Several days had passed, finding the Pony Rider Boys in the same camp where Cale Vaughn had left them. They had got along very well, indeed, and though Charlie John was not much of a talker, he had done his work well, taking the boys out every day for long jaunts, on which the Professor had formed the habit of accompanying them.
Professor Zepplin was finding much to interest him in the great forests, and especially in the methods pursued by woodsmen in making their way through the forests. The trees, the bushes, the foliage and the birds and animals had taken on a new meaning, a new interest to the Professor, just as these things had taken on a new and absorbing interest for the boys under his charge.
Of course Cale Vaughn was greatly missed by everyone. He was the most interesting guide that had ever accompanied them. For one thing, they had learned more from Cale than from any other guide. The only way they could learn from Charlie John was by observation, as he never deemed it necessary to explain anything to them, for which reason they pressed him hard for information and drew him out by frequent questionings.
The Pony Rider Boys finally decided that they would like to move, so the camp was struck, their equipment packed and loaded on to the ponies. Then one morning they started out on a two days' journey, finally locating in a new camp some thirty miles from the old camp. The country had become more rugged, the rocks were higher, the country cut up by deep valleys and narrow passes. But the bracing fragrance of the spruce woods was still in their nostrils. It was a country of evergreens, of mossy silver birches and watery maples. The ground itself was sprinkled with small red berries, strewn with damp and moss-grown rocks, with the songs of the birds filling the air overhead. The Pony Rider Boys voted it the most entrancing environment in which they ever had been. They were glad they had moved on. Now they were eager to explore the new country, so a start was made on an exploring trip on the following day, but traveling was slow owing to the rugged nature of that part of the forest.
On the second day in the new camp they journeyed so far to the north that they decided to make a temporary camp and spend the night, returning the next morning. The night was passed uneventfully, but upon their return to the permanent camp they were met with a most unpleasant surprise.
"Someone has been here," cried Tad the moment he came in sight of the camp.
"Thieves!" yelled Chunky.
"What—what?" demanded the Professor.
The contents of the tents lay strewn about the camp; everything was in disorder.
"Plenty bear come here," grunted Charlie after a glance at the condition of the camp.
"Bears!" cried the boys.
The Indian nodded.
"Him get plenty eat."
"Oh, pshaw! Our provisions are ruined," groaned Tad.
"Even the canned goods have been ruined," added Ned.
"Are—are my canned peaches gone?" wailed Stacy.
"You may see for yourself," answered Tad.
"This is most disconcerting," muttered the Professor. "How about the meat?"
"All gone," answered Tad.
"I reckon we shall have to live on spruce bark for the rest of our journey," averred Ned.
"We can't very well do that," answered Butler. "Let's go over the outfit and see what we really have left."
What they had was not enough to cut much figure in the face of the appetites of the Pony Rider Boys. A few of the canned things were untouched. There was coffee, though they had to scrape it up from the ground after it had been pawed over by the marauders, but the boys were glad enough to have the coffee even in such a condition. Tad said he guessed the bears had not made it unfit to drink.
Of course they had some provisions in their packs, left over from their trip into the mountains, but a careful inventory led them to the conclusion that, with the most rigid economy, they would be able to get along not longer than three days with what provisions they still had.
"I reckon I had better go out and kill another moose," decided Stacy Brown.
"You have done quite enough in that direction already," answered Tad. "We are fortunate if we don't get into trouble over that killing of yours."
"This is serious," spoke up the Professor. "What shall we do, Charlie?"
"Me kill deer," said the Indian.
"Deer are out of season. We don't want to do anything of that sort, except as a last resort," replied Butler. "We simply must have some more provisions."
"Send Stacy around to the corner grocery for a fresh supply," suggested Rector.
No one laughed at Ned's silly jest. Their situation was too serious for joking.
"Charlie, how far are we from a town?" asked Tad.
"Mebby twenty, mebby thirty miles," answered the Indian, counting up on his fingers.
"What town is it?"
"Matungamook."
"That's a funny name," chuckled Stacy.
"Your name will be more funny if we don't get something to eat pretty soon," returned Tad, at which Chunky's face grew solemn. When it came to a question of food, the fat boy was deeply interested.
"That's so," nodded Rector.
"Professor, it is my opinion that we should send Charlie to—to—the place with the unpronounceable name for fresh supplies," said Tad, turning to Professor Zepplin.
"How long will it take?"
"Can you make it in two days, Charlie?"
The Indian nodded.
"Mebby more, mebby less."
