Tom went over and looked at the mill. The outfit was an old one, and had seen much service, but the trained eye of the young inventor saw that it could still be used effectively. Boomerang watched Tom, as though aware that something unusual was about to happen.
“Heah I done gone an’ ’vested mah money in dis yeah mill,” complained Eradicate, “an’ I ain’t sawed up a single stick. Ef I wasn’t so kind-hearted I’d chastise dat mule wuss dan I has, dat’s what I would.”
Tom said nothing. He was stooping down, looking at the gearing that connected the tread mill with the shaft which revolved the saw. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation,
“Rad, have you been monkeying with this machinery?” he asked.
“Me? Good land, Mistah Swift, no, sah! I wouldn’t tech it. It’s jest as I got it from de man I bought it oh. It worked when he had it, but he used a hoss. It’s all due to de contrariness ob Boomerang, an’ if I—”
“No, it isn’t the mule’s fault at all!” exclaimed Tom. “The mill is out of gear, and tread is locked; that’s all. The man you bought it off probably did it so you could haul it along the road. I’ll have it fixed for you in a few minutes. Wait until I get some tools.”
From the bag on his motor-cycle Tom got his implements. He first unlocked the treadmill, so that the inclined platform, on which the animal slowly walked, could revolve. No sooner had he done this than Boomerang, feeling the slats under his hoofs moving away, started forward. With a rattle the treadmill slid around.
“Good land o’ massy! It’s goin’!” cried Eradicate delightedly. “It suah am goin’!” he added as he saw the mule, with nimble feet, send the revolving, endless string of slats around and around. “But de saw doan’t move, Mistah Swift. Yo’ am pretty smart at fixin’ it as much as yo’ has, but I reckon it’s too busted t’ eber saw any wood. I’se got bad luck, dat’s what I has.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Tom. “The sawmill will be going in a moment. All I have to do is to throw it into gear. See here, Rad. When you want the saw to go you just throw this handle forward. That makes the gears mesh.”
“What’s dat ’bout mush?” asked Eradicate.
“Mesh—not mush. I mean it makes the cogs fit together. See,” and Tom pressed the lever. In an instant, with a musical whirr, the saw began revolving.
“Hurrah! Dere it goes! Golly! see de saw move!” cried the delighted colored man. He seized a stick of wood, and in a trice it was sawed through.
“Whoop!” yelled Eradicate. “I’m sabed now! Bless yo’, Mistah Swift, yo’ suttinly am a wondah!”
“Now I’ll show you how it works,” went on Tom. “When you want to stop Boomerang, you just pull this handle. That locks the tread, and he can’t move it,” and, suiting the action to his words, Tom stopped the mill. “Then,” he went on, “when you want him to move, you pull the handle this way,” and he showed the darky how to do it. In a moment the mule was moving again. Then Tom illustrated how to throw the saw in and out of gear, and in a few minutes the sawmill was in full operation, with a most energetic colored man feeding in logs to be cut up into stove lengths.
“You ought to have an assistant, Rad,” said Tom, after he had watched the work for a while. “You could get more done then, and move on to some other wood-patch.”
“Dat’s right, Mistah Swift, so I had. But I done tried, an’ couldn’t git any. I ast seberal colored men, but dey’d radder whitewash an’ clean chicken coops. I guess I’ll hab t’ go it alone. I ast a white man yisterday ef he wouldn’t like t’ pitch in an’ help, but he said he didn’t like to wuk. He was a tramp, an’ he had de nerve to ask me fer money—me, a hard-wukin’ coon.”
“You didn’t give it to him, I hope.”
“No, indeedy, but he come so close to me dat I was askeered he might take it from me, so I kept hold ob a club. He suah was a bad-lookin’ tramp, an’ he kept laffin’ all de while, like he was happy.”
“What’s that?” cried Tom, struck by the words of the colored man. “Did he have a thick, brown beard?”
“Dat’s what he had,” answered Eradicate, pausing in the midst of his work. “He suah were a funny sort ob tramp. His hands done looked laik he neber wuked, an’ he had a funny blue ring one finger, only it wasn’t a reg’lar ring, yo’ know. It was pushed right inter his skin, laik a man I seen at de circus once, all cobered wid funny figgers.”
