CHAPTER XXILON PLAYS DETECTIVE
“See that, sonny?” Lon, having captured Sam at the gate and led him to the privacy of the barn, had taken a wrench from a shelf and was displaying the implement with much complacency. “’Member it? Ought to! It’s the wrench I told you the other day was lost, strayed or stolen.”
“Oh!” said Sam. “And so you found it?”
Lon chuckled. “Wal, I did sort o’ stumble on it, as you might say. Only there was more’n plain stumblin’ involved, seein’ as how I had to take it away from Peter Groche. And Peter don’t willingly give up what ain’t his—not so long as he has his health.”
“Then Peter’s turned up again!”
“He’s turned up—this afternoon. Guess he’s turned down again, though, before this. I’ll tell you how ’twas.”
“Wait a minute! If he had the wrench,he’d stolen it from us. If he stole it, there’s no doubt left that he played all the other tricks!”
Lon thrust a hand into the bosom of his coat, and struck an attitude.
“Now what do you think o’ me as a sleuth? Ain’t I a reg’lar Shylock Holmes?”
“Sherlock Holmes,” corrected Sam.
“Oh, wal, Shylock’s the name that sort o’ sticks in my head. Guess he must ’a’ been Sherlock’s brother. But then there was Hannibal, too.”
Sam threw up his hands in mock despair. “Go on! Give me the yarn!”
“Wal, me ’n’ Hannibal was goin’ down-town to do an errand for your ma, and we cut across by Lane’s blacksmith shop. The door was open. I was for paradin’ by, unnoticin’, but Hannibal began to growl and scooted for that door. Somethin’ made me whistle him back, and I was tickled I did; for when I peeked in, there was Peter Groche, big as life and uglier’n ever, tryin’ to sell this wrench to old man Lane for a dime. I knew it was ours the minute I clapped eyes on’t, but I jest thought I’d wait a little and listen to what Mr. Grochewas purrin’. And he was explainin’ to Mr. Lane that he’d been away for a day or two, and that he was back in town jest to settle his affairs, ’cause he’d picked up a reg’lar job, choppin’ in the woods up Payne’s Stream, and he was goin’ there soon’s he’d cashed in on a little portable property he had no further use for. And then, seein’ as how Hannibal was gettin’ uneasy, I walked in and took Mr. Groche by the collar, and walked him out o’ the shop, and took away the wrench, and told him I guessed there was one bargain sale he’d have to call off.”
Sam’s eyes were opened widely. “Gee! but it took nerve to tackle him! They say he’s an awful scrapper.”
“Mebbe it wasn’t his scrappin’ day. And, of course, a bull terrier growlin’ ’round a feller’s legs is kinder disconcertin’—say, Sam, Hannibal showed plain enough he’d got a score to even with Groche. Don’t wonder at that! ’Member the mornin’ the dog come limpin’ home? Wal, anyhow, Peter didn’t put up a fight. He jest scowled, and cussed, and swore he’d found the wrench. Then I told him I supposed the wrench must ’a’ met him on thestreet and followed him home, and he shut up on that part of it. Then I called him a thief, and a few other pet names; and he acted queer, I swan he did!”
“What did he do?”
“Swelled up like a frog. Didn’t call names back at me, but behaved contemptuous-like, as if I was a cheap ’un to worry about a plain old wrench. Said he had money enough to buy me; or, anyhow, he knew where he could get a bunch of it for the askin’. Then I laughed at him, and he puffed up more’n ever. What’d I think of an even hundred dollars, heh? Wal, it was his, whenever he chose to say ’bout a dozen words. And there wa’n’t nobody else in Plainville that could say ’em. He knew something, he did! And then he sputtered so there was no makin’ head or tail of his nonsense.”
Sam caught Lon’s arm. “What else happened? Tell me—quick!”
There was an excitement in the boy’s tone that made Lon stare at him.
“Why—what—what’s stirrin’ you up, Sam?” he demanded.
