CHAPTER XLI.
A HUT IN THE FOREST.
"Who's talking of Woodlawn? Just where I came from, and if the fronds ofthose ferns aren't as fine-cut as petals, then I don't know an oak froma gooseberry bush."
"Dr. Silsby--Inspector McCausland."
The men clasped hands.
"Didn't meet a maniac with a gash in his forehead on the way back, didyou?" laughed McCausland.
"Maniac--well, no; but I've rooted out a peeping Tom there, that's beenfrightening the women."
"How was that?" asked Shagarach.
"It was those ferns did it. Aren't they beauties, though? Feel! Silky!Maidenhair! Rare variety."
"They helped you find the peeping Tom?" said Shagarach, who knew thebotanist's tendency to forget.
"Oh, yes," said Dr. Silsby. "I was just about to tell that story. Youknow the hemlock forest back of the blue hills in Woodlawn--marshy placethereabouts, lots of clay in the soil--some of it on those boots, eh?Well, those ferns came from there. Didn't walk in of themselves, Iguess. No, I had to wade for them. Pretty boggy, but not quite up to theDismal swamp. Well, I was feeling about, pulling up things, when I cameon the hut."
"A hut?"
"I call it a hut by courtesy. Begging your pardon, said I, and tumbledin the sides of it. Hadn't any door that I could see--only two looseboards--and was mighty poor carpenter work all over. Just a roof andthree sides, the whole thing backed against a pudding-stone ledge thatjuts out into Hemlock lake."
"Had it an occupant?" asked Shagarach.
"Three squirrels," answered Dr. Silsby, "investigating a can of corn."
"Nothing else?"
"Some old newspapers, a blanket, a stool and a mighty ugly collection ofinstruments, I tell you, including this article, which I confiscated."
He removed a pistol which lay at the bottom of his basket, handling thespecimens as carefully as if they had been wounded kittens.
"Is it loaded?" asked McCausland, taking it in his hand and unhingingthe butt. The backs of three cartridges stared out from the cylinder.
"You kept the second bullet, Shagarach, I believe," said McCausland,removing a cartridge. Shagarach rolled out a flattened bullet from a penbox in his drawer.
"Same caliber," said McCausland. "This looks like the pistol that wasaimed at you that evening."
"So you know peeping Tom, then?" asked Dr. Silsby.
"Mr. McCausland and I have two of the three bullets that round out hispistol's complement," answered Shagarach, "and the third is lodged in myceiling at home too deep for the probe to reach."
"I thought the hut had a human atmosphere. There were fresh tracksaround, and the station-master spoke to me about a scoundrel that's beenfrightening the country-folks--frightening them by running away fromthem, as far as I could see. But you don't suppose he was fern-gatheringdown in that swamp, do you?"
"Hardly," said McCausland. "Could you take us there now?"
"Now? I've my lecture at Hilo hall--A Study in Ingratitude; or, theThreatened Extinction of the Great Horned Owl."
"It is an important piece of evidence in the Floyd case," saidShagarach, though McCausland still smiled incredulously. "We want theoccupant of that hut."
"Robert's case. Command me," said Dr. Silsby. "Sorry Mr. Hutman wasn'tat home when I called. I'd have had him here dead or alive."
"Wolf!" said McCausland. The great dog started up, wagging his tail."Smell." He offered him the revolver butt. The hound barked and smelledhis way to the door again, but McCausland pulled him back.
"It is our man," he said, thrusting the paper-weight in his pocket.
"My pathfinder, Aronson," said Shagarach, who sprung to his desk.
"The next train for Woodlawn doesn't leave till 4:03."
"We can go more quickly by team," said McCausland. "I will have one herein ten minutes."
Then he departed with his hound, and Shagarach sent Aronson to announceat Hilo hall that an imperative summons compelled the defender of thegreat horned owl to neglect for once the cause of that calumniatedbiped.
"This is where I left the road," cried Dr. Silsby, an hour later. "Agood, smart journey lies before us."
"It's uncertain when we'll return," said McCausland to the driver."Probably not before 6 at the earliest. You'd better drive home. We'lltake the train into town."
The driver wheeled his team and drove away, while the party ofthree--Shagarach, McCausland and Silsby--crossed a bush-skirted meadowwith the bloodhound still in leash. But they were not destined toremain long unattended. The curious folk had got wind of their intentionto unearth the peeping Tom, and the sight of an officer in buttonsemboldened many to follow in their wake. Several men offered to help inthe search, and McCausland did not refuse their assistance.
"The more the merrier," he said, whereupon not only men but womentrailed behind them.
Among these followers was one young woman, familiar to two of the threeleaders of the party.
"Good evening, Miss Wesner," said Shagarach and McCausland almosttogether, and the great inspector was not above entertaining thatsomewhat vulgar curiosity many of us feel as to the relationship of anychance couple we meet. For Miss Wesner was attended by an exceedinglyattentive young man. Courting? Engaged? Married? The question rises asnaturally as a bubble in water. In this case the truth lay midway. Whatmore natural than that she should spend her afternoon off with HansHeidermann at the picnic park in Woodlawn?