Tom leaped to his feet.
“Which finger was the blue ring tattooed on?” he asked, and he waited anxiously for the answer.
“Let me see, it were on de right—no, it were on de little finger ob de left hand.”
“Are you sure, Rad?”
“Suah, Mistah Swift. I took ’tic’lar notice, ’cause he carried a stick in dat same hand.”
“It must be my man—Happy Harry!” exclaimed Tom half aloud. “Which way did he go, Rad, after he left you?”
“He went up de lake shore,” replied the colored man. “He asked me if I knowed ob an ole big house up dere, what nobody libed in, an’ I said I did. Den he left, an’ I were glad ob it.”
“Which house did you mean, Rad?”
“Why, dat ole mansion what General Harkness used t’ lib in befo’ de wah. Dere ain’t nobody libed in it fo’ some years now, an’ it’s deserted. Maybe a lot ob tramps stays in it, an’ dat’s where dis man were goin’.”
“Maybe,” assented Tom, who was all excitement now. “Just where is this old house, Rad?”
“Away up at de head ob Lake Carlopa. I uster wuk dere befo’ de wah, but it’s been a good many years since quality folks libed dere. Why, did yo’ want t’ see dat man, Mistah Swift?”
“Yes, Rad, I did, and very badly, too. I think he is the very person I want. But don’t say anything about it. I’m going to take a trip up to that strange mansion. Maybe I’ll get on the trail of Happy Harry and the men who robbed me. I’m much obliged to you, Rad, for this information. It’s a good clue, I think. Strange that you should meet the very tramp I’ve been searching for.”
“Well, I suah am obliged to yo’, Mistah Swift, fo’ fixin’ mah sawmill.”
“That’s all right. What you told me more than pays for what I did, Rad. Well, I’m going home now to tell dad, and then I’m going to start out. Yesterday, you said it was, you saw Happy Harry? Well, I’ll get right after him,” and leaving a somewhat surprised, but very much delighted, colored man behind him, Tom mounted his motor-cycle and started for home at a fast pace.
CHAPTER XXII
THE STRANGE MANSION
“Dad, I’ve got a clue!” exclaimed Tom, hurrying into the house late that afternoon, following a quick trip from where he had met Eradicate with his sawmill. “A good clue, and I’m going to start early in the morning to run it down.”
“Wait a minute, now, Tom,” cautioned his father slowly. “You know what happens when you get excited. Nothing good was ever done in a hurry.”
“Well, I can’t help being excited, dad. I think I’m on the trail of those scoundrels. I almost wish I could start tonight.”
“Suppose you tell me all about it,” and Mr. Swift laid aside a scientific book he was reading.
Whereupon Tom told of his meeting with the colored man, and what Eradicate had said about the tramp.
“But he may not be the same Happy Harry you are looking for,” interposed Mr. Swift. “Tramps who don’t like to work, and who have a jolly disposition, also those who ask for money and have designs tattooed on their hands, are very common.”
“Oh, but I’m sure this is the same one,” declared Tom. “He wants to stay in this neighborhood until he locates his confederates. That’s why he’s hanging around. Now I have an idea that the deserted mansion, where Eradicate used to work, and which once housed General Harkness and his family, is the rendezvous of this gang of thieves.”
“You are taking a great deal for granted, Tom.”
“I don’t think so, dad. I’ve got to assume something, and maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. At any r
ate, I’m going to try, if you’ll let me.”
“What do you mean to do?”
“I want to go to that deserted mansion and see what I can find. If I locate the thieves, well—”
“You may run into danger.”
“Then you admit I may be on the right track, dad?”
“Not at all,” and Mr. Swift smiled at the quick manner in which Tom turned the tables on him. “I admit there may be a band of tramps in that house. Very likely there is—almost any deserted place would be attractive to them. But they may not be the ones you seek. In fact, I hardly see how they can be. The men who stole my model and patent papers are wealthy. They would not be very likely to stay in deserted houses.”
