Picking it up he stopped and looked about him. It was pleasant to feel a little warmer, but there was nothing to guide him toward the other fork of the channel except the drift of the mist and the chill of the wind upon one side of his face, and he could not be sure that the wounded bird had led him straight. The flat was level and bare except for little pools of water on which were glistening filaments of ice. It was, however, too cold to stand still with wet feet and consider, and deciding that the sooner he got down to the forks the sooner he would be back on board the sloop, he set off briskly. He had had enough of wandering about that desolate waste.
At last, to his relief, he saw a faint silvery glimmer ahead in the mist, and turning off he struck the channel a little lower down. There was no sign of a duck oranything else, but he was by no means sorry for this, for his one idea was to get back to the forks as soon as possible, and the surest way of doing it was to follow the creek. It appeared to be a considerable distance, though he walked as fast as he could, splashing straight through shallow pools and slipping in half-frozen mud, and when at last he reached the spot where the channels branched off he could see nothing of Harry or the canoe. What troubled him almost as much was the fact that the stream was now flowing inland, and after a quick glance at it he shouted with all his might. His voice rang along the water and level sand, but though he called again no answer came out of the drifting mist. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket to get a cartridge and drew it out again with an exclamation of disgust, recollecting that he had only picked up three or four loose shells in the canoe.
For a moment he stood still considering, and it occurred to him that the situation was not a pleasant one. The flood tide was making and he did not know how far off the beach was, while he had no desire to spend the night in the woods. He could not see the island, and in order to reach it he would have to cross the main channel, which, as he remembered, was moderately deep. On the whole it seemed wiser to wade through the smaller fork and, if Harry did not overtake him in the meanwhile, try to get on board the sloop. She would float in very shallow water with her centerboard up, and he had touched bottom with the canoe paddle a few yards away from her.
When he had arrived at this decision he plunged into the water, which immediately rose above the top of his long boots. It was horribly cold, but this caused him less concern than the fact that it rippled strongly against his legs, which made it clear that he must get down to the sloop as fast as possible. He was over his knees before he got across, and then he ran his hardest alongthe edge of the channel, which seemed to be growing wider at every moment. The palely gleaming water was perfectly smooth, but it was moving with an ominous speed.
He grew breathless, but he did not slacken the pace. He went straight, splashing through trickling water and into pools, while he strained his eyes for the first glimpse of the sloop, but he could only see the mist which hid the sand thirty or forty yards in front of him. At last he made out a strip of something solid low down ahead and then what seemed to be a mast, and a few moments later he stopped at the water's edge. There was nothing but water in front of him and it was no longer quite smooth. Little ripples ran along the sand, and one broke about his feet while he gazed at them. It did not recede but splashed on, and when he looked around there was at least a yard of water behind him. Then he struggled with a paralyzing sense of dismay, and strove to keep his head. It was necessary to think and think very hard.
He could not wait where he was with the water deepening about him; while, if he went back and did not find Harry before he reached it, the creek, which he would no longer be able to cross, would head him off. If he followed it up on the near side it would take him away from the canoe, and he did not know how far off the beach was. There was evidently only one thing to be done and that was to get on board the sloop even if he had to swim.
She seemed a horribly long way out, but he splashed in hurriedly, afraid to wait a moment lest his resolution should melt away, and he was soon waist-deep with a strong stream swirling around him. It was almost impossible to keep his feet, the gun hampered him, and the coldness of the water seemed to check his breathing and take the power out of his limbs. He could not go back, however, and face a journey through the mistacross the waste of sand, and setting his lips he struggled on. Twice he was almost swept away, but at last making a savage effort he clutched the stern of the craft and scrambled up on to her deck.
The first thing he did was to light the stove, and when a pleasant warmth began to fill the cabin he was conscious of a strong desire to sit still and dry his clothes. That, unfortunately, was out of the question, and he reluctantly crawled out and stood up on deck. There was nothing but water around him now. It stretched back on every side into the mist, and the only sounds were the soft lap of the tide and the ripple it made flowing over thinly covered sand. Then having already decided that Harry would have some difficulty in paddling against the stream, he set about getting sail upon the craft to go in search of the canoe.
The mainsail looked remarkably big and heavy, and he was thankful that there was a reef in it, which made the task a little easier before he got it up. Then he spent several minutes in very hard work heaving the boat up to her anchor, and bruised his swollen hands in the determined effort it cost him to break it out. After that he set the jib and the sloop slid gently away with the wind abeam of her. He did not know exactly where she was going, but he shouted as loudly as he could every now and then, and at last there was a faint answering cry.
He called again and the cry rose more clearly, after which he hauled the sheet and changed his course, and by and by the canoe appeared out of the haze close ahead. A few moments later Harry paddled alongside, and handing up the ducks and his gun made the canoe fast before he turned to Frank.
"Do you know where you're heading for?" he asked.
"No," Frank confessed. "I've only a notion that it's in toward the land."
"Then we'll drop the jib and pitch the anchor over.We'll have to wait until the stream slackens before we get out again."
They followed his suggestion and Frank was glad indeed to creep back into the cozy cabin.
"This is uncommonly nice," drawled Harry, sitting down with a smile of content. "It was horribly cramping in the canoe and my hands were 'most too cold to paddle."
"What kept you?" inquired Frank.
"I must have gone farther than I intended and when I turned back the tide was running up so strong I could hardly make head against it. I was getting scared about you when I reached the forks and saw how the water was spreading on the sand. After that I didn't spare myself, but I was mighty glad to hear your shout."
"Did you get any more ducks?"
"No," said Harry, "I had only one shot—a long one."
Frank, who told him to make some coffee, stripped off part of his clothes and dressed himself in an old blanket, after which they sat beside the stove for an hour or so, until Harry crawled out and said that there was a little more wind and the mist was thinning.
Shortly after this they heaved the anchor and started again, but once more the wind fell light and a couple of hours had passed and they were almost frozen when they reached the cove below the ranch. The house was dark when they crept into it and went straight to bed, while it cost Frank a determined effort to get up before daylight next morning. His clothes were still damp and he felt sore and aching, but he took his place with the others when they sat down to breakfast.
Logging seemed a particularly unpleasant task that day, but he had to go on with it, and he fancied that Mr. Oliver, with whom it was necessary to keep pace, worked harder than he usually did. Frank was completely exhausted when as darkness fell they went back to the ranch.
