks like Dr. Bentley's," replied Dave Darrin, eying the timepiece.
"I saw it often enough when I had diphtheria and he was taking my
pulse."
"Yes; it's Dr. Bentley's," glowed Dick. "Won't he be the happy man,
though?"
"He will if we manage to get it back to him," assented Tom dryly.
Then a dozen rings, some of them set with gems, and all tied on a
string, came to light. There were half a dozen boxes containing jewelry;
these boxes undoubtedly had been stolen from women in stores or on the
street. A few more rather valuable articles came to light, and then
Dick, after opening one jeweler's box and looking inside, emitted a
whoop of wild joy.
"This must be the very watch that Fits stole from our parlor--the watch
intended for my Christmas present," Prescott cried. "Yes, sir; I'll
wager this is my watch."
But at last Dick put it aside with the other loot, and then applied
himself to emptying the hole of its few remaining treasures.
"There must be five or six hundred dollars' worth of stuff in the lot,"
guessed Tom.
"More than that," said Dave.
"So, now, of course, you fellows can guess who hid the stuff here," Dick
went on. "It was Mr. Fits who stole Dr. Bentley's watch, and who stole
mine, too. So Mr. Fits must have hidden here all this stuff, which
represents Mr. Fits's stealings."
"Then all I have to say," observed Tom, "is that if our friend Fits
would apply the same amount of industry to honest work he'd be a
successful man."
"Until the day before Christmas," Dick continued, "Fits had at least two
confederates, whom we helped to put in jail. Probably this stuff was
stolen by them all, and then hidden."
"And that was why Fits came back here, and was so anxious to get us
out," muttered Dave. "Now, I begin to understand why Fits wanted a
hiding place for his plunder even more than for himself. He wanted to
leave the stuff in this lonely cabin, and be sure it was safe, until he
could find a place where he could sell it. Naturally our coming here
upset Mr. Fits's plans, and so bothered him into the bargain."
While the other boys were busy with examining the other pieces of loot,
Dick took many an alternate glance at his mother's fan and his own
watch.
"I wish we could get this back to Gridley at once, and turn it over to
the rightful owners," sighed Greg.
"That wouldn't be the way to go about it, though," Dick responded.
"Why not?"
"Because stolen property, when recovered, has to be turned over to the
police first of all. Then, if the thief is caught, the police have the
loot as evidence against the thief."
"How long do the police keep the stuff?" demanded Greg.
"Until the thief's trial, if there is one, is over."
"Then, if Fits is caught, Mr. Dick, it may be a long time before you'll
have the right to wear your own watch."
"I can wear it now, out here," retorted Prescott, slipping the silver
watch into a vest pocket and passing the chain through a buttonhole.
"On second thought, though, I won't. We're not sure that Mr. Fits may
not reappear. If he did, and found me wearing a watch, he would
understand, and might get fighting mad. If Fits had a fellow rascal or
two along with him, they could put up more fight than we boys could
take care of. If Fits should come along, and not see any proof that we
had found his plunder, he might wait until we are all out of the way
before he made any effort to find it. Oh! While I think of it, Greg, I
wish you and Hen would take buckets and go to the spring for water."
Dutcher grumbled a bit, though he felt that it wasn't safe to rebel
openly. He and Greg were gone some time, for, as usual, the ice over the
top of the spring had to be chopped away before the water could be
obtained.
So, when Hen came in, after pouring his bucketful into the barrel, he
noted that the plunder had vanished.
"What did you do with all the stuff?" Greg demanded curiously.
"It has vanished," smiled Dick.
Greg said no more, but started outside, followed by Hen. Later in the
afternoon Greg was told, in whispers, where the plunder had been hidden
anew. Hen, too, demanded this information, but the Grammar School boys
thought it best not to enlighten him. If Dutcher were caught alone in
the cabin by a fellow like Mr. Fits, Hen wasn't likely to hold out his
knowledge against threats, and Fits must not be given another chance at
the plunder he had first stolen and then hidden.
