CHAPTER XIVChristmas Day
“I thinkwe ought to make this outing an annual affair,” said Chet Morton the next morning after the boys had wished one another “Merry Christmas.”
“Why?”
“We get two Christmases out of it. It suits me fine.”
“If you expect to get any presents around here, you’re badly mistaken,” sniffed Joe, putting on his shoes.
“I didn’t. If I had expected any I would have hung up my stocking. But we’ll have a Christmas dinner, anyway. That’ll be the second Christmas dinner this week.”
“If we hadn’t found those supplies, you’d be out of luck for your Christmas dinner to-day. The chicken and the pudding and the Christmas cake were all in those two boxes,” Frank said.
“Didn’t I know it? But everything is all right now.”
“Take a look out the window and see if Hanleigh is snooping around the rocks,” advised Biff.
Chet sped to the window.
“A glorious day!” he reported. “A beautiful, sunshiny Christmas day. The only cloud on the whole horizon is that there is no sign of Mr. Hanleigh. The ice is clear and it looks as if we’ll have some splendid ice-boating this afternoon. But Mr. Hanleigh is not ice-boating this morning. There is snow on the hillside—but our dear friend Hanleigh is not snow-shoeing. But let us not lose hope. He may yet emerge from his hiding place and proceed forth to enjoy the keen Christmas air in the vicinity of Cabin Island, that clear atmosphere that he doesn’t want us to breathe.”
Chet’s rhapsody came to an abrupt halt when Joe hurled a wet towel that caught him squarely on the back of the neck. Frank, who had been appointed cook for the day, put a stop to hostilities by announcing breakfast just then and the lads sat down to piping hot plates of ham and eggs, accompanied by fragrant coffee.
The big surprise came when Frank, with a flourish, drew aside a curtain that had been screening a mysterious table in one corner of the big room. Here, the Hardy boys had put their presents to each other and to their chums. There was a handsome pair of boxing gloves for Biff and a glittering, nickel-plated flashlight for Chet. Frank had given his brother a new watch-chain and Joe, in turn, had given Frank a pair of cuff-links with his initials engraved thereon.
“Well,” said Chet, admiring the flashlight and switching it on and off to see that it was in good working order, after the boys had exchanged thanks for the gifts, “Biff and I thought we were putting something across, too, but you got ahead of us.”
And, going into the kitchen, he emerged with some mysterious-looking parcels which he promptly distributed. These were the presents Biff and Chet had arranged to give the Hardy boys and to each other. Frank received a pair of ski-boots and Joe the same. Biff’s enthusiasm over a punching bag was long and loud, while Chet himself was delighted with a little book of tickets to the best motion picture house in Bayport.
“I see where I won’t do much homework until these tickets are used up,” he said, with a wink.
Their presents having been duly examined and admired, the lads donned their outing clothes, with the exception of Frank. As cook, it was his duty to stay and prepare the Christmas dinner, at the same time keeping an eye on the rocks where the supplies had been hidden. The base of the cliff was in plain view of the big cabin window so there was little danger that the owner of the mysterious notebook would approach unobserved.
“What if he should chance along while you’re all away?”
“We never thought of that,” said Biff, in dismay. “You couldn’t very well handle him alone.”
“How about your rifle?” Joe suggested.
“The very thing! Even if you chaps go as far as the mainland, you will be able to hear a rifle shot. I’ll fire one shot into the air and that will be the signal to come back as quickly as you can. If he tries to get away, you can easily head him off in the ice-boat.”
This arrangement seemed to preclude any possibility of the stranger’s escape if he chanced to show up, so Joe, Chet and Biff trooped out. For the morning, they had decided to stay close to the cabin, “so there won’t be any risk of missing dinner,” as Chet explained, and amuse themselves by fishing through the ice. So, with lines ready and hooks baited with pieces of salt pork, they made their way down the slope and out on the ice.
There they set to work with their hatchets and soon had three holes chopped in the ice. They dropped in their lines and from then on it was a game to see who would catch the first fish. Chet, of course, raised a clamor every few minutes, claiming that he had a bite, but somehow the fish always managed to get away.