"Are you going out again after ducks to-night?" Mr. Oliver asked him.
"No," said Frank ruefully, "I feel as if it would take me a week to get over the last trip."
"I'm not very much astonished," Mr. Oliver answered with a soft laugh. "Still, I don't mind admitting that you stood up to your work to-day."
The frost soon broke up, and it was raining heavily one afternoon, when the boys were at work in an excavation they had driven under a big fir stump shortly after their shooting trip. Frank, very wet and dirty, lay propped up on one elbow with his head and shoulders inside the hole, chopping awkwardly at a root. His legs and feet were in a pool of water outside and there was very little room to swing the ax, while at every blow the saturated soil fell down on him. Grubbing out a stump in wet weather is a singularly disagreeable task.
Harry crouched close beside him where he was partly sheltered from the rain by the network of roots which rose above his head. The boys had spent most of the day cutting through those which ran along the surface of the ground and digging to get at the rest, until they had been forced to drive a tunnel to reach one or two which went vertically down, for it was an unusually large stump. At last when his ax shoved through the obstacle Frank paused for breath, and, as it was getting dark in the excavation, Harry lighted a piece of candle. The light fell upon a massive shaft of wet wood which sank into the ground.
"Nobody fixed as we are could chop through that," he grumbled. "It's the big taproot, and it would take most of another day's shoveling to make room to get at it with the crosscut. It looks as if we'd have to put some giant powder in. Where's that auger?"
Frank reached out for the boring tool, which resembled a huge corkscrew, only that instead of a handle it had a hole at its upper end for the insertion of a short lever.
"I'll bore while you get things ready, if you like," he suggested. "Do you often use dynamite?"
"We never fire a shot when we can help it, though there are ranchers who get through a lot of the stuff. Giant powder's expensive, and, though labor's expensive, too, you have to figure whether a shot's going to pay. It's worth while if it will save you grubbing most of the day. Slant the hole you bore a little upward while I go along for the magazine."
Harry crawled out of the excavation, and Frank slipped a crossbar through the hole in the auger, driving the point of the latter into the wood. It went in easily, but the work grew harder as he twisted it round and round, kneeling with his shoulders against the roots, while the candle flickered and big drops of water trickled down on him. The position was a cramping one, and his wet hands slipped upon the crossbar, but he had become accustomed to doing unpleasant things, and it was evident that one could not clear a ranch without grubbing stumps.
By and by Harry came back, and telling him to hold the light carefully, produced what looked rather like a yellow candle, and a piece of black cord with a copper cap nipped down on the end of it.
"That's the detonator," he said, pointing to the cap. "You saw one or two of them at Webster's ranch."
"I didn't feel inclined to stop and examine them then," Frank answered with a laugh.
"They're very like the caps used for guns, only, as you see, they're bigger, and it's wise to be careful how you pinch one down on the fuse. The stuff they fill the end with is mighty powerful. So's giant powder, but it's peculiar because it will only burn unless you fire it with something that makes a bang. At least, that'swhat it does in a general way. The trouble is you can never be quite sure of it."
He worked the soft yellow substance over the detonator, after which he thrust it gently into the auger hole and pressed a handful of soil down on it. Frank was thankful when he had finished, for having heard of the tremendous powers of the giant powder he did not care to be shut up with it among that network of roots. Then Harry, straightening the strip of black fuse which projected from the hole, took a quick glance about him.
"We'll make sure we can get out before we light it," he remarked, taking the candle and holding it to the fuse. "You don't want to stay around once the fuse is burning. Crawl back and hold those roots up out of my way."
The candle was by this time sputtering and sparkling, and Frank swung himself up out of the hole and set off madly across the clearing, shouting to Mr. Oliver and Jake, who were at work not far away. His companion, following close behind, stopped him presently.
"Hold on!" he shouted with a laugh. "You needn't run right down to the cove. Giant powder's kind of local in its action, and that charge isn't going to turn the whole clearing upside down."
They waited behind a neighboring stump, and a few minutes later Frank, who had felt himself thrilled with expectation, was grievously disappointed. He had looked for a spectacular result, but there was only a dull, heavy thud, a sound of rending and splitting, and a wisp of vapor out of which a little soil flew up.
"Now," said Harry, "we'll go along and have a look, but we'll work around the stump and come at it down the wind."
"Why?" Frank asked.
His companion snickered. "Only that it would probably knock you over, I'd let you go and see. It's wise to keep clear of the gases after firing giant powder.They haven't the same effect on everybody, but most men who get a whiff of them want to lie down for the rest of the day."
They approached the stump cautiously on its windward side, but there was not much to see. It appeared to have been split and was slightly raised, but it had certainly not been blown to fragments, as Frank had expected.
"Do you think the shot has cut the root?" he asked.
"No," said Harry with a smile, "you couldn't call it cutting. It has melted it, swallowed it, blotted it right out. You'll find very little of that root to-morrow, and there won't be any pieces lying round either."
He broke off and grabbed Frank's arm as the latter moved toward the other side of the stump.
"Come back!" he warned. "The gas is hanging about yet."
Frank noticed a rather unpleasant smell, and was conscious of a pain in his head, but it passed off as they crossed the clearing together. As it was getting too dark to work, Mr. Oliver and Jake joined them before they reached the house. They changed their clothes when they went in, and after toiling in the rain all day Frank was glad to sit down dressed in dry things at the well-spread table. The room was very cozy with its bright lamp and snapping stove, and the doleful wail of the wind and the thrashing of the rain outside emphasized its cheerfulness. He felt languidly content with himself and the simple, strenuous life he led. For the most part, though they had occasional adventures, it was an uneventful one, and some time had passed since they had heard anything of the dope runners. He wondered what had become of them, or if they had found smuggling unprofitable and had given it up.
Supper was about half finished when there was a knock at the door and the dog rose with a growl. Harry seized the animal's collar just as a man appeared in theentrance. His clothes were black with water and a trickle of it ran from the brim of the soft hat he held in one hand. He was a young man and the paleness of his face suggested that he was from the cities.
"Is it far to Carthew Creek?" he inquired.
"Eight or nine miles," Mr. Oliver replied. "The trail's very bad and you'll have some trouble in keeping it on a night like this. Have you any reason for going straight through?"