“I’ll tell you afterward. Go on!”
“Huh! That’s what Groche did. You see, Hannibal lost patience and took a nip at his calf, and Peter jest missed kickin’ Hannibal; and it struck me the gaiety of our social circle was gettin’ feverish. So I grabbed Hannibal’s collar, and told Groche that if I saw him again I’d have him arrested for thievin’. Over on the railroad a freight was gettin’ ready to pull out on the branch line. I hinted he’d better jump it, and let it give him a lift, if he was headin’ Payne’s Stream way. And I was sorry he couldn’t stay to collect that ghost hundred dollars he was dreamin’ about, but Hannibal wouldn’t be denied much longer; so he’d better beat it. Which also he done.”
“You mean he ran for the train?”
“Yep! And caught it—saw him.”
“And he’s going to Payne Stream?”
“Looked mighty much that way. But what you drivin’ at, Sam?”
“Wait a minute! Father’s camps are up there, aren’t they?”
“Yes; he’s got gangs lumberin’ three-four places along the stream.”
“Hurrah!” cried Sam.
Lon’s jaw sagged. “What—what in SamHill’s got into you? This ain’t the Fourth of July.”
Sam was still clutching the man’s arm. “Look here, Lon! Wake up! Groche has been up-stream, got a job, come to town for some reason or other. You’ve started him back.”
“Jesso!”
“He boasted he could make a hundred dollars by telling something?”
“That’s what he said.”
“But you didn’t give him a chance to earn the money?”
“No. Still, of course, most likely he was lyin’——”
“For once he may have been speaking the truth. And it happens there’s just one way to pick up a hundred in Plainville so easily.”
“How’s that?”
“By winning the reward for news of Tom Orkney!”
Lon’s expression was crestfallen. “Of all the chuckleheads!” he groaned. “And I didn’t tumble! I guess I’m jest a one-idea-at-a-time feller. But that one idea that I’d got Groche dead to rights on the stealin’ seemedbig as a mountain—hid everything else. But I’ll bet you’re right! Groche spotted the kid up in one o’ them camps on Payne Stream, and came back to collect easy money——”
“Sure he didn’t get it?” Sam broke in.
“Yep! I scared him off. You see, ’twas a mite livelier’n I let on jest now. And what between me ’n’ Hannibal and that wrench—reckon I was wavin’ it sort o’ free and vi’lent—and the risk o’ bein’ arrested—wal, I guess Groche was glad to go while the goin’ was good. Then, too, he may ’a’ figgered he could come back to pick the plum when things had quieted down—see?”
Sam nodded. Lon was no braggart; no doubt the brush with Groche had been very nearly a full-sized fight.
“Wal, what’ll you do now?” Lon queried curiously. “Say! That hundred’d come in pooty handy, eh?”
“Oh, I couldn’t take it!” Sam said quickly. “That doesn’t mean, though——”
There he checked himself; wheeled; and strode toward the house. His brain was working actively; a plan was taking shape, a plan hard to execute, perhaps, yet not impossible.And if it could be carried out, it might go far toward wiping out the balance against the Safety First Club in the matter of Tom Orkney.
Sometimes Fortune comes to meet those who seek her favors. No sooner had Sam set foot in the house than he realized that there was an unusual air of excitement in the normally tranquil establishment. Nor had he long to wait for enlightenment.
The supper bell rang, and very willingly he took his place at table; for, as has been set forth, his cares had not blunted his appetite. Three minutes later, however, he had laid down knife and fork, and was listening eagerly.
“We ought to make a fairly early start in the morning,” his father remarked. “Warren will arrive on the nine o’clock train this evening, and can get a good night’s rest. Perhaps we’d better have breakfast about seven.”
Mr. Warren was the New Yorker Mr. Parker was to take into the woods! And they were to depart in the morning for the camps on Payne Stream!
“Father!” cried Sam.