“No wonder,” grumbled Biff. “You scare ’em away, with all that racket. Try being quiet for a while and see how it works.”
To the astonishment of the others, Chet actually did manage to refrain from noise for the space of five minutes and the plan evidently had good results—but not for Chet. Joe suddenly gave his line a yank. A silvery body flashed through the air and flopped wildly on the ice.
He had caught a good-sized fish and when it has been despatched, the others returned to the ice-holes with renewed enthusiasm. Within a few minutes, Biff was the fortunate one, and a second fish was laid to rest on the ice beside the first. Chet endured the chaffing of the others, who elaborately complimented him on his skill. A moment later, he gave a yell of delight.
“I’ve got one! I’ve got one!”
He began to haul and tug at the line.
“A whopper!” gasped Chet. “I can hardly pull him in.”
The other boys watched his efforts, their eyes bulging. Chet was struggling with all his might and although he was gradually drawing in his line, there seemed to be a tremendous weight on the end of it.
“Must be a whale!” grunted Chet. “Ah—here he comes!”
He drew in his prize. It rose above the surface of the water. Chet stared at it in disgust.
The “fish” was nothing more than a very battered pail. Chet’s hook had somehow caught the handle. Full of water and mud, the pail had almost broken the stout line by its weight.
Joe and Biff whooped with laughter. Joe gave the pail a kick that sent it back into the water again.
“Some fish!” yelled Joe.
“It wasn’t a whale. It was a pail!”
Chet glared at his companions.
“I’ll show you!” he said.
He baited his hook and again cast in his line. Immediately there was a lively wrench. Chet gave the line a twitch, and this time he did catch a fish. The only drawback to his enjoyment lay in the fact that it was only about four, inches long.
“A sardine!” grinned Joe.
However, Chet placed his capture beside the other fish, just as proudly as though it were a ten-pounder.
“It isn’t any fault that I caught it before it had time to grow a little more. It might just as easily have been a big one,” he said.
The fishing became cold sport after a while, inasmuch as the boys were obliged to stay in the one place and could not move around enough to get exercise. They soon began to feel the cold and before long began to await the sound of the dinner bell. This, as Frank had warned them, would be achieved by banging the poker against a tin pan.
“Well, if our supplies are stolen again, we can live on fish,” remarked Joe cheerfully.
“Not if we depend on Chet to catch them for us,” said Biff. “I’m sure we wouldn’t make much of a meal out of that whale he caught. A little bit tough for my taste.”
Chet was just thinking up a retort in kind when they heard the welcome clatter of the tin pan. With one accord, they hauled in their lines, seized the fish they had caught, and raced madly back to the shore, scrambled headlong up the slope and breathlessly plunged into the cabin.
“What’s the matter?” asked Frank, as they made their hurried entry. “Somebody chasing you?”
“Hunger is chasing us!” declared Chet.
“Dinner is ready. Wash up and hop to it.”
They needed no second invitation. Frank opened the oven door and a delicious odor of browned chicken permeated the cabin. The Christmas pudding, which Mrs. Hardy had prepared before the boys left Bayport, was already steaming, and the table was loaded high with good things, pickles, potatoes, “and all the trimmings.”
The boys later vowed that of all the Christmas dinners they had ever eaten, with all due respect to the dinners they had sat down to at home, the one that would remain longest in their memories would be the Christmas feast they devoured during their outing on Cabin Island.
The afternoon they spent quietly, trying out their skis on the sloping hillsides on the eastern side of the island. This exhilarating sport made the hours pass quickly, and when the winter twilight fell the boys returned to the cabin, weary and happy.
“The best Christmas ever!” they voted it.
“Well,” said Frank, as they sat about the fireplace that evening, “the man who lost the notebook didn’t show up to-day.”
“He’ll be back,” said Joe.
“And we’ll be ready for him.”
“Perhaps he hasn’t missed it yet,” suggested Biff.