"I believe a steamboat calls to-morrow and I thought of going back with her. I've had about enough of these bush trails."
"Then we'll put you up," said Mr. Oliver obligingly. "You can get on again first thing in the morning. You're wet enough now, aren't you?"
The stranger admitted that he was, but seemed to hesitate.
"I don't want to trouble Miss Oliver," he said. "Still, as it happens, I've a message for you."
Mr. Oliver said that he would give him some dry clothes, and the two withdrew to get them. They came back a few minutes later and sat down at the table. The stranger made an excellent meal, and Mr. Oliver waited until he had finished before he asked a question:
"Have you walked in?"
"From the settlement," the other answered. "As I expected to get back by the steamboat, I left my hired horse with Porteous at the store."
"Porteous doesn't keep the store."
"The other fellow got hurt chopping a week or so ago. A log or a big branch fell on him, and they sent him off to Seattle. Porteous is running the business until he gets better."
Frank fancied that Mr. Oliver was displeased at this, but there was no change in his manner toward his visitor.
"Is he running the post office, too?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. I had to tell him something about a letter."
"You mentioned that you had some business with me. I suppose you're looking up orders for fruit trees?"
The stranger smiled. "I'm a store clerk by profession. Out of a job at present. Name's T. Graham Watkins. Now you know me."
He turned to Miss Oliver with a bow, but she made no comment, and he glanced toward the boys.
"We've got to have a talk," he added, addressing Mr. Oliver. "I'm not sure you'd want these young men or your sister to hear."
"You can tell it here," said Mr. Oliver dryly. "I can make a guess at your business, and if I'm right I've no objections to the others staying where they are."
"Then it's just this. The folks I represent aren't pleased with you. They've a notion that you've been bucking against them for the last few months and trying to find out things they'd rather keep dark."
"I presume you're referring to the dope runners. Why didn't they come themselves?"
"That's easily answered," said Mr. Watkins. "I understand you haven't seen one of them yet, and they don't want to give you an opportunity of doing so."
Harry grinned at Frank across the table unnoticed by the speaker.
"In my case it doesn't matter," the latter added. "I've merely called to give you a message."
"Aren't you rather hanging fire with it?" Mr. Oliver asked.
"I feel kind of diffident. I don't want to say anything that might alarm your sister."
Miss Oliver smiled. "You needn't hesitate. My brother generally takes me into his confidence, and I don't think either of us is very easily startled."
"Won't you send the boys away, anyhow?"
"No," said Mr. Oliver quietly, "I think I mentioned that I'd rather let them stay."
"Well," said the other, "this is the position. The gentlemen you mentioned can land their stuff near here and get it away through the bush easily; that is, if you'll lie by and take no hand against them. There are other routes, but they're longer and more difficult, and my friends would rather stick to this one if it's possible. The question is how can they make it worth your while to shut your eyes and leave them alone?"
Harry suddenly straightened himself and Frank noticed the quick flush of anger in his face, but Miss Oliver was smiling and the rancher's voice was as tranquil as usual.
"The answer's very simple," he said. "It can't be done."
Mr. Watkins appeared astonished.
"I want you to consider your position," he repeated.
"I may tell you that I considered it carefully some months ago, but there's a point I'd like to mention. Has it struck you that I might promise to fall in with your friends' views and all the same give them away?"
"It was talked about," Mr. Watkins answered. "We decided it wouldn't be in keeping with what we knew about your character, and you'd certainly be sorry you had done it afterward."
"Now we're coming to the second and more important half of the message," said Mr. Oliver.
"You're right," was the answer. "I'm to understand that when you say you won't meet my friends' views it's your last word?"
"Yes," said Mr. Oliver firmly.
"Then my message is a plain one. Let up, or look out. I want you to fix your attention on the last part of it. You have quite a nice place here, a high-class barn and homestead, and a good hay crop, and there's nobody living within some miles of you except Webster."
"Precisely!" said Mr. Oliver. "They cost me a gooddeal of very hard work and I shall try to keep them. Now I suppose you've said your piece?"
Mr. Watkins raised his hand as if to beg his forbearance.
"You've heard it all. I only want to add that I'm quite willing to start right now for Carthew if you wish it."
Mr. Oliver laughed naturally and easily.
"No," he said, "you're my guest for the night. After this we'll change the subject and talk about something else." He looked around. "Harry, will you bring the cigar box out?"
Mr. Watkins did not appear to be a brilliant conversationalist, but he discussed politics and railroad extension with his host, and Frank found himself wondering at and admiring the rancher's attitude. He had shown no sign of anger and had never failed in courtesy. Threats had apparently no effect on him, and he had received them with a quiet amusement which appealed in particular to the boy's fancy. It seemed ever so much finer than blustering indignation, but he thought that there would be a striking change in Mr. Oliver's manner if he were ever driven to action.
Mr. Watkins took his departure after breakfast next morning, after which Mr. Oliver wrote two letters before he called the boys.
"I want you to take the sloop and go up to the settlement," he said. "You will mail this letter there. It's to Barclay, though it isn't directly addressed to him."
Harry looked thoughtful.
"Of course," he said hesitatingly, "I'll do that if you wish it, but Porteous is a mean white, isn't he? Mightn't he open the thing?"
"It's possible," Mr. Oliver answered with a smile. "As it happens, I've no great objections to his reading it, and I'm mailing it with him as an experiment. Don'tput it into the box, but hand it to him. When you have done that sail back along the beach and then head right across to Bannington's, where you'll mail this other letter. As you can't be back to-night, you had better take some provisions with you. Start as soon as you can."
The boys were off in half an hour, for the rain had stopped and there was a clear sky and a moderate breeze. As they sailed out of the cove Harry from his place at the helm glanced at his companion with a chuckle.
"When you come to understand him, dad's unique," he said. "Porteous will open that letter. He's mean enough for anything, and it's been my opinion all along that he's in with the gang."
"But won't it give your father's plans away if he reads it?"
"Not much!" said Harry. "Haven't you got hold yet? The letter's about hunting, and there's most likely an order in it for Winchester shells or something else that will put Porteous off the track. He's probably not an expert at opening envelopes, and it won't take Barclay long to tell whether anybody has been tampering with the letter. The other one will go through without being interfered with. They're white at Bannington's."