Soon after darkness came on supper was ready.
"I wonder if we're going to hear the ghosts to-night," muttered Greg.
"No one knows that," Dick answered. "But I think we'd better keep one
fellow on guard when the rest go to bed. The guard can take a two hour
trick. He can keep the fire going, and, if anything happens, he can warn
the other fellows in turn."
So, at nine o'clock, when the others turned in, Greg, the air rifle in
one hand, paced softly up and down the cabin, watching, listening.
But nothing happened during Greg's watch. At eleven he called Tom Reade
to relieve him.
Just before midnight the same wailings as on the night before started in
again. Within sixty seconds all of the Grammar School boys were awake
and listening. The wailings continued, and soon came the same sepulchral
warnings of death approaching.
"Queer that the racket doesn't bother us the way it did last night,
isn't it?" smiled Dick Prescott.
"It's awful enough!" shivered Hen Dutcher. But he was the only one in
the cabin who was much alarmed.
"We went all through it last night, and nothing happened," chuckled
Dave. "To-night our address is Missouri, and we'll have to be shown
what we're asked to believe."
"Call us promptly, Tom, if anything real happens," Dick urged, and sank
back in his bedding to compose himself for more sleep. Soon Reade's
watch was a lonely one, for most of his companions were either snoring
or breathing heavily.
"Whoever got this trick up will have to think of something newer and
more 'scary,'" thought Reade, as he paced the floor.
"Well, you fellows might as well wake up," called Dick, after what
seemed to Greg like an interval of possibly five minutes. Greg was the
only boy, beside Dutcher, who hadn't been called in the night for a
share in the watch duty.
"Say, I thought you didn't go on guard until five o'clock, Dick,"
remarked Greg drowsily.
"I didn't, but it's seven, now," Dick laughed. "It'll be broad daylight
in a few minutes more. Move! Get a hustle on!"
Hen Dutcher, though awake, didn't stir. Greg and Harry Hazelton soon
tumbled out of their bunks. Then something odd dawned upon them.
"Where are the rest of the fellows?" questioned Greg. "I don't see Dave,
Tom or Dan."
"You should have long range vision to see them," smiled Dick. "They've
been gone nearly an hour."
"Gone? Where?" Harry wanted to know.
"To the nearest house--for help."
"Help against what?" This from Holmes.
"Greg, the shack behind us had a tenant last night," Dick went on
rapidly. "Mr. Fits was in the shack. At a little after five this morning
I saw him as plainly as I now see you. He was standing by the nearest
window of the shack, and there were sparks traveling up the chimney."
"How on earth did you see him?" demanded Harry. "Did you shove a shutter
back?"
"Come with me, and I'll show you."
That caught even Hen, who made up in curiosity what he lacked in
courage. Dutcher was out of his bunk in an instant, slipping on shoes
and some clothing before he followed the others.
"You see," Dick was explaining, "I've been thinking of this matter ever
since we heard the first 'ghost' noises. I knew the noises had to come
from something. Now, while I was scared, I don't believe in such things
as ghosts. Well, then, the noise must have come from some human throat.
When I got up at five this morning I began to think harder than ever.
Then I went and got this gimlet out of the little tool box and bored a
tiny hole through the wood in this shutter. When I peeped I saw a light,
surely enough, in the shack. There were sparks, too, coming up out of
the chimney. Then I saw a shadow, and next I saw Mr. Fits himself at the
window for a moment. Next I waked up Dave, Tom and Dan, and they dressed
as quietly as they could, and took some peeps, too. Then Dave said it
was so cold that perhaps the snow had a real crust on it. He went to the
door and opened it. We all went out on the snow. We found the crust so
hard and thick that we could stamp on it with force. Dave said that that
was a good enough crust for him. So off he started, and Tom and Dan went
with him. They ought to be back, with men to help, in an hour more."
"Hurrah!" glowed Greg. "Oh, I do hope that the constables get here in
time to nab Mr. Fits."
"It'll be a good thing, all around, if that happens," nodded Dick. "But
now--are you fellows hungry?"