"Then I guess we had better send you."
"I want to go, too," piped Chunky.
"It might not be a bad idea," agreed the Professor.
"Do you need any one, Charlie?" asked Tad.
"Me take fat boy. Fat boy help carry grub."
"He will carry the large part of it inside of him if you don't watch out, and that won't do us any good," declared Ned Rector.
"Then you had better take two ponies," suggested Butler.
"Me walk," answered the Indian.
"Just as you choose," agreed the Professor. "I would suggest, though, that you take a horse. You won't be able to carry enough provisions otherwise."
"Me walk," insisted Charlie John.
"Let him walk," urged Ned. "He will carry as much as a horse, and Stacy's mount will take care of the rest."
"I am not sure that we ought to let Chunky go," mused Tad. "He may get into further trouble, and Charlie might not be able to get him out of it."
"Me take care fat boy," answered Charlie John confidently.
"All right, Charlie. We will hold you responsible. Get back as soon as you can. Shall you see Mr. Vaughn?"
The Indian shook his head. Mr. Vaughn, as they understood it, had gone to another place. They hoped to see him back at the camp again ere many days had passed.
"Get your packs ready, Stacy," advised Ned.
"I will look out for that, Ned," answered Tad. "I know what they need for carrying the stuff. You and the Professor might make out a list of supplies needed while I am getting the other things ready."
This the Professor did, with the assistance of Rector and Walter Perkins, Stacy Brown changing his clothes so that he might be more presentable upon entering a town. Frequent consultations with Tad were had, however, as to what was needed for the outfit. Tad had ideas and he expressed them forcibly.
Finally all was in readiness, the Indian and the boy taking barely enough provisions to last them until they should have reached their destination, probably on the following morning.
Good-byes were said and Stacy, with Charlie John striding ahead, leading the way, left the camp. They were quickly swallowed up in the dense forest. Tad stood gazing after them, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"I don't know whether we have done the wise thing or not," he mused.
"I'll go you a new sombrero that Chunky gets mixed up in some sort of a mess before he gets back to this camp," offered Ned Rector.
"He is in good hands," answered the Professor.
"I guess he will be all right," decided Tad. "The guide has nothing else to do except to look after Stacy until they get to town. He surely will not get into mischief there."
"Not get into mischief there?" jeered Ned. "I should like to see the place in which Stacy Brown couldn't get into trouble."
"I am quite sure that Stacy will be careful," observed the Professor smilingly.
"If you fellows will lend a hand we will try to put this camp to rights," said Tad. "It looks as if it had been struck by a Kansas cyclone, except that the trees are all standing in this locality."
"I agree with you. Where shall we begin?" asked Walter.
"You get the tent belongings back in place and I will gather up what is left of the provisions. This is a fine mess of porridge."
"It wouldn't be so bad if we had some porridge," declared Rector.
"There is another thing to be taken into consideration," reminded Tad, pausing in his work. "We must not leave the camp unguarded again. We must also keep watch during the night. Those bears may come back. They appear to like our grub."
"You think they may come back with some of their friends?" questioned Perkins.
"I wouldn't be surprised if they did," answered Tad with a smile. "But they will get a hot reception if they do. I can promise them that much."
"I hope they come back, then," laughed Ned. "Some nice bear steak would not go so badly just now, in the present state of our pantry and pork barrel."
"That's so," agreed Tad. "One steak would be enough. We don't need quite as many bears as visited us the first time."
That day came to a close quickly. Tad remained up, staying on guard until three o'clock in the morning, when he called Ned to take his place. Ned could be depended upon to keep a vigilant watch. As it turned out, there was no need for a watch of any kind. No bears appeared, nor was the camp molested in any other way.
That day was spent by the boys in making short excursions into the woods, blazing their way, making trails, and putting into practice the theories in woodcraft learned from Cale Vaughn. Fortunately none of the party got lost. Tad saw to it that they did not get far enough away for that. Besides, he had agreed with the Professor, who remained to watch the camp, to have him blow a horn once every hour. That would serve to guide the boys back in case they lost their way, which they did not.
The second morning arrived with no sign of the Indian or of Chunky. This did not cause serious alarm, but when three days had elapsed, and still no travelers, Tad Butler began to get uneasy. This uneasiness on his part was shared by Professor Zepplin, while Ned Rector's face wore an "I-told-you-so" expression.
It was somewhere about three o'clock on the morning of the fourth day when Tad, who was on watch, caught a sound that he thought was caused by a horse crashing through the bushes. The boy did not arouse the camp, but stood waiting with rifle held at ready in the crook of his right arm.