"That won't get over much of the difficulty, after all," Frank objected. "Won't your father's answer bring Watkins's friends down upon the ranch?"
"It's possible," said Harry. "I've a notion that when they come dad will be ready for them, and I fancy Barclay's nearly through with his trailing."
"You expect he'll make a new move then?"
Harry laughed. "Sure!" he said. "That little, fat man will get everything fixed up without making the least fuss. Then he'll bring his hand down once for all and smash the whole dope-running gang. I don't mind allowing that I was quite wrong about him at the beginning."
They said nothing more upon the subject, and they safely reached the cove next day after a long, cold sail.
A day or two after they had got back to the ranch Mr. Oliver asked the boys if they would like another trip, and as both of them preferred it to grubbing stumps they paddled off to the canoe with him the same evening. A fresh breeze sprang up as the sun went down, and they had a fast and rather wet sail. Daylight was breaking across the scattered pines when the party left the sloop and walked up a trail within sight of a little lonely settlement.
As they approached it a harsh clanking and the tolling of a bell rose from behind the trees, and they had to wait while a locomotive and a string of freight cars jolted across the trail into a neighboring side track. When the train had passed Mr. Oliver and his companions crossed the rails and entered a desolate flag station, which consisted of a roughly boarded, iron-roofed shack and a big water tank. In front of it was an open space strewn with fir stumps, and beyond the latter three or four frame houses rose among the trees. The door of the shack was shut, and while they stood outside it the sound of an approaching train grew steadily louder and a jet of steam blew noisily from the valve of the locomotive waiting in the side track.
"A Seattle train," said Mr. Oliver. "They don't seem to be flagging her and she probably won't stop."
Frank stood looking about him with a curious stirring of his heart. There was a gaudy poster pasted up on the shack announcing cheap tickets to Seattle, with a line or two about a circus and some attraction at anopera house. In the meanwhile the scream of a whistle came ringing across the shadowy trees and the boy was troubled by the familiar sights and sounds. The wet rails, the freight cars, and the brilliant poster reminded him of the cities he had turned his back upon some time ago.
Then, though the daylight was rapidly growing clearer, a big blazing lamp broke out from among the firs with a cloud of steam streaming behind it, and a locomotive and a row of clanging cars swept through the depot. The lights from the windows flashed into Frank's face, flickered upon the shack and rows of stumps, and grew dim again, after which the din receded and came throbbing back fainter and fainter. As he listened to it, a sudden fierce longing seized the boy. He wanted to hear the clamor of the cities again, to see the big stores and the hurrying crowds. Almost a year had elapsed since he had even seen a train, and a journey of two or three hours would take him back to the stir and bustle of civilization away from the constant monotonous toil with ax and saw in the lonely bush.
He wondered what his people were doing in Boston. In the winter season there were festivities and gayety there, and he had once enjoyed them with his old companions who had most likely forgotten him. Some had gone into business, two were at Harvard, and another had entered the army; but he stood, dressed in miry long boots and old well-mended garments still damp with salt water, in a little desolate depot in the wilderness. He fancied that he was justified in feeling rather sorry for himself.
Then with an effort he drove these thoughts away. After all, his place was not in the cities. He had no money and there was nobody to give him a fair start in life, while he admitted that it was very doubtful that he had any talent for business. He might, perhaps, become a clerk or something of the kind, but it once more occurred to him that he was better off in the bush.Indeed, though he scarcely realized this, the bush had already made a striking change in him, and it is possible that his eastern friends would have had trouble in recognizing him as the pale lad they had sent away to Minneapolis. His face was bronzed and resolute, he was taller, tougher, and broader around the chest, and he could now toil all day at a task which would once have broken him down in a couple of hours. Then he started as he noticed that Mr. Oliver was looking at him with a smile.
"You seem to be thinking rather hard," the rancher remarked.
"I was," Frank admitted hesitatingly. "It was the train that put the ideas into my mind."
"I fancied it might be something of that description," said Mr. Oliver. "She'd soon have taken you up to Seattle, and nowadays it's a very short run to Chicago, where you could get on to one of the Atlantic flyers. I suppose you feel that you'd like to make the journey?"
"I did—for a minute or two," Frank confessed with an embarrassed smile. "Then, of course, I realized that it was impossible."
Somewhat to his astonishment, Mr. Oliver laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"The wish was very natural, but stay where you are, my lad. There's more room out here in the Western bush, and you're making progress. This is going to be a great country, and you won't be sorry you came out in a few more years."
"I'm not sorry now," Frank answered sturdily, with a flush in his face.
Mr. Oliver turned away as the agent opened the door of his shack, and they went into the little, untidy office.
"I want to send a message south," said Mr. Oliver, writing something on a form. "It's a code address. I suppose I could get an answer in an hour or so?"
"Oh, yes," said the agent. "They'll be beginning tomove about in Seattle now, and if the man's in his office there'll be no delay. In the meanwhile they would give you a good breakfast at the hotel."
Mr. Oliver thanked him, and as they left the depot two men whom they had not noticed hitherto met them. Mr. Oliver glanced at them sharply, but he did not speak, and a few minutes later they sat down to an excellent meal in the primitive wooden hotel. When they had finished the proprietor strolled in and sat down for a chat with them.
"Is there much going on about the place?" Mr. Oliver asked, offering him a cigar.
"Yes," said the hotelkeeper, accepting the proffered cigar with alacrity, "we've struck quite a boom. There's a man clearing a lot of ground for a fruit ranch and putting up a smart frame house. Then they're cutting a couple of new trails. The boys are making good wages and they're all of them busy."
"I saw two men just now who didn't seem to have much to do," said Mr. Oliver carelessly, and Harry gave his companion a nudge with his elbow.
"They don't belong here," was the answer. "One of them lives down the beach and does some fishing with his boat. The other man came in from the South yesterday on the cars, and I don't know what he's after. I told him I could put him on to a job and he said he didn't want it."
"As they're together, he's probably going in for fishing with the first one," Mr. Oliver suggested.
The hotelkeeper pursed his lips and looked as if he were solving a hard problem.
"It's a puzzle to me how Larry makes a living. It's only now and then he sends a little fish away, and I can't see what he'd do with a partner." Then he changed the subject. "You're thinking of buying land?"
"No," said Mr. Oliver, "I sailed over in my boat to dispatch a wire. It was much easier than riding a longway to the nearest office now that the trails are soft."