“Perhaps not. What I’m afraid of,” Frank said, “is that he won’t consider it important enough to come back for.”
“Important! Why, the cipher is in it!” exclaimed Joe.
“Yes, but he knows the cipher by heart, no doubt. And the very fact that the message is in cipher will protect him. He knows that if we do chance to find the notebook, it will be a hundred chances to one that we’ll never be able to find out what it means. He may not worry about losing the notebook after all.”
The boys were thoughtful.
“We may never catch him, then?”
“I hope so,” said Frank. “But we can’t count on it too strongly.”
“We’ll get him,” Joe declared. “That message had something to do with Cabin Island. The man will be back here anyway, notebook or no notebook, I’m dead sure.”
CHAPTER XVChicken Thieves
Nextmorning, although the boys kept a sharp lookout, there was no sign of the marauder.
“We’re not going to let him spoil our holiday,” declared Frank. “If he decides to come back for his notebook we’ll be ready for him, but we don’t have to sit around waiting.”
“What say we go back and call on Amos Grice?” suggested Joe. “He may be able to tell us some more about Elroy Jefferson and the stamp collection.”
“Good idea!” declared Biff. “I’d like to meet the old chap.”
Chet said nothing. He was already struggling into his coat. The prospect of a jaunt in the ice-boats appealed to the boys strongly, for it was a bright, sunny morning and the air was keen.
In a short time, the lads were ready, and went scrambling down the slope toward the little cove where the ice-boats were sheltered. Chet, who was anxious to learn how to manage the craft, seated himself at the tiller of Biff’s boat.
“Guess I’d better take out some insurance, if you’re going to steer,” said Biff.
“Don’t worry about me, my lad,” Chet advised. “Hang on to your cap, for you’re in for a swift ride, with plenty of fancy twists and curves.”
The Hardy boys got into their own boat, the sails flapped in the wind, then filled out, and the boats sped out of the cove into the open bay.
Chet soon found that steering was not the simple thing it had seemed. He was in difficulties before he was more than a few hundred yards away from the island. Then, essaying a sharp turn, he almost upset the boat.
Frank and Joe could see Biff remonstrating with him, but Chet evidently refused to give up the tiller.
“He means to learn how!” laughed Frank. “I’ll bet Biff is sweating. He’s afraid Chet will wreck the boat.”
“I’m just as glad I’m not riding with them, myself,” returned Joe.
At that moment they saw the other boat veer sharply around. The sails bellied in the stiff breeze and the ice-boat came plunging across the bay toward them.
“What’s the matter now?” exclaimed Frank. “Is he trying to run us down?”
The boat boomed on, without changing its course. They had a glimpse of Biff Hooper standing up and waving his arms wildly.
“Guess we had better get out of the way.” Frank, who was at the tiller, swung the boat to leeward, and at the same instant the other craft changed its course and was still heading directly down upon them.
Then, to their astonishment, the oncoming boat swerved again, this time with such violence that Biff Hooper lost his balance, staggered, and tumbled out on to the ice. Chet, the amateur, was left alone at the tiller of an ice-boat which was out of his control.
Then ensued a weird game of tag. Chet’s boat was at the mercy of the shifting winds. It dodged to and fro, plunged from side to side. No one could tell where it was going next. Most of the time, it seemed to be plunging directly at the Hardy boys’ boat, and Frank was kept busy steering out of the way.
Once it seemed that a collision was inevitable. The runaway boat swung sharply about, seemed to gather speed as the wind caught it, and then came on with a rush. Frank desperately tried to maneuver his craft out of its course. The other boat was rushing down on him.
“Jump!” shouted Joe.
“Stay where you are!” Frank yelled. There was still a chance. He bore down on the tiller. The ice-boat swung into the wind just as the other craft went flashing past. They could see Chet, a look of comical fear and amazement on his face, frantically trying to get the boat under control.