“Perhaps some of the scoundrels whom they hired might, and through them I can get on the track of the principals.”
“Well, there is something in that,” admitted Mr. Swift.
“Then may I go, dad?”
“I suppose so. We must leave nothing untried to get back the stolen model and papers. But I don’t want you to run any risks. If you would only take some one with you. There’s your chum, Ned Newton. Perhaps he would go.”
“No, I’d rather work it alone, dad. I’ll be careful. Besides, Ned could not get away from the bank. I may have to be gone a week, and he has no motor-cycle. I can manage all right.”
Tom was off bright and early. He had carefully laid his plans, and had decided that he would not go direct to Pineford, which was the nearest village to the old Harkness mansion.
“If those fellows are in hiding they will probably keep watch on who comes to the village,” thought Tom. “The arrival of some one on a motor-cycle will be sure to be reported to them, and they may skip out. I’ve got to come up from another direction, so I think I’ll circle around, and reach the mansion from the stretch of woods on the north.”
He had inquired from Eradicate as to the lay of the land, and had a good general idea of it. He knew there was a patch of woodland on one side of the mansion, while the other sides were open.
“I may not be able to ride through the woods,” mused Tom, “but I’ll take my machine as close as I can, and walk the rest of the way. Once I discover whether or not the gang is in the place, I’ll know what to do.”
To follow out the plan he had laid down for himself meant that Tom must take a roundabout way. It would necessitate being a whole day on the road, before he would be near the head of Lake Carlopa, where the Harkness house was located. The lake was a large one, and Tom had never been to the upper end.
When he was within a few miles of Pineford, Tom took a road that branched off and went around it. Stopping at night in a lonely farmhouse, he pushed on the next morning, hoping to get to the woods that night. But a puncture to one of the tires delayed him, and after that was repaired he discovered something wrong with his batteries. He had to go five miles out of his way to get new cells, and it was dusk when he came to the stretch of woods which he knew lay between him and the old mansion.
“I don’t fancy starting in there at night,” said Tom to himself. “Guess I’d better stay somewhere around here until morning, and then venture in. But the question is where to stay?”
The country was deserted, and for a mile or more he had seen no houses. He kept on for some distance farther, the dusk falling rapidly, and when he was about to turn back to retrace his way to the last farmhouse he had passed, he saw a slab shanty at the side of the road.
“That’s better than nothing, provided they’ll take me in for the night,” murmured Tom. “I’m going to ask, anyhow.”
He found the shanty to be inhabited by an old man who made a living burning charcoal. The place was not very attractive, but Tom did not mind that, and finding the charcoal-burner a kindly old fellow, soon made a bargain with him to remain all night.
Tom slept soundly, in spite of his strange surroundings, and after a simple breakfast in the morning inquired of the old man the best way of penetrating the forest.
“You’d best strike right along the old wood road,” said the charcoal-burner. “That leads right to the lake, and I think will take you where you want to go. The old mansion is not far from the lake shore.”
“Near the lake, eh?” mused Tom as he started off, after thanking the old fellow. “Now I wonder if I’d better try to get to it from the water or the land side?”
He found it impossible to ride fast on the old wood road, and when he judged he was so close to the lake that the noise of his motor-cycle might be heard, he shut off the power, and walked along, pushing it. It was hard traveling, and he felt weary, but he kept on, and about noon was rewarded by a sight of something glittering through the trees.
“That’s the lake!” Tom exclaimed, half aloud. “I’m almost there.”
A little later, having hidden his motor-cycle in a clump of bushes, he made his way through the underbrush and stood on the shore of Lake Carlopa. Cautiously Tom looked about him. It was getting well on in the afternoon, and the sun was striking across the broad sheet of water. Tom glanced up along the shore. Something amid a clump of trees caught his eyes. It was the chimney of a house. The young inventor walked a little distance along the lake shore. Suddenly he saw, looming up in the forest, a large building. It needed but a glance to show that it was falling into ruins, and had no signs of life about it. Nor, for that matter, was there any life in the forest around him, or on the lake that stretched out before him.