"They're bad, sure," assented his companion, and they continued to discuss ranching until Mr. Oliver finally rose and said he would walk across to the depot. The boys followed him a few paces behind. Harry addressed his companion with a look of admiration for his father.
"I guess you noticed how dad found out about those fellows without letting the man think he was curious?" he said.
Frank said that he had noticed it and added:
"I wonder what the fellow came up from the South for?"
"That," said Harry significantly, "is a point I expect dad's doing some hard thinking on just now."
They walked into the agent's office and sat down to wait as he told them that he had as yet received no answer to the telegram. The door near which Frank sat stood partly open, and he noticed that the two men were lounging close outside it. He quietly touched Mr. Oliver's arm, indicating them with a glance. The rancher knitted his brows and presently spoke to the agent.
"There are two men who seem to be waiting for you outside," he said.
The agent walked across to the door.
"Back again, Larry!" he said impatiently. "What's the matter now?"
"When's that fish box of mine coming along?" the man inquired.
"I don't know," said the agent. "Next freight, most likely, if it's been delivered to us at the other end."
"Won't you wire up the line about it?"
"No," said the agent. "If you'll put up the stamps I'll wire to the fish store you billed it to."
The man looked indignant. "I tell you it's in the railroad's hands. Do you think I've nothing better to do than hang about this depot every time a freight comes through?" He paused a moment with his eyes on theground, then went on: "Anyway, now I'm on the spot I may as well wait for the next one. She should be along in about an hour. Won't you let me in?"
The telegraph instrument began to click just then and the agent turned toward him sharply.
"There's no room. You can wait at the hotel."
"Perhaps the message is about his box," broke in the other man.
Frank glanced around at them. They were dressed like most of the bush choppers in rough working clothes and there was nothing particularly noticeable in their appearance, but he fancied that they had some reason for wishing to get into the office.
"No, sir," said the agent. "They don't wire about the delivery of an empty box on this road. Get out! I want to shut the door."
Frank noticed that one of the loungers had thrust his foot against the post, but the agent, seeming to lose his temper, slammed the door on it. The man withdrew it with an exclamation, and the agent turned toward the instrument which was now clicking rapidly. He tapped an answering signal, and then wrote upon a strip of paper which he handed Mr. Oliver. The latter read the message and handed it to the boys.
"First route unsatisfactory second preferred," it ran. "Meet me nine to-night Everett if possible."
"First route unsatisfactory second preferred," it ran. "Meet me nine to-night Everett if possible."
Frank was puzzled, but he fancied that Harry understood the message better than he did.
"Thanks," said Mr. Oliver, addressing the agent. "Your two friends outside seemed uncommonly anxious about that box."
"That's a fact," said the agent. "Larry was worrying me about it before it was light. I don't know the fellow who came along with him, but it struck me that he was listening to the instrument as if he understood it, though he couldn't have heard more than the depot call. Ofcourse," he added thoughtfully, "'most any one who had worked on a railroad would know the code, but I can't figure why they should make so much fuss about a box that's scarcely worth a dollar."
"It's curious," Mr. Oliver answered indifferently. "You might lend me your train schedule."
The agent gave him the company's time bill, which also included the coast steamboat sailings, and Mr. Oliver walked back with the boys to the hotel. There was nobody in the general room when they reached it, and they sat down near the stove.
"Now," he began, "as we have taken you into our confidence and it's probable that you can help, you may as well understand the situation thoroughly. The message was, of course, from Barclay, though it bears a clerk's name, and it means that Porteous has opened the letter you left him. I fancy he'll regret it, but that is by the way. Barclay received the second letter untampered with, and the rest is plain enough. The only question is how I'm to keep the appointment without putting the fellows at the depot on my track."
"You believe they're in league with the smugglers?" Frank inquired.
Mr. Oliver smiled. "It seems very likely. Here's a man who keeps a boat, and, as you have heard, folks wonder how he makes a living by his fishing. If the boat's moderately fast you can imagine how useful he would be to the smugglers by taking messages from place to place and communicating with the schooner. Then we have another man who seems able to read the telegraph turning up and trying to hear Barclay's message."
"But how could they have learned that you expected it?" Frank asked.
"I'm not sure. Porteous may have suspected something and sent a mounted man off to wire one of the gang. Besides, the fellow who has the boat may have been across with her. It wouldn't be hard to surmisethat I would wire from here, though they may have had a man watching the nearest office I could have reached by land on horseback." He paused a moment and looked at the boys gravely. "All this points to the fact that we're up against a big and remarkably well-organized gang."
Frank had no doubt that Mr. Oliver was right, but he asked a question:
"Why did Barclay choose Everett when it's so far from the field of their operations?"
"That's exactly why he fixed on it. There would be less probability of somebody connected with the gang recognizing us, and I've met him there already. The fact that he doesn't mention any particular hotel should have told you that; but what we have to consider is how I'm to get there without these fellows following me. It's important that I should be back at the ranch as soon as possible, and you and Harry must manage to arrive there the first thing to-morrow."
Frank understood the necessity for this. The nights were long, the bush was lonely, and Mr. Oliver's wooden house and barns, which had cost him a good deal of money, would readily burn, while now, when there was only Jake to take care of them, they would be more or less at the smugglers' mercy. Then Harry, who in the meanwhile, had been examining the schedule, looked up.
"I've an idea," he said. "There's a train goes south in the afternoon, and a steamboat which calls at Everett goes up the Sound this evening. Well, suppose we order dinner here and start for Bannington's a little before the cars come in. The steamboat would stop to pick up there if she's signaled, and with this breeze we should get down shortly before she passes."
Mr. Oliver turned to Frank.
"How does that strike you?" he asked.
"The trouble is that the other men would follow us intheir boat," the boy objected. Then a light dawned upon him as he saw the twinkle in Mr. Oliver's eyes. "You mean that's what Harry intended them to do?"
"Exactly!" Harry broke in with a grin. "They raise brainy folks in Boston, and you're getting hold. Those fellows will get after us as soon as they can hoist sail on their boat and we'll give them a run for it. The point is that while they're following us dad will be on the cars."
"But how is he going to elude them?"
"That," Harry admitted sagely, "wants some thinking out."