Out on the open ice, Biff had scrambled to his feet and was madly pursuing the fleeing craft. Chet managed to get the boat back against the wind, it turned wildly and raced directly at Biff. Then Biff turned and fled. He might have been run down had he not leaped to one side just in time. As the boat was speeding past he watched his chance and jumped.
Biff clambered over the side and crawled over Chet, who gladly moved over to allow him to take the tiller. In a few moments the boat slackened speed. Shortly afterward, Biff had the situation well in hand, turned the boat about, and drove alongside the Hardy boys.
“Are you satisfied?” said Biff, glaring at Chet.
“Must have been something wrong with the steering gear,” Chet explained weakly.
“Steering gear, nothing!” snorted Biff. “Something wrong with the fellow who was steering, that’s all. After this, I’ll take charge of the boat myself.”
“You’re welcome. I’ve had plenty.”
“Thank goodness!”
“What was the big idea?” shouted Frank “Trying to wreck us all, Chet?”
“No harm done. We’d better forget it,” muttered Chet sheepishly. “I can’t seem to get the hang of this steering business. I’d rather be just a passenger, anyway.”
“That suits everybody,” growled Biff. “When I go out ice-boating I don’t care to spend half of my time chasing the boat.”
Joe snickered. The recollection of Biff slipping and sliding across the ice in pursuit of the runaway craft, and then slipping and sliding with the boat in pursuit of him, appealed to Joe’s sense of humor. That snicker was like a match touched to gunpowder, for Frank also laughed, then Chet, and finally Biff himself had to grin. So, in high good humor again, the lads got back into the boats and resumed their journey toward the village.
They reached the little place about ten o’clock and made their way up through the snow to Amos Grice’s store, where they found the proprietor sitting beside the stove, munching crackers from the barrel, just as they had last seen him.
“Howdy, boys!” he greeted them. “Come to pay me a call? Sit down and make yourselves at home. Help yourselves to the crackers. I keep ’em here to sell, but somehow it seems I never sell any, although the barrel keeps gettin’ empty all the time just the same. I’ve been always intendin’ to put a cover on that there barrel but I just can’t seem to get around to it.”
“We found our supplies, Mr. Grice,” Frank told him.
“You found ’em, eh? Where were they?”
“Somebody had hidden them on us, as a joke.”
“Just this mornin’ I was thinkin’ about you lads,” said Amos Grice. “There’s been a couple of thieves around here, too, and I was wonderin’ if it was the same ones that swiped your supplies.”
“Thieves!” exclaimed Chet.
“Yep. They paid me a visit last night. Stole a lot of my chickens.”
The boys looked at one another. Amos Grice laughed. “Not the kind of thieves you’re thinkin’ about,” he remarked. “These ain’t two-legged thieves. Four-legged ones. They mighty near cleaned out my hen-house. Seven fine fat chickens I lost.”
“Foxes?” ventured Joe.
Amos Grice nodded.
“Foxes! A couple of ’em raided the hen roost last night and made off with seven chickens and I never even caught a sight of ’em at it. If I only had time to leave the store I’d certainly set out after ’em. Still, they may come back, and if they do they’ll find me settin’ up waitin’ for ’em with a shotgun.”
“Perhaps they have a den just outside the village,” Biff said.
“I know they have. I ain’t the first man to lose chickens here this winter.”
“Did they leave any tracks?” asked Frank.
“Plenty of ’em. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Amos Grice led the way out of the store toward the hen-house in the back yard. A few chickens, the only ones remaining of the flock, were pecking at some grain. The old storekeeper showed the boys two distinct trails in the snow, leading away from the hen-house, up toward the hill at the back of the store.
“That’s the way they went,” he said. “With my chickens. I tell you, I had a mighty good mind to close up the store and start after ’em right away. I’d like to get a shot at the rascals.”
“Joe and I have a couple of small rifles down in the ice-boats,” Frank said. “Perhaps we could try our hand at shooting the foxes.”
“Good idea!” approved Chet. “I wish I had a rifle.”
“You can have mine,” declared Amos Grice. “I have a couple of guns up in the store that I’ll let you have. And if you can drill them two foxes I’ll be mighty grateful to you.”