A few moments later Charlie John burst into the camp astride of a pony, white lather standing out all over the body of the little animal. Charlie was alone.
"Where is Stacy Brown?" demanded Tad sharply.
"Fat boy Matungamook," grunted the Indian, slipping from the pony. He thrust a folded sheet of brown wrapping paper toward Tad. The boy now knew that something had happened to Chunky. Quickly opening the paper and holding it down in the light of the campfire, Tad read what was written on the sheet. This is the message he read written in a lead pencil scrawl:
"Come quickly. I'm in jail in 'Ugamook.""STACY"
"Professor!" yelled Tad Butler excitedly.
"P-R-O-OFESSOR!"
Professor Zepplin came tumbling from his tent clad in his pajamas, wild eyed, his whiskers bristling excitedly.
"What is it?"
A few seconds behind the Professor came Ned Rector, and behind him Walter Perkins, each in a similar state of undress.
"Trouble in plenty," answered Tad, thrusting the piece of brown wrapping paper toward the Professor.
The Professor snatched the paper and holding it towards the fire as Tad had done, peered, rubbed his eyes, then peered again.
"I—I can't read it. I'm not awake yet. What does it say?" he demanded impatiently.
"Stacy Brown is in jail, fellows," answered Tad Butler solemnly.
"In jail?" gasped the two boys.
"Yes."
"What's this? What's this?" cried the Professor.
"How—how do you know?" stammered Walter Perkins.
"I have his word for it. This note says so, and it is in Stacy's handwriting. He was very much excited when he wrote it."
A tense silence followed Tad's announcement, broken a few seconds later by a loud laugh from Ned Rector.
"What did I tell you?" he jeered.
"Perhaps Charlie can tell us what has happened," suggested Walter.
Tad turned sharply to the Indian. Charlie was nearer to being excited than the boys ever before had seen him.
"Will you be good enough to explain this affair?" demanded Tad.
"Man git um."
"What man?"
"Me not know."
"But what for?" cried the Professor.
"Charlie not know."
"Have they got Stacy in jail now?" begged Walter.
"Man take um away."
"How did you get this letter, then?"
"Man bring um to me. Say take to you. Fat boy, him scared."
"I should think he had reason to be," muttered Tad. "What do you think, Professor?"
"I can't think. My head is in a whirl."
"What had Master Stacy been doing, Charlie?" demanded Tad, again turning to the guide.
"Me not know. Me get stuff. Me bring um here. While me get stuff, fat boy go hotel. Me not see um again. Me hurry, ride fast, make pony all soap like wash tub."
"When—when did you leave there?" questioned the Professor.
"Last night."
"Then you rode all night?"
"Ride fast all night. Pony git sick in the legs and fall down once. Me not care. Why Charlie care? Fat boy git trouble plenty. No care horse die. He say come quick, eh?"
"Yes, that is what he says," answered Tad, smiling faintly.
"Then come. Mebby Charlie kill horse. Charlie not care for horse. Charlie like um fat boy."
"Professor, there is only one thing to be done. Some of us must go back there at once. Perhaps you and I had better start."
Professor Zepplin reflected.
"It would be better were we all to go. I don't care to leave one or two of you boys here."
"But that will detain us too long," objected Butler.
"That makes no difference. Matters no doubt will be held in abeyance until our arrival. Then, again, we may not get back here at once."
"If that is going to be done we had better leave our provisions here. We can't afford to be burdened with them on our way back. We shall no doubt return this way, when we can pick the stuff up. We will take enough for our meals on the way, but that must be all. Have you decided that we shall all go, Professor?" questioned Tad.
"Yes, yes, by all means. Make haste!"
"Charlie, help strike the tents. We've got to take them along and our kits," ordered Tad.
"Boys, sail in and help Charlie. I will cache the provisions and mark the trees so we shall know where to find them when we return."
"Oh, this is too bad," mourned Walter.
"Serves the little rascal right," retorted Rector. "Maybe this will teach him a lesson. What do you think it is, Tad?"
"I am sure I don't know. I haven't the least idea what he could have done that would have caused him to be arrested."
"Well, no use to guess about it. We shall know when we get there—"
"Go dress yourselves. You can't go that way," declared Tad, pausing long enough to observe that the two boys were still in their pajamas. Thus admonished, they hurried to their tent, returning very quickly with their clothes on. Then the boys got to work with a will. While Stacy's pony, that Charlie had ridden back, was lying down resting, Charlie got the other ponies in readiness, strapping the packs to their backs as fast as he could work. Charlie John was in as much of a hurry as the rest. The Indian had grown fond of Stacy Brown, and felt very bad to know that the fat boy had got into such trouble. Charlie held the law in deep awe.