Mr. Parker glanced in surprise at his son. “Well, what is it, young man?” he asked.
“The biggest favor I ever begged of you! Take me with you!”
“On this trip?”
“Yes, sir. I can’t tell you how much I want to go.”
Mr. Parker shook his head doubtfully. “It’s a long haul—we’re going in to the new camps, and maybe beyond them. I’m afraid——”
“But it’s such a tremendous favor, Father!”
“Exactly! But——” Mr. Parker paused. He had noted Sam’s earnestness; had marked how the boy was bending forward, and how his hands gripped the edge of the table. “But, you see——” Now he had caught his wife’s eye, and again hesitated. For some strange reason she was endorsing her son’s plea. He read the unspoken message; he saw her little nod of affirmation. “Why—why, give me a moment to consider,” he concluded.
“It’s vacation, you know,” said Mrs. Parker softly.
“I know—but I hadn’t thought of——”
“But you’ll think of it now, won’t you?” implored Sam.
Once more husband and wife exchanged glances.
“The fact that I hadn’t thought of taking you, Sam, doesn’t bar considering the proposition now,” said Mr. Parker. “Well, I dare say it can be arranged if——”
“Bully!” cried Sam enthusiastically. “Oh, but that’s fine, sir! And I want my crowd to go—the club—you know, sir!”
“What!”
“Yes, the club—all of ’em. That’s the best part of it.”
“Possibly—for the club,” said Mr. Parker drily. “But I’m not planning a wholesale migration.”
“Still,” suggested Mrs. Parker, “there’s the big sleigh.”
“There is.”
“And the boys wouldn’t mind a little crowding.”
“Not they! Warren may have prejudices.”
“You can share the front seat with him. And I believe the roads are well broken.”
“Only so far as the first camp.”
“But that’ll do for us,” cried Sam. “You can leave us there, and go on with Mr. Warren,and pick us up when you come back. You won’t be more than a couple of days away from us, and we’ll keep out of mischief.”
“Why not put Lon in charge of the boys?” added Mrs. Parker.
Her husband laughed outright. “It’s no use—I’m outvoted two to one! But that is a happy thought about Lon. And jammed as we’ll be, an extra passenger will make little difference. Only understand, son!” He turned to Sam. “You’ve promised good behavior. Don’t forget that.”
Sam was grave enough. “I won’t forget that I’m on probation, sir. But—but then it’s settled?”
“You may consider it so.”
“Whoop! Excuse me, please!” Up sprang Sam so hastily that his chair was almost overturned. He dashed into the hall and caught up the telephone.
Mr. Parker glanced inquiringly at his wife.
“There’s more animation than I’ve seen manifested for weeks,” he observed. “Sam has seemed to be rather subdued lately.”
“I’ve noticed it. And I confess I haven’t understood it.”
“Effect of his escapade with my gun, perhaps?”
“Not wholly. I’m sure there’s something else on his mind.”
From the hall floated Sam’s eager voice:
“Course your folks will let you go, Step. Make ’em, make ’em!... Yes, yes; I tell you there’s a special reason. Biggest chance that ever happened!... No, no; I can’t tell you now, but we’ll get the gang to the club, and you’ll have the whole story.... No, no—just bring along your snow-shoes.... But you’ve got to come—every fellow’s got to!... What’s that?... Sure, there’s a clue!... No; I shan’t talk over the wire.... Get permission to come along; that’s all you need worry about.... Say, hang up now, won’t you? I want to catch Poke and the rest before any of ’em go out for the evening.”
Mr. Parker smiled quizzically. “My dear lady,” he said, “I confess that I find difficulty in comprehending the mental processes of your son.”
His wife gave a little sigh. “Ah! Sam is too much for me sometimes. And this is oneof the times. But”—and her face brightened—“but I’m confident he has some excellent reason for setting his heart on this expedition.”
“Well, I hope so, at least,” said Mr. Parker, rather resignedly.