The Hardy boys and their chums were at once enthusiastic over the idea of a fox-hunt. Amos Grice provided Chet and Biff with rifles while Frank and Joe hastened to get their own weapons. Amos Grice even insisted on lending them his dog.
“If there’s any foxes within five miles, that dog will dig ’em out,” he said. “Only be sure and not shoot my dog.”
“We’ll be careful,” promised the boys.
“Just follow those tracks in the snow and you’ll come right to the den, I’ll bet a cookie,” declared the old man.
“Let’s go!” shouted Joe. “We’ll bring back your foxes, Mr. Grice.”
“Sure will,” added Chet jubilantly.
The boys started off through the deep snow, following the double trail up the hillside.
The dog was a lanky, mournful looking brute who seemed too lazy, as Chet expressed it, “to wag his own tail,” but he lived up to his master’s recommendation. The moment the boys started following the trail, the dog seemed to have a new interest in life, and he plodded on ahead, sniffing at the trail left by the marauding foxes.
The snow was deep but the boys thoroughly enjoyed the excitement of the chase.
“We didn’t expect to blunder into a fox-hunt when we left the cabin this morning, did we?” said Joe, when the village was out of sight behind them.
“I’ll say we didn’t,” returned his brother. “This beats ice-boating all hollow.”
“It will, if Chet will keep from pointing that gun in my direction,” said Biff. “He has already tried to kill me once this morning.”
Chet, blushing, reversed the weapon, which he had been carrying in a highly dangerous position, with the barrel pointing toward the other members of the party.
They went down into a gully extending several hundred yards to the west, following the tracks that led along the bottom of the ravine, then turned sharply up the slope again toward a thicket of trees. Here and there they could see flecks of blood on the snow.
“That’s from the chickens,” Frank said, as they strode along.
Suddenly the dog became very active. Reaching the top of the slope, he plunged along in a swift run and soon disappeared among the trees. Then they heard him howling with excitement.
“He’s found them!” shouted Chet.
The boys hastened on. When they overtook the dog they found him frantically raising clouds of snow as he dug among some rocks in the depth of the thicket. He had found the den.
The boys knew little or nothing about the habits of foxes, but they reflected that the dog would be scarcely making such a clamor unless the animals were at home. They waited, rifles in readiness.
“Shoot ’em when they come out!” advised Biff, capering about.
The dog suddenly disappeared into the mouth of the den. The lads heard a yelp of pain, and the dog emerged again, his tail between his legs. He scuttled between their legs and headed down the home trail, howling. A moment later he was lost from view.
The lads looked at one another blankly.
“What happened to him?” demanded Biff.
“One of the foxes must have bitten him,” Joe said.
A shout from Chet interrupted him.
“Look!”
He was pointing over among the trees. The boys saw a tawny object flash against the snow, then another. The foxes had emerged from their den by the back entrance, evidently alarmed by the intrusion of the dog, and were fleeing for their lives back toward the ravine.
Chet flung his rifle to his shoulder. He was trembling with excitement, but he managed to aim at the foremost fox, and pressed the trigger.
There was only a dull click!
Chet had forgotten to load the weapon.
The others were too excited to notice his discomfiture. They were running about wildly, each seeking a good view of the fugitives. Frank and Biff, noticing the direction the foxes were taking, went plunging through the snow, back toward the rim of the ravine, with the intention of heading the animals off.
Frank tripped over a hidden tree-trunk and went sprawling headlong. He lost his rifle, and while he was searching for it Biff passed him and ran on toward the gully. Chet and Joe, in the meantime, were heading toward the gully in the opposite direction.
Biff emerged at the top of the slope. He looked down into the gully, just as Frank came racing up.
“See them?” demanded Frank.
“Not yet. They must have doubled back.”
The boys looked down into the gully. The snow was white and unbroken. Suddenly, at the far end of the gully they saw a movement among the bushes. A moment later, a fox came streaking out of the thicket, followed by its mate. The animals did not see the lads watching at the top of the slope.