Daylight was upon them long before they were ready to start for the village of Matungamook. Ned Rector declared that, if Chunky's offense was as ugly as the name of the town, nothing short of hanging would be bad enough for him.
"I think we are ready now," said Tad finally, walking slowly about the camp to make sure that nothing had been left. He had laid aside a small supply of food for their use while on the way out, deciding that they could get all they wanted to eat when they got to the town.
At last they were in their saddles. Charlie had mounted Stacy's pony. The little animal appeared to be weak in the knees. Tad, good horseman that he was, felt sure the pony never would be able to make the journey without giving out before they had reached their destination.
"Charlie, you get on my horse. I will take a run. That pony can't carry you."
"No, me run," answered the Indian, grasping the bridle rein and starting off.
"Come back here! I was going to foot it," Tad called after him.
"Me run. Me said me run," flung back the guide, increasing his swift stride to a long lope.
"Hold on, hold on," cried the Professor. "You will have us lost in five minutes at this rate. You keep in sight of us all the time. Remember, we do not know our way to the town."
Charlie John slowed down with evident reluctance. The party now settled down to a slow but steady trot. The guide was choosing the easiest trail possible, knowing that better time would be made that way than by a shorter cut over rougher ground. Had he been alone he could have reached his destination in much better time by taking a course as the crow flies, regardless of the roughness of the trail.
The party did not halt until shortly after midday, when they stopped to give the stock rest and water and to take a bite on their own account.
"Chunky ought to get about twenty years for causing us all this trouble," declared Ned during the halt.
"You wouldn't think so, perhaps, were you in Chunky's place," rebuked Tad.
"But I wouldn't be."
"You can't tell. You may be some time; then you will be mighty glad to have your friends hurry to your assistance."
"Yes, but what are you going to do when you get there?" insisted Ned.
"We can tell better when we get there."
"If he has done something very bad he will be punished for it, that's all."
"Stacy hasn't done anything so terrible. Take my word for that," answered Butler sharply. "You will find that he has unwittingly got himself into difficulties. Chunky isn't bad. He is imprudent and he likes to talk and glorify himself and exaggerate things. I shouldn't be surprised if that were where the trouble lies in this instance."
"Ah! I have an idea," cried Ned.
"I thought you would get something through your head after a while," chuckled Tad.
"What time shall we reach our destination, Charlie?" called the Professor.
"Mebby soon, mebby not so soon," was the indefinite reply of the Indian. Tad laughed.
"Is that perfectly clear?" he asked.
"About as clear as a watering hole on the plains after the cattle have drunk their fill," replied Rector. Professor Zepplin smiled grimly, but he did not seek for further information at that time.
Late in the afternoon Stacy's pony went lame, and a halt was made while Tad examined the little animal's foot. He found that a sharp sliver had been driven into the frog. Blood was streaming from the wound. With a pair of forceps the boy carefully extracted the splinter, then washed the wound out with an ointment that he carried with him.
"Will he be able to go on?" questioned Walter.
"Yes. He will be lame, but it isn't half so bad as if he had gone lame in the shoulder. We must slow down for half an hour or so, and I think you will find he will go along better after that."
It was as Tad had said. The pony began to show less lameness in exactly thirty minutes from the time the boy had removed the hardwood splinter. In an hour, though weary, the pony was walking as naturally as ever.
Just before dark another stop was made. All hands were tired by this time, the ponies more so than their riders. Saddles, packs and bridles were removed, giving the stock a chance to lie down and get all the rest that the halt would permit.
Tad suggested that they would gain time by stopping at least two hours, giving the horses a chance to get a little sleep. The others agreed to this with poor grace. They were in a hurry to be on, still, they realized that Tad was the best judge of horseflesh in the party.
It was ten o'clock at night when they again took up their journey. There was a bright moon high up in the heavens, but it did little good in guiding them, as only now and then did a bar of light penetrate the denseness of the forest. Ned went to sleep in his saddle shortly after midnight and fell forward on his pony's neck when the animal stumbled over an unseen tree trunk. It gave the boy a sudden jolt, but was attended with no more severe consequences, although it aroused the laughter of his companions.
"Matungamook," grunted Charlie John, halting sharply at half past two o'clock in the morning.