They made their plans in the next half-hour, and some time after dinner was over walked toward the beach. Nobody seemed to be following them, though they could not be sure of this since the trail wound about through the bush, but when they reached the canoe another boat which they had not noticed on arriving lay moored a few hundred yards away. They were obliged to carry the canoe down some distance over very rough stones, and on reaching the water's edge Mr. Oliver took a quick glance about him.
"I'm afraid one plan's spoiled," he said.
The boys glanced back toward the trail and Frank saw two figures saunter out on to the beach. Harry frowned as he glanced at them.
"You can't slip back into the bush without their seeing you," he warned.
"No," said Mr. Oliver. "Still, I think there's a means of getting over the difficulty. Shove the canoe in. They'll have to carry their boat down, and our boat's lying nearer the head yonder than theirs is."
Frank did not understand how the rancher intended to evade his pursuers and fancied that Harry was not much wiser. They had soon launched the canoe, however, and were paddling off to the sloop, running the mainsail up inhaste. Then the boys set the jib as she drew out from the beach, and Frank noticed that the other men were hoisting sail upon their boat as fast as they could manage it. The sloop, however, was already some distance away from them, and it was not long before she picked up a freshening breeze. Lying well over to it she gathered speed, and close to lee of her Frank saw a low, rocky head, down the face of which straggled stunted pines and underbrush. He fancied that she would be hidden from their pursuers when she had sailed around the end of it, but on glancing back as they approached the corner he saw that the other men had started after them. They were three or four minutes behind, but he had no idea yet how Mr. Oliver meant to elude them. He was still wondering about it when the rancher spoke to him.
"Get hold of the canoe painter," he ordered. "The moment we're around the corner we'll haul her up and you'll put me ashore. You'll have to be smart about it, because you must be back on board before the other boat rounds the head."
Harry had already taken the helm, and the sloop was sailing very fast, with the canoe lurching and splashing over the short seas astern of her. They broke in a broad fringe of foam upon the stony beach thirty or forty yards to lee, and as the boat swept on the bay behind closed in and the seaward face of the cliff opened out ahead. Frank could still see the boat astern, but as he stood in the well with his hands clenched upon a rope he knew that in another moment the rocks would shut her out. Then, sure enough, she suddenly vanished, and shortly afterward he heard Mr. Oliver's voice.
"Haul!" he shouted.
Harry flung loose the mainsheet, but the boat did not quicken her speed immediately, and Frank found it desperately hard to drag up the canoe, though Mr. Oliver had seized the rope behind him. Haste was, however,necessary, if the rancher was to slip back to the depot unsuspected. At last the canoe ran alongside with a bang and Mr. Oliver dropped on board, while Frank nearly upset her as he followed him. Each of them seized a paddle and the boy had a momentary glimpse of the sloop rolling with her slackened mainsail thrashing to and fro, while Harry struggled to haul the jib to weather. After that he looked ahead and swung his paddle, and as the breeze was blowing on to the beach a few quick strokes drove them in through the splashing surf. She struck the stones violently, for they had no time to be careful, and Mr. Oliver jumped ashore, running into the water to thrust her out. Frank contrived to twist her around, though it taxed all his strength, after which he hazarded a single glance behind him. Mr. Oliver had disappeared among the several masses of fallen rock and clumps of small growth which were scattered about the slope.
So far the plan had succeeded, but Frank had still to reach the sloop, which was a different matter from paddling ashore. There was a fresh breeze ahead of him and a little splashing sea heaved up the canoe's bows and checked her speed. In addition to this, it is a rather difficult thing to keep a canoe on a straight course with a single-ended paddle, which can only be dipped on the one side, and in order to do so one must give the blade a back twist, which retards the craft unless it is skillfully managed. Frank, who had hitherto practiced it only in smooth water, found that the bows would blow around in spite of him. He grew hot and breathless, and though he set his lips and strung up his muscles he made very little progress.
"Paddle!" shouted Harry, who had been watching his maneuvers. "Shove her through it! Can't you get a move on? I can't run in any nearer without getting her ashore."
Frank made another desperate attempt, but a splashingsea broke about the bows, driving the canoe off her course again, and while he savagely swung the paddle Harry surveyed him contemptuously.
"Culcha!" he jeered. "Guess you loaded that up in Boston, but what you want is sand. Can't you get a bit of a hustle on? You're sure born played-out back East."
Frank felt a little more blood surge into his hot face. This was more than he felt inclined to stand from any Westerner of his own weight, but it was clear that he could not rebuke his reviler fittingly until he reached the sloop and the veins swelled up on his forehead as he furiously plied the paddle. Once more a sea broke about the bows and this time part of it splashed in, while as he tried the back-feather stroke the canoe lurched and began to swing around in spite of his redoubled efforts. Harry spread out one hand resignedly.
"Well," he said, "it's our own fault for letting you into the canoe. The trouble was you couldn't be trusted alone with the sloop either. Pshaw! We've no use for folks of your kind in this country."
This was intolerable, because part of it was true, and Frank felt his heart thumping painfully. But he made a last effort, and panting, straining, taxing every muscle to the utmost, he drove the canoe ahead, and eventually managed to grasp the sloop's lee rail. He could not speak, and as he breathlessly crawled on board Harry snatched the rope from him and made it fast.
"Trim that jibsheet over," he commanded.
Frank obeyed him and when they hauled on the mainsheet the sloop once more gathered speed, while Frank glancing astern saw a strip of slanted sail appear around the corner of the head. Then he glanced ashore, and though he saw no sign of Mr. Oliver the slope to the beach was not remarkably steep and he fancied that the rancher would not have much trouble in ascending it.
After they had trimmed sail Frank sat still for a while to recover his breath and, if possible, his composure. He felt that it was necessary to demand an explanation from his companion. Though they had once or twice had a difference of opinion, this was the first time that Harry had been insulting, and Frank found it impossible to pass over what he had said. When he felt able to speak clearly he looked his companion in the eyes.
"Now," he began, "I'll admit that you can shoot and sail a boat rather better than I can, but that doesn't entitle you to talk as you did just now."
"I don't know if it matters, but I've a notion that I did shout," Harry answered calmly.
"That only makes it worse," Frank burst out warmly. "You couldn't call it shouting either. I once heard a coyote on the prairie, and it had a much sweeter voice than you have."
To his astonishment, Harry grinned.