“Take your time, Biff,” advised Frank, as he raised the rifle to his shoulder.
The foxes were hampered by the deep snow, but even at that they were racing down the gully so quickly that the boys had to take swift aim.
Bang!
Biff’s rifle spoke. The lead fox stopped short, whirled in his tracks and darted back. The other animal did likewise. But Frank’s aim was more accurate.
Bang!
The lead fox dropped into the snow, threshed about for a moment and lay still.
The other animal raced madly away, seeking cover. But by this time Biff had ejected the empty shell and had taken aim again. He pressed the trigger, sighting at the fleeing fox.
This time his aim was sure. The animal leaped high in the air, turned completely over and fell motionless in the snow.
“We got ’em!” yelled Biff joyfully. He began scrambling down the slope, anxious to inspect the prize. Frank followed him. At the bottom of the gully they came upon the dead animals, lying only a few yards apart. Each had been killed almost instantly.
“Amos Grice won’t lose any more hens after this,” declared Frank, with satisfaction.
“Just got them in the nick of time!” said Biff. “In another two seconds they would have been back among the trees and we’d have never seen them again.”
Chet and Joe, attracted by the sounds of the shots, now appeared at the top of the slope. They were astonished when they found that the hunt was already ended and that Frank and Biff had slain the marauders.
“You’re lucky, that’s all,” said Chet solemnly. “Just lucky. It was just by chance that the foxes headed this way instead of going down toward where we were waiting for them.”
“Well,wehad our rifles loaded,” said Biff pointedly.
This silenced Chet, as he did not care to start any discussion concerning his failure to load the rifle when he started out on a fox-hunt.
The boys started back toward the village, carrying the dead bodies of the four-legged chicken thieves with them. When Amos Grice saw them enter the store he was almost speechless with amazement.
“Back already?” he exclaimed. “What did you do to that dog of mine? He come back here howlin’ his head off and he went and hid under the woodshed and I ain’t been able to get him out.”
“He found the foxes,” explained Frank gravely.
“One of them nipped his nose,” added Joe.
“And why are you lads back so soon? Can’t catch foxes by just goin’ out for half an hour or so,” declared Amos, wagging his head. “It’s an all-day job, often.”
“Come on outside,” invited Chet proudly, as though he had been personally responsible for the success of the hunt.
Amos Grice went outside and when he saw the two foxes lying in the snow, he rubbed his spectacles, as though he thought his eyes were playing him false.
“I wouldn’t have believed it!” he said, at last. “I wouldn’t have believed it! And yet I can see ’em lyin’ there, with my own eyes. If this don’t beat the Dutch!”
“We were just lucky enough to catch them at home,” explained Frank.
“And smart enough to shoot ’em on the run,” declared Amos Grice. “It takes some shootin’ to get a fox, lads, for they’re mighty tricky rascals. Well, now I can sleep in peace at night and I’ll know that my chickens are safe. I can sure breathe easier now that I know them two thieves are through with chicken stealing.”
He took the boys back to the store and, by way of showing his gratitude, insisted on filling their pockets with crackers and apples.
“You’re welcome at my store any time, lads,” he told them. “If ever you need any more supplies, come right to me and—and I’ll sell ’em to you at wholesale price.”
Seeing that this, to Amos Grice, was the height of generosity, the boys thanked him warmly.
“We’ve had a rare good morning,” declared Frank, “and we’re much obliged to you, Mr. Grice, for telling us about the foxes. We wouldn’t have missed that chase for anything.”
“I’m more’n obliged toyou,” said the old man.
“I guess we’d better be getting back to the island. It’s lunch time now,” said Chet.
Before they left, the boys cut the brushes from the two foxes and when they returned to Cabin Island that afternoon they placed the prizes in a place of honor above the fireplace.