"Where?" questioned Tad.
The guide pointed. Butler could not see anything that looked like a town, but the guide appeared to be sure of himself.
"How far?" he asked.
"Mebby mile, mebby half mile," grunted Charlie.
"Professor, if Charlie is right, the town lies over in that valley. I don't suppose it will do any good to go in now. Everyone must be asleep. There is not a light to be seen."
"No, we would gain nothing by so doing," replied Professor Zepplin.
"Then what do you propose—to sit down on the ground here and wait for daylight?" demanded Rector.
"I would suggest that we pitch a camp right here, if there is water handy," said Tad.
"Plenty water," the guide informed them.
"Very good, Tad; go ahead."
Ned and Walter were too sleepy to be of much use. Tad kept stirring them up, but without results. He and the guide and the Professor were very much awake, and within the hour had pitched two tents and built a campfire, beside which they were warming themselves while a pot of hot water was steaming over the fire for an early morning cup of tea.
Tad was waiting impatiently for morning. The others wished it were much further away, for then they would have a longer time to sleep. Tad was worried, too, about Chunky, who, he had every reason to believe, was in serious difficulties.
After a time Butler lay down, but he did not sleep at all. Instead he lay gazing out and up at the stars, waiting for the day to break. Dawn would soon be there. He knew that by the faint twittering of the birds in the trees and that restless stirring of nature—the advance guard of a new-born day.
Tad got breakfast before any of the others awakened. Even Charlie John was sleeping soundly after his two days and nights on the trail, and it was not until Tad dropped the frying-pan that the Indian woke up.
Tad nodded to Charlie to call the others. Ned and Walter got up complaining at being disturbed. At breakfast it was decided that Tad and Charlie should go into town to find out what trouble Stacy was in, and the two started shortly after breakfast. The public house, bearing a sign painted in yellow letters reading, "Mountain View House," caught the glances of Charlie.
"Um git fat boy there."
"That is where we will go then," answered Tad, turning towards the hotel. There were few persons on the streets of the little mountain village, though later in the season many summer visitors would be there, filling the hotel and the boarding houses, for Matungamook was popular with many during the hot months of summer.
Tad entered the hotel. The only man he saw was the porter.
"I am looking for a young man named Brown—Stacy Brown—who came to town with this guide after provisions. I understand he has fallen into some trouble," said Tad.
"He belong to your outfit?" asked the porter, eyeing Tad with impassive face.
"Yes, sir."
"I reckon he's the fellow Jed Whitman took in yesterday, ain't he?"
"I don't know who took him in. Who is Jed Whitman?"
"Game warden for this section."
"Oh! Why did he take Brown?"
"Violation of the game laws. He shot a moose down in Moquin Valley."
Tad Butler understood now. He had suspected the truth almost from the beginning. Chunky had been talking again.
"Will you tell me where the jail is?"
"Jail? There ain't no jail here. I reckon Jed's got the younker over to his house. He's waitin' for Squire Halliday to come back. The squire's been down to Bangor, else they would have tried the younker yesterday."
Tad was thankful for the business that had called the squire to Bangor, and he hoped the justice would return in a pleasant frame of mind.
"Will you tell me where Mr. Whitman lives?"
The porter stepped out into the street, and, pointing down to the lower end, said:
"That yaller house on the right."
"Thank you," answered Tad, starting off.
"Charlie, do you understand now? They arrested Stacy for killing that moose. The game warden has him at his house down yonder. Master Stacy is not in jail at all. Now you run back to the camp and tell Professor Zepplin. Tell him he had better come in and wait for me at the hotel. I will meet him there in about an hour. Do you understand?"
"Me know. Game warden git fat boy. Fat boy kill moose." Charlie made a motion of drawing a knife across his throat.
"Yes. And the game warden has him at his home."
Charlie started off at a lope. Tad turned and continued on down the street toward the yellow house, where he rang the bell. The door was opened by a tall, raw-boned, keen-eyed man, who himself looked as though he might be a mountain ranger.
"Is Mr. Whitman at home?" asked Tad politely.
"I'm Whitman. What you want?"
"I came to see if you had Stacy Brown here?"
"I reckon I have. Who be you?"
Butler introduced himself, at the same time stating that the rest of their party was encamped about a mile from the village. He asked why Stacy was being held, and was told what he already knew.
"How did you know that he had killed a moose?" asked Tad.
"Well, I reckon every feller in town knew about that before the younker had been here half an hour," grinned the Warden.
Tad understood. No need to ask any more questions along that line.