"Now you've left the cheap bombast of the town behind you," said Dr.Silsby, looking at the great trees as if he would embrace them one andall. "Isn't this grand? Isn't this Gothic? Pillars, gloom, frettedroof--don't tell me art's cathedrals are any improvement on nature's."
The bloodhound interrupted his rhapsody.
"We may leave Dr. Silsby behind, if he chooses, as well as the townbombast," said McCausland. "We shall not need his guidance any farther.Wolf has caught the trail again."
Two or three times on the march the inspector had held the glasspaper-weight out so that the dog might smell the blood-clot on its edge.His joyful bark and eager straining at the leash announced that he hadscented the fugitive.
"Not I," said Dr. Silsby.
Pulled on by the hound, McCausland and his two companions were soontrotting far ahead of the plodding laggards behind them. Their talk haddied away. The heart of each was tense. Not a sound broke the mid-forestsilence save the harsh screams of purple jays resenting their intrusion,and the snapping of twigs and branches.
"There are the ferns," said Dr. Silsby.
"Are we near?" asked McCausland.
"Within a hundred yards, I should say. This is the hemlock grove."
"Step on the moss. It will deaden our footfalls," said the detective."Slow, Wolf, slow!"
He reined in the impetuous animal as best he could and his companionscrept behind him softly.
"I see it," whispered Shagarach, pointing through the trees. It wasnearly 5 o'clock and the light was beginning to slant more dimly throughthe aisles of the forest. But following his finger, the eye of thedetective made out a rude shelter, sharply distinct by the smoothness ofits boarded walls from the rough bark surfaces around. It seemed to leanagainst the steep ledge which Dr. Silsby had described and the roofderived most of its support from the projecting arms of two great treeswhose roots spread up into the crevices of the rock. Osiers and strongwithes took the place of nails, and the chinks were stopped with moss.No log cabin or camper's shed was ever more roughly joined. It had everyappearance of being recent and temporary.
"We must surround it," said McCausland. The loud barking of the hound,re-echoing in the stillness, had betrayed their presence to theoccupant. Shagarach and Dr. Silsby stationed themselves each at oneside, the former empty-handed, the latter clubbing his stout cane.McCausland waited for the followers to arrive through the woods, butmost of them hung back at a safe distance, only three or four of the mencoming close to the besiegers.
"Who is inside there?" asked the detective loudly.
/> The silence succeeding his question was intense and prolonged.
"We have come to take you in the name of the law, and we will take you,living or dead," said the detective.
There was no response but the rustling of the leaves. Song-birds werefew in the deep recesses, and these few had been frightened from theirnests. A creeping fear entered the hearts of the ring in the backgroundand they edged farther away. For the gloom was gathering swiftly. Onlyone patch of sky was visible, above the steep ledge, and that lay towardthe darkening east.
"I prefer that he should be taken alive, if possible," said Shagarach ina low voice to the detective. The latter gave three strong raps with abough on the trunk of a mighty tree, then cried again to the secretedfugitive:
"Once more, I will state our errand. We are officers of the law. You arewanted for the murderous attacks you have made on Meyer Shagarach----"
A hoarse snarl of rage burst from within the hut, causing some of thedistant spectators to turn in alarm. But it angered the bloodhound, asthe spur a proud horse, and with an answering roar he burst loosefrom his leash and sprung at the hut, forcing a loose plank inwith his impetus. Then a sharp tool was seen to descend in theopening--apparently an adze--and the hound's head sunk under the blow.He leaped from side to side in agony, and as he ran back whining to hismaster the blood dripped into his eyes from a hideous wound that hadbared the bone of the skull. McCausland swore furiously and thelingering shadow of a smile vanished from his face. He unwound the ropewhich he had brought along and secured one circle of a double handcuffto his left wrist.
"We'll march home Siamese fashion or my name is Muggins," said theinspector, between his teeth. Then he began gathering brushwood in aheap before the hut.
"What are you at, man?" cried Dr. Silsby.
"Smoke him out," said McCausland.
"And fire these woods? Are you crazy?" The botanist was greatlyexcited.
"Confound your woods! Good Wolf! Poor Wolf!" said the inspector,alternately petting the hound, who, amid all his pain, licked hismaster's hand, and throwing fagots on his pyre.
"But--but--name o' conscience, man," stammered Dr. Silsby. "This is thefinest hemlock grove this side of the White mountains."
"We could demolish the walls, I think," said Shagarach, "and capture himwith a rush."
"Where are the axes?" asked McCausland.
"Poles will do." There were heavy boughs and light saplings lying about,which would make excellent impromptu crowbars. Without a word Shagarachseized one of these and wedged it into the crack between two of theboards. The roar of rage within told them the occupant was watching.
"Fall to!" said McCausland, scattering his brush-heap with an angrykick. The three men began prying the boards apart. Several of themcreaked and gave way, and soon nearly the whole front lay in ruins.
"Surrender!" cried the inspector, pointing his revolver into thecave-like gloom. There was no reply. The three men peered in, thenentered. The hut was empty!
CHAPTER XLII.
THE SECRET OF THE POOL.
The Incendiary: A Story of Mystery Page 41