CHAPTER XVIThe Chimney
Inspite of Joe Hardy’s predictions that the marauder would be back for his notebook, that afternoon and the next day passed uneventfully on Cabin Island. No one had appeared in the vicinity of the rocks, for the boys examined the place carefully in search of footprints and the snow was still unbroken.
The mystery surrounding Hanleigh, John Sparewell, and the Bender postage stamp collection was gradually receding into the background. But to the Hardy boys it still remained a matter of great concern, especially to Frank. Each evening he sat down and puzzled over the strange cipher, vainly trying to solve the mystery it presented.
“Can’t you figure it out?” asked Joe.
“It beats me,” said Frank, flinging down his pencil. “Once in a while I think I’m on the right track, then something always happens and I find I’m farther away than ever.”
“Let the cipher look after itself. Something will turn up, I’m sure,” put in Chet.
“But if we could only find the message of the cipher, we wouldn’t have to wait for something to turn up.”
Chet looked at the message again. He shook his head.
“It’s too much for me. Don’t let it spoil your holiday, Frank.”
“You know what I’m like when there’s a mystery in the wind. And this is one of the most mysterious puzzles we’ve ever tackled.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it yet. I’m sure of that. Just wait. Something will turn up,” said Joe.
The next day, the boys were outdoors from morning until night, skimming over the surface of the bay in their ice-boats, skating on an improvised rink down by the shore, and enjoying themselves on the ski slide. Frank, for the time being, seemed to have dismissed the mystery of the notebook from his mind. That evening, as the boys sat in front of the fireplace, the Sparewell case was not even mentioned. It was a windy, stormy night and the cabin creaked in the gale.
“Must be a good, strong chimney to hold up in a wind like that,” remarked Chet.
“Why shouldn’t it?” said Biff. “It’s made of solid stone.”
“I know; but the wind gets a terrific sweep when it hits this island. That chimney isn’t so new, either.”
“Stone chimneys will last a hundred years,” scoffed Joe.
Chet pointed to the big fireplace.
“This one won’t. Look. You can see where it is cracked already.”
The boys inspected the chimney. They saw that Chet had noticed something that none of them had observed before. There was a distinct crack across the surface of the stone near the ceiling.
“It doesn’t look any too secure at that,” remarked Frank. “A crack like that might easily cause a fire.”
“It sure could!” exclaimed Biff.
“I don’t worry about fire so much as the danger that the chimney might come tumbling down in a high wind,” Chet said. “If there is one crack like that, there may be others, higher up. And if the chimney ever gave way—wow!”
“We would certainly have a nice little shower of stone,” Biff said. “Well, why go looking for trouble? Wait until it happens.”
Chet insisted that he was not looking for trouble, but that he was merely pointing out whatmighthappen. Just then there was a particularly violent gust of wind. The cabin shook. The chimney was staunch.
“I think it’s good for a few years yet,” Joe said. “Why worry?”
Their conversation about the chimney, however, was to be recalled to the boys very forcibly later on.
The next day it was Joe’s turn to remain at the cabin as “chief cook and bottle-washer.” The others went out in one of the ice-boats and made a trip as far as the village. They did not stop at the little place, being in no mind to incur any of Amos Grice’s long-winded conversation, and turned about, sending the fleet little boat swooping down into the wind. They were about a quarter of a mile from the cabin and just debating the advisability of making a trip down into the cove when they heard a sound that aroused them to a high pitch of excitement.
Crack!
Sharp and clear, the sound carried through the winter air.
“The rifle!” exclaimed Frank.
“Somebody down at the rocks!”
Frank swung the boat around toward the island. The wind, however, was against them and he could make little speed. He was obliged to tack about for some time, while the others speculated impatiently on the reason for Joe’s signal.
“Just when we need speed, the wind is against us!” groaned Biff.
“Perhaps the fellow will clear out before we can get back.”
“Not if I know it,” said Frank grimly. “We’ll come around on the other side of the island, and if he is making a getaway we can head him off.”
The boat seemed to labor slowly forward at a snail’s pace. Anxiously, the boys peered toward the island.
They could see no one.