"Is there any way in which this matter may be squared?" asked Tad.
"I reckon the only way is to wait for Squire Halliday's decision," answered Jed with a twinkle in his eyes.
"I didn't mean that I wanted to try to bribe you," laughed Tad, with slightly heightened color. "I thought perhaps an explanation might be all that was necessary."
"What is your explanation?"
Tad's bump of caution swelled. He declined to discuss the matter so long as Stacy was to be brought before the justice. He asked if he might see Chunky, and was told that the fat boy was asleep. Jed offered, however, to wake the fat boy up, which he did. Chunky lost no time when told that a boy named Butler was downstairs waiting to see him.
"Chunky would sleep if the world were coming to an end," muttered Tad.
The object of his thoughts bolted into the room only about half clad.
"Oh, Tad!" wailed Stacy. "I'm in an awful fix! I've got myself arrested, all on account of that bull moose."
"No. On account of your talk. It's a pity you aren't tongue-tied sometimes."
"Have you come to take me away?"
"I have come hoping to get you away."
"Wait till I get my coat and hat and I'll go with you."
"Perhaps you had better speak to Mr. Whitman about that first," suggested Butler.
Whitman shook his head.
"Can't let him go. He's in my charge until the justice disposes of the case."
The fat boy's jaw fell perceptibly.
"What will the justice be likely to do with him?"
"How do I know?"
"What can he do if Mr. Brown is found guilty?"
"Send him to jail, or—"
"Oh, wow!" wailed Stacy.
"Fine him or discharge him. I've tried to make young Brown as comfortable as possible, and we've had a pretty good visit, haven't we, Stacy?"
"Ye—yes. You have been like a father to me, but—"
"But what?" twinkled Jed.
"But I'm held up."
"Yes, I reckon you are. I am sorry, Mr. Butler, but I couldn't help it. When some folks came over and told me there was a fellow at the Mountain View who had just killed a moose down Moquin way, I just strolled over town to look into the matter. It didn't take me long to find out what I wanted to know. I saw my duty clear and I did it."
"What did he say?" asked Tad.
"Oh, he told me the whole story," smiled Jed.
"You bet I wouldn't if I had known who you were," retorted Stacy indignantly. "That was taking a mean advantage of a fellow."
"Well, you weren't making much of a secret of the killing yourself, it seemed to me."
Tad nodded at Stacy as much as to say, "You see what comes from talking too much." Stacy lowered his gaze to the floor. His face was very red.
"What time do you look for the justice to return?"
"Squire Halliday? He's home now. He will be at his office about eight o'clock, I reckon. I'll take the young man right over. I don't suppose you want to bail him out?"
"No," reflected Tad. "I think we will leave him with you for the present."
Chunky bristled, but restrained himself, though he would have liked to fall on Tad Butler and pummel him.
"There seems to be nothing more for me to do here, so I will go back to my friends. I am sure we are very grateful to you for your kindness to Mr. Brown, Mr. Whitman."
"Not at all. All in the line of my duty."
"By the way, where is the justice's office?"
"Next door beyond the hotel. You can't miss it. There's a sign on the window near two feet high. But I'd advise you not to try to monkey with the squire. He's touchy."
"I don't intend to monkey with the squire, thank you," answered Tad, bowing himself from the room, followed by the big, staring eyes of Stacy Brown.
Butler walked slowly towards the hotel where he was to meet the Professor, and Tad's face wore a suppressed grin in spite of the seriousness of the situation.
"I thought as much. Still, it isn't fair. He can't hold Chunky on that. Why, the boy was defending himself. If he had told the truth about the affair I am sure they never would have taken him. In all probability he told Jed Whitman a tale of his own bravery and prowess that simply forced that officer to take him in. Well, we shall see."
Professor Zepplin, with Rector and Walter Perkins, was already at the hotel when Tad returned. The Professor was nervously stroking his whiskers.
"Did you see him?" he demanded.
Butler nodded.
"I had a talk with him."
"Well, what about it?"
"I fear we shall not be able to do anything. The justice, Squire Halliday, is a queer old fellow, I guess. There is no telling what he may or may not do, but I think, after he hears the true story, he will let Chunky go with a warning."
"It was on account of the moose?" asked Walter.
"Yes."
"Outrageous! Outrageous!" growled Professor Zepplin. "I'll wager these Mainers don't let a moose get by them, open or closed season."
"I should think not," agreed Tad.
"Have you seen the justice?" asked Ned.