"Oh, well," he said, "but won't you get down under the mainboom before you go on? I don't want those fellows astern to see there are only two of us on board the sloop."
Frank did as he suggested, whereupon Harry waved his hand and smiled graciously.
"Now," he added, "you can go ahead."
Frank found it harder than he had expected. His anger was beginning to evaporate and Harry's good humor was embarrassing. Still, he made another effort.
"In the first place," he resumed, "there are just as smart and capable folks in Massachusetts as there are anywhere else."
"That's quite right," assented Harry. "I don't see why there shouldn't be, but I suppose you're not through yet. You want to call me down?"
"When you say things of that kind—you—" Frank stammered, and stopped when he observed his companion still smiling.
"Sure!" said Harry, "I ought to be pounded with the boathook if I'd meant them."
Frank gazed at him in bewilderment. "You didn't mean them?"
"No," said Harry. "Not a word of it."
"Then why did you say them?"
"Well," replied his friend, "that's a reasonable question. Now it was mighty important that you should get alongside before our friends astern came into sight, and though you weren't making very much progress it seemed to me you were doing all you knew."
"I was," Frank assured him.
"Still, I had an idea that if I could make you jumping mad you might do a little more. It's hard to tell what you're capable of until you're real savage, and I thought I'd whip you up a bit where you were most likely to feel it."
Frank's indignation vanished, and he changed the subject with a laugh.
"Do you think those fellows suspected anything?" he asked.
"No," said Harry. "They were too busy getting sail on her to notice exactly how far ahead we were when we ran out of the bay, and it will probably only strike them that they're not quite so far astern as they expected. All we have to do now is to lead them along toward Bannington's. I'd rather keep them sailing than have them prowling round the depot asking questions and,perhaps, sending telegrams, and I've a notion we can leave them when we like. She's drawing away from them now and we've only a small jib on her."
His surmise proved correct, for an hour later the other boat had diminished to a dusky patch of sail far astern. Dusk soon commenced to fall and the wind seemed to be freshening, but as they swept around a rocky point Harry changed his course and told Frank to make a stout rope fast to the bucket and pitch it over.
"It will hold her back and let the other fellows come up," he said with a grin. "They'll probably figure their boat's faster in any weight of wind, and we don't want to run out of sight of them."
It grew dark and for a while the sky was barred with heavy clouds until the moon broke out, when they saw the pursuing craft sweeping up close astern in the midst of a blaze of silvery radiance. She had now, however, a mass of canvas swung out on either side of her, and Frank wondered what sail she was carrying.
"They've boomed out a jib as a spinnaker," Harry explained. "I don't see why we shouldn't do the same, particularly as it will make them keener on following us to Bannington's. One of them means to go south with the steamer if dad gets on to her. Now we'll heave in that bucket, and when it's done they'll open their eyes."
It was not easy to haul in the bucket. Indeed, once or twice it was nearly torn away from them, but at length they accomplished the task.
"It's awkward running a boat with a spinnaker unless you have a crew," remarked Harry with a somewhat puzzled look. "Still, I feel we ought to give those fellows a run for their trouble and I can't get clear of them with only the mainsail drawing. A jib set in the ordinary way is no use when you're before the wind."
The other boat had drawn almost level with them and came surging along some forty yards away, rising and falling, with the foam piled up about her bows, and agreat spread of canvas that swung up and down as she rolled on either side.
"Hello!" shouted Harry. "Where are you going?"
"North," was the laconic answer.
Harry chuckled as he turned to Frank. "Well, as dad will be in Everett by this time, I don't see why they shouldn't come along with us as far as they like, but we'll let them draw ahead before we get up the spinnaker. I'd rather they didn't notice I had to set it alone."
The other boat forged past them, and she was growing dim ahead when Harry pulled out a bundle of canvas from beneath the side deck.
"It's an extra big jib we carry in light winds, but it makes a good spinnaker," he said. "You'll have to keep her straight before the wind, because it's a mighty awkward thing to set."
Frank took the helm and watched his companion as he shook the big sail out all over the boat, after which he led a rope fastened to one corner of it through a block at the end of a long spar that lay along the deck. He thrust this out over her side and made its inner end fast to the foot of the mast.
"A spinnaker boom always goes forward of the shrouds and you lead the guy aft outside them," he said. "Get hold of it and stick fast. It's easy so far, but in a minute the circus will begin. You want two pairs of hands to set a spinnaker in a breeze of wind."
Frank glanced at the short seas which surged by, glittering in the moonlight flecked with wisps of snowy froth, and it struck him by the way the boat swung over them with the foam boiling about her that she was carrying sufficient canvas in her mainsail. Then Harry, calling to him to mind his steering, hauled on a halliard and a mass of thrashing canvas rose up the mast. It blew out like a half-filled balloon, lifting up the boom, which was run out on the opposite side to the mainsail, and seemed benton soaring skyward over the masthead. After that the boom swung forward with a crash, the mast strained and rattled, and Frank feared that the great loose sail would tear it out of the boat. He saw Harry lifted off his feet and flung upon the deck, after which the forward part of the boat was swept by flying ropes and billowy folds of canvas, among which his companion seemed to be futilely crawling to and fro. Presently his voice reached Frank hoarse and breathless.
"Haul on the guy!" he cried. "She'll pitch me over or whip the mast out if this goes on."
Frank dragged at the rope with all his might, but he could not get an inch of it in, and he dared not take his right hand off the tiller for fear of bringing the big mainboom over upon the spinnaker, which would probably have caused a catastrophe. Indeed, he fancied that one was inevitable already, since it seemed impossible that Harry could control the big loose sail which was now wildly hurling itself aloft.
"I can't move it!" he shouted.
Harry came aft with a jump and grasped the guy.
"Now," he said, "together! Get both hands upon it. Hold the tiller with your elbow."
For the next half minute there was a furious struggle, and as the boom went up again Frank felt that they were beaten. His companion, however, hung on desperately, panting hard, and by degrees the boom swung down and back across the boat and the sail flattened out.
"Make fast!" cried Harry breathlessly. "I can manage the sheet."