Greg and Harry scurried away to wash hands and faces.
"I think you had a cheek to let three fellows go after help," grumbled
Hen.
"Well, why?" asked Dick patiently.
"S'pose old Fitsey takes it into his head to come over here, on top of
the crust, while there's just us four here?" shuddered Hen.
"There are only three of us here, Dutcher. You don't count," interposed
Greg ironically.
"Fitsey'd eat us up alive if he guessed the truth and came over here,"
contended Dutcher stubbornly. "Hey, Dick! What on earth are you doing?"
"Shoving one of the shutters back," Prescott answered, going on with his
task.
"Hey! Don't do that!" pleaded Hen hoarsely, running over to Dick and
grabbing one of the latter's arms. "Why, this is--it's suicide, that's
what it is!"
"Yes?" Dick queried calmly, shaking off Hen's hold and going on with his
task.
"It certainly is," Dutcher maintained fearfully. "Why, with a shutter
open, Fitsey can jump right through the window glass and be in here on
top of us in a jiffy. Please close the shutter."
"Not much!" Prescott rejoined energetically, and threw back the shutter
in question. "This window doesn't look out upon the shack, but it does
look out the way that Dave and the others will return. I want to see the
fellows when they come."
"Of course; we all do," Greg broke in. "Dick you keep your eye mainly on
the landscape beyond the window. Harry and I will get breakfast."
Dutcher groaned over the risk he knew they were taking, but he felt
certain that no word of his would change the plan, so he wisely held
his peace after that.
But breakfast was on and eaten, and still there was no sign of returning
Grammar School boys.
"Dave and his crowd must-'a' gone through the deep snow at some point
where it was soft," wailed Hen. "That's just what they've done."
"Oh--dry up!" Greg retorted.
"If they ain't back here in another hour you fellows will feel the same
way I do about it," Hen Dutcher predicted stubbornly.
Dick Prescott made no answer, though, truth to tell, he was beginning to
worry inwardly. A mishap in the forest, on this bitterly freezing
morning, would be no simple matter.
CHAPTER XVII
HEN TURNS HIS VOICE LOOSE
"I see some one coming!" called Greg, who, after breakfast, had taken up
the post by the unshuttered window.
Crash! Hen Dutcher dropped the crockery plate he was drying, then
plunged headlong into Dick's bunk, burrowing under the blankets.
"It's our crowd!" cried Dick joyously, as he leaped to Greg Holmes's
side. "And there are two men with 'em."
"Oh, pshaw! Why didn't you say so before?" came in a half smothered
voice as Dutcher thrust his head partly from under the blankets. Then he
added, suddenly, in a quaking voice:
"Say, you fellows better hide--quick! If old Fitsey is in the cook shack
there's bound to be some shooting."
With that Dutcher hid his head once more. But Dick, Greg and Harry paid
no heed to him. They were busy getting on coats, caps and mittens. A few
moments later they had the door open, and stood out on the hard crust of
snow, waiting to receive the approaching party.
Dave espied them, and waved one hand without calling.
"You'd better get back in here! You'll get hurt!" warned Hen Dutcher,
standing well back from the doorway.
Like a flash Dick leaped for the doorway.
"Hen, you keep quiet in there. Don't set up a yell at the very time when
a little stealth is needed."
"But it's dangerous to fool with people like Fitsey!" choked Hen.
"Keep quiet! If you can't help, don't hinder. Don't be an utter pinhead,
Hen."
Now that they were in sight of the cabin, Dave and his companions, and
the two men with them, put on extra speed. Dick stole off to meet the
approaching ones.
"Fits hasn't gotten away, has he?" hailed Dave, in a hoarse undertone.
"We haven't seen him go," Dick replied. "For all we know he's still in
the shack. Officers?"
Dick indicated the two men.
"One of them is a constable," nodded Dave; "the other is a neighbor
sworn in as a deputy."