"I have not. Nor do I intend to until I see him in the courtroom," answered Butler. "I am not looking for more trouble. We have enough on hand as it is."
"What time is the case to be called?" asked the Professor.
"Eight o'clock. It is seven o'clock now, so we have an hour to wait."
"How is Stacy taking it?" asked Walter.
"About as usual. He is mad. I think he would try to fight the game warden if he dared," smiled Butler.
"Then he is not locked up?" questioned the Professor.
"Oh, no. I should judge that he is being treated as a member of the family. Mr. Whitman naturally doesn't want Stacy to get out of his sight, now that he has detained him. Well, I'm going out for a walk. Who is going with me?"
"I am," answered Ned promptly.
The two boys returned a few minutes before eight o'clock. Calling for Walter and the Professor they strolled into the office of the justice, where a dozen or more men of the village had already gathered. These eyed the Pony Rider Boys with no little interest, knowing who the boys were by this time, and pretty much everything else about them that anyone in the Maine Woods did know.
The justice, a little, weazened, irritable fellow, came in shortly afterwards. The boys eyed him inquiringly.
"I'd hate to have him sit in judgment on me," whispered Tad to Ned Rector.
"So should I," agreed Ned.
Stacy Brown and Jed Whitman entered the courtroom at this moment, Stacy big-eyed, glancing apprehensively about. His glances caught sight of his friends. Then Stacy threw out his chest pompously. Even though he was virtually a prisoner he felt a certain pride in the thought that all this assemblage was on his account. Chunky walked over and shook hands with his friends.
"Any word you want to send to the friends at home, in case they hang you?" asked Ned.
"The judge won't do anything," answered the fat boy confidently.
"Anyway, I am going to send the story to the paper at home," declared Ned.
"Don't you dare do anything of the sort. I'll thrash you, Ned Rector, if you do that," threatened Stacy, his face very red.
"Where is the prisoner?" snapped the justice.
Whitman nodded towards Stacy.
"Bring him here! Why is he allowed to roam about the room at will?"
Jed beckoned to the fat boy, who walked over and sat down on a bench.
"Get up!" commanded the justice. "Now, Mr. Whitman, we will hear from you."
In the squire's happy-go-lucky way of conducting the hearing, he did not require Brown to testify under oath. It was a hearing typical of the country districts.
"I charge this young man, Stacy Brown, with having violated the game laws by killing a bull moose down in Moquin Valley on the sixteenth day of June," announced the warden.
"What evidence have you of the fact?" demanded the justice.
"His own admissions."
"To whom?"
"Pretty nearly every person in the village. He told them all about it at the hotel. Word was brought to me and I went there. He repeated his story to me in great detail."
"What was done with the carcass?" demanded the justice.
"Part of it was eaten, the rest buried, according to the boy's statement."
"Did he take the antlers?"
"No, the antlers were buried. It seems the guide of the party was to return later and get the antlers out, after the season opens in October."
"Who was the guide?"
"Cale Vaughn. He is at home laid up with a broken ankle, else I should have had him here to give evidence, and perhaps to answer for the killing of the moose."
"He had nothing to do with the killing, did he?"
"Not according to the boy's story."
"Then this court has nothing to do with Cale Vaughn in the present issue. The question is, did the accused kill a moose on the date mentioned in the complaint? I will hear from some of our citizens. Did any other person present in this court hear the statements attributed to the boy Brown?"
Several voices answered in the affirmative. The justice called three men to the stand, one after the other. Each told the same story, the Pony Rider Boys listening with close attention.
"Stacy didn't leave much to the imagination, did he?" whispered Tad in the ear of Ned Rector.
"I should say he didn't. But this must be another moose that he is talking about. This a brand-new story we are hearing."
"It's the same old moose, but with new trimmings," answered Tad.
The evidence of the villagers fully confirmed what Jed Whitman had said; in fact, it was wholly convincing. During all the talking Chunky had stood before the deal table behind which sat the justice, the boy twisting and untwisting his weather-worn sombrero, now and then gazing about him with wide, soulful eyes.
"Reminds me of a yearling calf about to be turned into veal," muttered Ned. Squire Halliday heard the whisper, though not catching the words, and threatened to eject the party from the room if anyone spoke without being asked.
"Stacy Brown, stand up!" commanded the squire.
"I—I am standing up," stammered Chunky. "I've been standing up all the time."
"Silence!"
Chunky shrank within himself.
"The accused will now give his version of the affair," announced the justice.
The accused grew red in the face, but did not speak.
"Give your testimony."