He floundered forward to the foot of the mast, and when he came back the spinnaker was drawing steadily and the sloop had changed her mode of progress. She no longer rolled viciously or screwed up to windward as she lifted on a sea, but swayed from side to side with a smooth and easy swing, and Frank could steer her with a touch upon the tiller. In spite of that, steering wasticklish work, for the mainboom and the spinnaker boom went up and came down until they raked the glittering brine alternately, and Frank realized that it would be singularly easy to bring one crashing over upon the other. There was no doubt that the boat was sailing very fast, and he hazarded one swift glance over his shoulder at the canoe. She was surging along astern, hove up with her forward half out of the water, and a seething mass of foam hiding the rest of her. Harry, however, glanced forward somewhat anxiously.
"That boom's lifting too much," he said. "One of us ought to sit on it. Do you feel able to steer her?"
Frank said that he believed he could manage it.
"Well," said Harry, "if you jibe either sail across you'll either pitch me in or break my leg, even if you don't roll the boat over. Sing out the moment you feel her getting too hard upon the helm."
Scrambling forward, he crawled out along the spinnaker boom, to which he clung precariously, lifted up high one moment and the next swung down until his feet were just above the foam. Sometimes they splashed in, and Frank, bracing himself until every nerve was strung up, felt horribly uneasy. In spite of that, the wild rush through the glittering water which boiled about the boat was wonderfully exhilarating. She seemed a mass of straining sail which swayed in the moonlight above an insignificant strip of hull half buried in snowy foam. Over her black mainsail peak dim wisps of clouds went streaming by, and from all around there was a tumult of stirring sound—the clamor at the bows, the swish of water as the canoe came charging up to her, and the splash of tumbling seas. Everything ahead, however, was hidden by the sail, and he was wondering where the other boat was when Harry called to him.
"Slack the guy a foot or two and let her come up a little. Don't let it get the run of you or you'll pitch me in."
Frank was very cautious as he eased the rope out around a cleat, after which, when the spinnaker boom had drawn forward, he found that he could luff the boat. When she had swerved from her course a trifle he could see the other boat close ahead, and it gave him some idea how fast both craft were traveling. She seemed nothing but sail. Indeed, except for the torn-up track of foam that marked her passage, she looked much less like a boat than some wonderful phantom thing flying at an astonishing speed across the sea. Swiftly as she sped, however, there was no doubt that the sloop was creeping up on her, and Frank felt himself quivering all through as the distance between them lessened yard by yard. Then suddenly the contour of her canvas changed and she swung around from leeward across the sloop's bows. Frank's heart gave a sudden leap as he wondered what he must do and his nerve almost deserted him, until Harry called again.
"More guy!" he sang out. "They're trying to luff us. We must keep their weather."
Although fearful that it might overpower him, Frank slacked the guy out inch by inch, and as the sloop came up a little farther he saw the whole of the other boat again. The sloop's bowsprit was level with her quarter. She was scarcely a dozen yards away, leaping, plunging, swaying through a flung-up mass of foam, but they were steadily drawing up with her, and the boy could have shouted in the fierce excitement of the moment. Two or three minutes later they were clear ahead. He could no longer see the other boat, and he dared not risk a glance back at her. Indeed, it was a relief to him when Harry came scrambling aft.
"We'll get that guy in again," he said. "Unless something gives out, those folks won't catch us up."
They had a desperate struggle with the guy, but Harry laughed gayly when they had made it fast.
"They'll follow us on to Bannington's, sure," he said."We should be there in half an hour, and I don't mind allowing that I'll be glad to get some of this sail off her."
After a while a black bank of cloud spread across the moon, and Frank wondered anxiously how much of the half hour had gone. He had now only the pull on the tiller to guide him as they drove on furiously, and the strain of concentrating all his faculties on his task was beginning to tell on his strength. Once or twice he imagined that he came perilously near to bringing the mainboom over, and he would have called Harry to the helm if he had felt certain that he could cling to the slender lurching spar as well as his comrade could. He was getting nervous, and the seething rush of water past the boat was becoming bewildering.
At length, however, he made out a dark and hazy mass over the edge of the mainsail, which he supposed was land, and in another few minutes a blinking light appeared. He called to Harry, who merely twisted himself around on the boom with the object of looking out beneath the sail and then told him to keep her heading as she was. After that the land rose rapidly, growing blacker, and a second light appeared. This was closer to them and Frank, thinking he saw it move, noticed a green blink beneath it.
Presently both lights disappeared behind the sail, and some minutes later Frank almost let go the tiller as the deep blast of a steamer's whistle rang out close ahead. On the instant Harry swung himself down from the boom.
"Let go your guy!" he shouted. "Down helm; get the mainsheet in!"
Frank could never clearly remember all that followed in the next two or three minutes during which he was desperately busy. He let the spinnaker guy run, and the big sail which heaved up the spar beneath it swung wildly forward. Then he shoved down his helm, and the mainboom slashed furiously as the boat came up toward the wind. The sheet blocks seemed to be banging everywhere about him as he hauled at the rope, and he could hear nothing but the savage thrashing of loosened canvas. Harry was struggling forward with a mass of billowing sail that threatened to sweep him off the narrow deck, while flying ropes whipped about him. Presently, out of the din, there rose another sonorous blast of the steamer's whistle.
The next moment Frank saw her, heading, it seemed, straight for them, blazing with tiers of lights, and in almost nerveless haste he pulled up his tiller. The bolt fell off, he saw Harry flung down with the spinnaker rolling about him, and he scarcely dared to breathe as the rows of lights ahead lengthened and the black wedge of the steamer's bows faded from his sight. It was now her side he was gazing at, and it was evident that she was swinging around. In less than another minute she had forged past them, and leaving the helm he scrambled forward to aid his companion. For a moment they had a brief struggle with flying ropes and billowing sail, and then they clambered back into the well, where Frank sat down with a gasp of fervent satisfaction.
"Well," he panted, "I'm glad that's over, and you had better take the helm. I've had enough."
Harry glanced toward the steamer, which was growing less distinct.
"A close call!" he remarked. "It looked as if she was going slap over us. I couldn't see her sooner because of the sail. She's running into Bannington's."
They heard her whistle a little later, but they were then close in with a shadowy point of land, and looking back Frank made out a faint blur on the water far behind them which he knew must be the other boat. When he pointed it out Harry laughed.
"They can't see us against the land, but I've an idea they'll be in soon enough to learn the steamer didn'tpick one of us up," he said. "That will start them wondering why we drove her so hard and where we've gone. Now you had better get the stove lighted and the supper on."