"If your thief is around here, sonny," grinned the constable, "we'll
soon have him where he won't trouble you. Easy, now, with the talk. We
don't want to give the fellow any warning."
The constable and his deputy slipped down in front of the log cabin,
followed by the boys.
"Look out! That rascal will shoot!" screamed Hen, in an agony of fear
about something.
At that instant the door of the shack flew open. The two men were just
in time to see Mr. Fits step out, on snowshoes. In another instant Dick
& Co., behind the officers, also got a glimpse of the fellow.
"Hold on, there, neighbor," advised the constable coolly. "Just wait
until we have a word with you."
Officer and deputy ran over the snowcrust. Mr. Fits, looking, or
pretending to be, a bit dazed, stood as if he expected to wait for the
men to come up with him. But suddenly a grin appeared on the face of the
rascal.
"Fine morning and fine crust for a race," he announced, and moved away a
few yards, with an easy gliding movement, on the snowshoes.
"Halt, there!" called the constable firmly, reaching back to his hip
pocket.
The deputy reached for his revolver, but, in his excitement, instead of
aiming or firing, he hurled the weapon at the head of Mr. Fits. The
pistol went by the head of the rascal, then struck the crust and skimmed
on ahead of him.
"Much obliged!" called back Fits, now moving fast.
"Don't try to pick up that weapon!" shouted the constable, running as
swiftly as he could over the crust. "If you do, I'll shoot."
"I reckon you'll shoot anyway," jeered Fits, making a swoop and picking
up the revolver that had been thrown at him.
Constable Dock fired promptly. But Fits wheeled, a weapon now in his own
hand.
Three jets of fire leaped swiftly from the muzzle of the pistol. Three
sharp explosions followed, and bullets whistled back over the snow.
[Illustration: "Halt, there!"]
Constable Dock halted, dropping to one knee, for one of the leaden
pellets had gone close to his left ear. One of the bullets hit a tree
just behind Prescott with a spiteful chug. Dick felt queer, but he was
too much in motion to stop himself just then.
"Stop or I'll bring you down!" bellowed Constable Dock, taking careful
aim. An instant later the officer fired, but at that very instant Mr.
Fits skimmed off at a sharp angle with his late course, and so he
escaped uninjured.
A derisive shout came back from the fugitive. He was now out of range of
the officer's revolver, and knew it. The constable, too, realized the
fact. He started in pursuit as rapidly as he could make it, calling to
his deputy to follow.
"Going to join the chase?" called Dave to Dick.
"What's the use?" panted Prescott, halting. "Mr. Fits has a good start
and can make fine speed. We could catch only the constable."
So the Grammar School boys slowed down. Constable Dock and his deputy
were now almost out of sight among the trees, and no eye among the boys
could see how much in the lead Mr. Fits was.
"They'll never catch him," sighed Dave.
"I'm afraid not," agreed Dick.
"And so, one of these nights, Mr. Fits will come back, ready to pay us
back for our plan to turn him over to the police."
"We took care of him before, didn't we?" Prescott wanted to know.
"Yes; but Fits was alone, then, and the blizzard kept him from getting
away to get help of his own choice kind. Now he can travel as much as he
likes. We'll hear from him again, all right," Dave Darrin wound up.
"If we do, then we'll find a way to take care of him once more," hinted
Prescott.
"Or we might vote that we've had a jolly good lot of camping, and go
home," suggested Harry.
"What? Let that rascal chase us out of the woods?" flared Dick. "All who
want to go home may start. I'll stay here as long as I want to, even if
I have to camp alone."
"You know pretty well, Dick, that you won't have to stay in camp alone,"
offered Dave.
"Of course not," agreed Tom Reade. "We'll all stick. We'll hope that
Fitsey won't come back. If he does, then we'll try to make him sorry
that he returned."
From the doorway of the log cabin Hen Dutcher was seen to be peering
forth cautiously.
"Say, you fellows," hailed Hen complainingly, "I thought you were never
coming back. I thought you had all got scared and ran away."
"Then why didn't you run away with us?" Dave called out.