“I wonder if that can be the place?” whispered Tom, for, somehow, the silence of the place was getting on his nerves. “It must be it,” he went on. “It’s just as Rad described it.”
He stood looking at it, the sun striking full on the mysterious mansion, hidden there amid the trees. Suddenly, as Tom looked, he heard the “put-put” of a motor-boat. He turned to one side, and saw, putting out from a little dock that he had not noticed before, a small craft. It contained one man, and no sooner had the young inventor caught a glimpse of him than he cried out:
“That’s the man who jumped over our fence and escaped!”
Then, before the occupant of the boat could catch sight of him, Tom turned and fled back into the bushes, out of view.
CHAPTER XXIII
TOM IS PURSUED
Tom was so excited that he hardly knew what to do. His first thought was to keep out of sight of the man in the boat, for the young inventor did not want the criminals to suspect that he was on their trail. To that end he ran back until he knew he could not be seen from the lake. There he paused and peered through the bushes. He caught a glimpse of the man in the motor-boat. The craft was making fast time across the water.
“He didn’t see me,” murmured Tom. “Lucky I saw him first. Now what had I better do?”
It was a hard question to answer. If he only had some one with whom to consult he would have felt better, but he knew he had to rely on himself. Tom was a resourceful lad, and he had often before been obliged to depend on his wits. But this time very much was at stake, and a false move might ruin everything.
“This is certainly the house,” went on Tom, “and that man in the boat is one of the fellows who helped rob me. Now the next thing to do is to find out if the others of the gang are in the old mansion, and, if they are, to see if dad’s model and papers are there. Then the next thing to do will he to get our things away, and I fancy I’ll have no easy job.”
Well might Tom think this, for the men with whom he had to deal were desperate characters, who had already dared much to accomplish their ends, and who would do more before they would suffer defeat. Still, they under-estimated the pluck of the lad who was pitted against them.
“I might as well proceed on a certain plan, and have some system about this affair,” reasoned the lad. “Dad is a great believer in system, so I’ll lay out a plan and see how nearly I can follow it. Let’s see—what is the first thing to do?”
Tom considered a moment, going over the whole situation in his mind. Then he went on, talking to himself alone there in
the woods:
“It seems to me the first thing to do is to find out if the men are in the house. To do that I’ve got to get closer and look in through a window. Now, how to get closer?”
He considered that problem from all sides.
“It will hardly do to approach from the lake shore,” he reasoned. “for if they have a motor-boat and a dock, there must be a path from the house to the water. If there is a path people are likely to walk up or down it at any minute. The man in the boat might come back unexpectedly and catch me. No, I can’t risk approaching from the lake shore. I’ve got to work my way up to the house by going through the woods. That much is settled. Now to approach the house, and when I get within seeing distance I’ll settle the next point. One thing at a time is a good rule, as dad used to say. Poor dad! I do hope I can get his model and papers back for him.”
Tom, who had been sitting on a log under a bush, staring at the lake, arose. He was feeling rather weak and faint, and was at a loss to account for it, until he remembered that he had had no dinner.
“And I’m not likely to get any,” he remarked. “I’m not going to eat until I see who’s in that house. Maybe I won’t then, and where supper is coming from I don’t know. But this is too important to be considered in the same breath with a meal. Here goes.”
Cautiously Tom made his way forward, taking care not to make too much disturbance in the bushes. He had been on hunting trips, and knew the value of silence in the woods. He had no paths to follow, but he had noted the position of the sun, and though that luminary was now sinking lower and lower in the west, he could see the gleam of it through the trees, and knew in which direction from it lay the deserted mansion.
Tom moved slowly, and stopped every now and then to listen. All the sounds he heard were those made by the creatures of the woods—birds, squirrels and rabbits. He went forward for half an hour, though in that time he did not cover much ground, and he was just beginning to think that the house must be near at hand when through a fringe of bushes he saw the old mansion. It stood in the midst of what had once been a fine park, but which was now overgrown with weeds and tangled briars. The paths that led to the house were almost out of sight, and the once beautiful home was partly in ruins.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 11