"Tell the court your side of the story," directed Jed.
"I—I didn't mean to do it," stammered the fat boy.
"Then you admit it?" snapped the squire.
"I—I had to do it, or he would have killed me," protested the fat boy.
"Explain."
"I was standing against a tree. I looked up and saw that big thing standing in front of me. I was scared stiff—"
"Moderate your language, young man," commanded the court. "A respectful attitude must be maintained toward this court, or the offender will be severely punished. Proceed."
"He came for me with his head down. I fell over. He butted his head against the tree where I had been standing. Then he fell over, too. I guess the bump must have given him a headache for he didn't get up. I got to my feet and saw him lying there. Then I happened to think of my knife. I jumped in and cut his throat. You see, I was excited."
"Ah!" breathed the court.
"Yes, sir," exclaimed Stacy, warming to his subject. "I cut that moose's throat. I almost cut his head off. I wasn't a bit afraid of that fellow with a back like a giraffe, and ears like a mullen leaf."
"You were not afraid," nodded the justice.
"No, sir, I wasn't. Why, when I first set eyes on him, I just went for him like this." Stacy squared off, and swinging his arms he advanced, sidestepped and ducked. "No, sir. I wasn't afraid. I'm not afraid of any animal that runs on four legs. I made up my mind that he was going to be mine. I wanted a piece of steak from that old moose."
"You could have got away from him, had you wished, could you not?" questioned the justice.
"Got away from him? Of course I could. But why should I want to get away? I wanted him, and I got him."
"Just so," answered the justice dryly. "Who are the members of your party?"
Stacy named them, pointing to each one, the justice eyeing them frowningly. Tad had groaned when Stacy told his story—his second story. He saw that the boy had made his own case as bad as it could be made, through his desire to glorify himself.
"Thaddeus Butler, stand up!" commanded the justice. "What do you know about this case, young man?" he demanded.
"No more than you already have heard, sir."
"Were you a witness to the killing?"
"No, sir."
"When was your attention first attracted to it?"
"When I heard my companion call out."
"Was the moose dead when you reached the scene?"
"Practically."
"Brown had killed it?"
"I supposed so."
"What did he tell you?"
"Something like what he has told to you. I guess the main facts were somewhat similar," answered Tad with a faint smile.
"You ate some of the meat?"
"We did."
"Did your guide, Cale Vaughn, approve of what had been done?"
"He did not. He said it was against the law to kill moose at this time of the year."
"Did he bury the antlers, proposing to return later and get them?"
"We buried the antlers, sir. The moose was dead. No further harm could be done, it seemed to me."
"No, you are right. You had already done quite enough. You had violated the law. You could violate it no further except by killing another moose or a deer. That will be all. Professor Zepplin, stand up. You are in charge of this party, are you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you think you are doing your duty as a law-abiding citizen by permitting one under your charge to violate one of our most sacred laws?"
The Professor's whiskers bristled.
"I do not see how I could have prevented this, sir."
"A proper supervision of your party surely would have kept them from breaking the laws, no matter how lawless—"
"My young men are not lawless, sir," retorted Professor Zepplin indignantly. "They are most respectable, law-abiding young men. What occurred was accidental. I am thoroughly convinced of that. Statements to the contrary are untrue, and—"
"Silence!" thundered Squire Halliday.
"I demand the right to be heard in this matter. If we cannot get justice in this court we shall seek it elsewhere. My young men have done nothing to warrant this high-handed proceeding. One of my party was attacked by an angry beast. He defended himself to the best of his ability. Had he not killed the moose the probability is that the beast would have killed him. Even had this not been the case one or the other of us would have been obliged to shoot the moose to protect ourselves."
The Professor was angry and made no attempt to disguise his feelings. He considered the detention of Stacy Brown a high-handed proceeding and he resented it.
"I have nothing more to say at the present time. I may have occasion to remark further at another time," was the way Professor Zepplin wound up.
"The case appears plain enough. I shall have to give the young man the limit of the law. I am sorry that there is a limit," said the court.
"What? You are going to punish him?" demanded the Professor, bristling.
"Certainly. He admits killing the moose, does he not?"
"Yes," assented the Professor.
"Then I have no alternative. I must pronounce sentence."
Stacy's face grew suddenly pale.
"Stacy Brown, I fine you one hundred dollars and costs. The costs will probably reach twenty-five dollars. Pay your fine or take a jail sentence, whichever you may prefer."
"Oh, help!" moaned the fat boy, gazing about him helplessly.