"That isn't my style," proclaimed Dutcher, throwing out his chest. "I'm
no baby."
"No; you're the one hero of the whole outfit," grinned Tom.
"Did they catch old Fitsey?" queried Hen.
"Thanks to you, Hen, they didn't," Dave answered.
"Me? What did I have to do with the scoundrel getting away?" demanded
Dutcher, with an offended air.
"You had to turn your voice loose," Darrin informed him. "That gave Mr.
Fits warning. Then you yelled out again, just as we reached the cabin.
Fits had had time to get on his snowshoes, and then he started. Whew,
but snowshoes seem to be as swift as skates would be on the ice."
"Huh! You needn't blame me," sniffed Hen. "I didn't have anything to do
with the rascal getting away. I'd have gone after him if I had had
snowshoes."
The absurdity of this was so apparent that Dick & Co. burst into a
chorus of laughter.
"Huh!" sneered Hen, though his face went very red. "You fellows think
you're the only winds that ever blew."
"You wrong us, Hen," declared Tom solemnly. "Not one of us would lay any
claim to 'blowing' as much as you do."
One thing the boys had noted, even while carrying on their conversation,
and that was that no sounds of shots had come to their ears. The chances
were that Mr. Fits had gained so on his pursuers that the latter had
given up the chase.
Presently appetite asserted itself, and dinner was prepared and eaten.
It was after the meal that Constable Dock and his deputy came by the
door.
"Any thing in there to eat, youngsters?" inquired the constable, looking
in through the doorway.
"Plenty, I think. Come in, sir--you and your friend," Dick made answer.
The boys bustled about, making coffee, broiling steak and reheating the
potatoes that had been left over from their own meal. This, with bread
and butter, satisfied the hunger of their guests.
In the meantime the constable described how he and his friend had
followed the game for some five miles or more.
"It's my opinion that the scoundrel won't come back here at all,"
declared the officer.
"We have been afraid that he would, by night, or later," admitted Dick
Prescott.
"No!" retorted the constable with emphasis. "That rascal would figure
that I would be lying in wait here for him. So he'll give the spot a
wide berth. He doesn't want to be arrested."
"You'll be welcome to use the cook shack, if you want to wait there for
him," volunteered Dick.
"Not a bit of use, my boy. I'd only be wasting my time. You've seen your
last of that fellow around here. But now, another matter. One of your
mates told me, Prescott, that you had uncovered a lot of plunder here in
the cabin."
"Yes, sir; we did," Dick admitted.
"Where is it?" questioned the constable.
Dick started toward the new hiding place, then halted, turning.
"May I ask, Mr. Dock, why you want to know?"
"Because," replied the constable promptly, "as an officer of the law I
want to take that plunder in charge. In turn I'll hand it over to the
Gridley police."
"Oh, all right, sir."
Dick went to the hiding place, bringing forth all the plunder, including
his own watch and his mother's fan.
"You'll give us a receipt for these articles, won't you, Mr. Dock?"
"Certainly, if you want one," nodded the constable. "Just place the
stuff on the table, and I'll list it."
This was done, and Constable Dock wrote out a receipt in due form, which
he handed to young Prescott.
"And now I'll be off and away," said the constable, rising and pulling
on a heavy, short hunting coat. "I'll telephone to the Gridley police,
of course. You won't see the rascal again. Rest easy on that score."
"I hope we won't see him," muttered Dave, as the boys stood outside the
cabin watching the departing officers.
"If we do we'll get out of it better than Mr. Fits does, anyway," half
boasted Dick.
CHAPTER XVIII
YOUNG MR. COME-BACK & CO.
"Say, you fellows----" began Hen, stepping out and joining Dick & Co.
All six turned to gaze at Dutcher. Then they looked at each other, the
same thought in six minds. It was Dick who spoke:
"Hen, we came near overlooking the fact that this is your chance to get
back to your friends. Get on your coat, your cap and mittens, and----"
"Whatcher talking about?" demanded Dutcher, looking almost startled.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12