“Perhaps the shot didn’t scare him away,” said Chet hopefully.
They circled around until at last they had a full view of the side of the island on which the stolen supplies had been hidden. The ice was bare. The hillside was bleak. There was no sign of any human being.
The boys brought their craft around until they were close to the rocks. They could see footprints in the snow.
“There was somebody here, all right,” said Frank, in excitement.
“I wonder if it was Hanleigh!”
“We’ll mighty soon find out.”
They brought the boat inshore and took in the sails. Then they scrambled out, made their way up over the rocks, and examined the footprints. They did not lead up toward the cabin, but instead they led along the shore around the bend.
“Follow him!” said Chet.
“Not yet,” Frank advised. “I think we’d better go up to the cabin first and find out what Joe knows about it. Perhaps he recognized the fellow and saw where he went.”
They ploughed through the snow up to the top of the slope. They found Joe awaiting them in the door of the cabin.
“Did you see him?” shouted Frank.
“Just caught a glimpse of him,” returned Joe, as the boys came running up to him. “I happened to look out the window and caught sight of somebody down among the rocks.”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know. His back was turned to me, and he was crouching over. He was looking for that notebook, all right. I waited for a while, but I still couldn’t get a good look at him, so I went and got the rifle. By the time I got back to the window he was gone.”
“Before you fired the signal shot?”
“Yes. I could hardly believe my eyes. He just seemed to disappear into thin air. Well, I didn’t lose any time firing the shot, I can tell you. I could see your boat away up the bay.”
“The wind was against us,” said Frank. “We tried to get here quickly, but we didn’t have any luck.”
“He’s still on the island,” said Joe quickly. “I’m pretty sure of that.”
“Wonder how he got here,” remarked Chet. “There isn’t any other ice-boat around, that we saw.”
“Probably walked over from the mainland,” Frank remarked. “Well, I guess we had better explore a bit and see if we can’t get a sight of him. You’re sure you didn’t recognize him, Joe?”
“No. I couldn’t say if the man was Hanleigh or not. I didn’t get a good look at him at all.”
“We’ll get a good look at him,” growled Biff. “And mighty soon, too.”
“I suggest that two of us take the north side of the island and the other two take the south,” said Joe.
Frank shook his head.
“Some one must stay here,” he decided. “We don’t want to run the risk of losing our supplies again. If this fellow managed to draw us far enough away from the cabin, there’s no telling what damage he might do. Joe, I think you had better stay here. If you see the man coming this way, fire another shot, and we’ll come a-running.”
“Good idea!” approved Chet. “I think we all ought to separate. Each go in a different direction. If we catch sight of him, whistle!”
Frank quickly directed the search. Joe was to stay at the cabin, Chet was to go to the northern side of the island, Biff was to explore the south. Frank himself was to cut through the trees in the center of the island, emerging on the other side.
They separated.
Frank ploughed through the snow, heading toward the heavy growth of trees at the top of Cabin Island. He soon reached a point from where he could get a good view of the entire island. He could see Biff and Chet industriously exploring the shore lines.
A little distance away, in the snow beneath the trees, he caught sight of a line of fresh footprints.
He picked up the trail at once, and followed the marks in the snow.
They led him in and out among the trees, then veered and seemed to be directed toward the rocks.
“What am I thinking of?” said Frank, to himself. “I’m not following the man’s trail at all. I’m going back on it.”
He turned, and retraced his steps, after a while reaching the place where he had first found the footprints. He went on from there, deeper into the thicket, proceeding cautiously.
At last he stood still for a moment, listening. Then he slipped in behind a tree.
He heard a crackle of branches. Some one was moving about among the trees, only a few yards ahead.
Frank peeped out.
He saw a dark figure emerge from behind a clump of evergreens. The man stepped out, looked cautiously about, then moved up the slope in the direction of the cabin.
“Hanleigh!” said Frank, under his breath.
Frank Hardy’s first impulse was to whistle, in order to bring the others to his assistance. Then he paused.
What did Hanleigh want? What did he plan to do?