Dr. Spellman gently twitched the string and the door swung inward. As he stepped across the threshold, his wife followed and the two looked around them. The room was precisely as when the physician called before and has already been described, but the owner of the premises was not in sight. No fire smouldered on the hearth and the stillness of the tomb brooded over everything. It was natural that so excellent a housekeeper as Mrs. Spellman should exclaim:
“All is as neat as a pin; Uncle Elk needs no one to teach him how to keep a model home.”
They walked forward and stood in front of the shelves with their remarkable array of books. The woman, who was known for her excellent literary taste, commented upon the high character of the volumes, but neither laid hands on them. She seated herself in the rocking chair while her husband stood near.
“The question is whether we shall wait here until he comes back,” said the latter.
“How can we know when he will return?”
“We don’t; it may be within an hour or not until night. It isn’t worth while to stay; I can leave my card as before.”
He drew the pasteboard from his pocket and wrote a few pleasant words, reminding Uncle Elk of his obligations to his callers, and urging him to visit the house at the other side of the lake as soon as possible and spend the day and evening with them.
While the husband sat at the table in the middle of the room, writing his hurried message, his wife faced the curtain which shut off the other half of the cabin and behind which neither of the callers thought of intruding or peeping. Suddenly a queer thrill passed through her, for she was sure she saw the curtains move,—so slightly indeed that had she not been looking directly at it she would not have detected the stir. She said nothing and of course her husband had no suspicion.
The wife gazed intently at the spot where she had noticed the slight agitation and listened keenly, but heard nothing nor did she detect any disturbance. She quietly rose to her feet.
“We may as well go; the day is too lovely to stay within doors.”
“Which probably explains why Uncle Elk is not at home. Do you know, my dear, I half envy him his life. He is out of the hurly-burly of politics, strife, and the endless vexations that we who live in cities cannot escape.”
“And yet you would not be willing to pay the price that he does.”
“No,” was the thoughtful reply of the husband, as he led the way across the threshold, carefully closed the door, and passed down the path to their canoe. “There is such a thing as paying too much for what we get.”
When the craft had been paddled some distance, the wife turned her head.
“Wilson, do you know where Uncle Elk is?”
“I haven’t the remotest idea.”
“I can tell you: he is in his cabin and was there all the time we were inside.”
“What do you mean?” asked the husband, so astonished that he ceased paddling and stared at her.
“While you sat at the table writing your note to him, he moved the curtain; I saw it.”
She related what she had witnessed when not dreaming of anything of the kind.
“The agitation may have been caused by a draft of air.”
“I thought that, but the windows were closed in the room where we sat.”
“There are windows in the other room.”
“But, if either was open, there was nothing to make a draft. There is no mistake about it;—Uncle Elk was within a few feet of us all the time.”
The wife was so positive that her husband was brought to her way of thinking.
“Strange as it seems, you are right. There can be no doubt now that he doesn’t wish to meet us. He must have known of our camp on the other side of the lake and ought to have paid his respects to us. More than that, he ignored my invitation, though the time is so brief since it was made that that of itself is not conclusive. Well, all we can do is to accept the facts and leave him to himself.”
“He has been represented as the soul of hospitality. Why should he be repelled by us? Why did he not pull in his latchstring?”
“He was not expecting us or he might have done so.”
The doctor resumed his deliberate paddling and a minute later his wife asked:
“Have you any suspicion of the reason for his acting as he did?”
“It is a mystery to me. He and I have never met, and I cannot fancy any cause for his antipathy. Whatever the reason, it surely is unjustifiable and I am sorry we did not have the chance to demand an explanation. I think I shall tell what has happened to Scout Master Hall, and get him to make some guarded inquiries. I cannot rest content until this misunderstanding is cleared up.”
The couple returned to their home after fishing awhile, and did not leave again during the day. Neither would confess the fact to the other, but they missed their child so keenly that they would have paddled to the other side of the lake and brought her home, had they not felt ashamed of such weakness. The doctor read, slept, smoked and yawned and was sure he had never started in on so long an afternoon.
It was not to pass, however, without incident. He stretched in his hammock, one leg hanging out so that the tip of his tan shoe touched the ground and gave him enough leverage to sway gently back and forth, while he smoked his perfecto and longed for the morning when “Stubby” would be with them again. The wife was seated in the small dwelling, busy with crochet work, and thinking pretty much as did her husband, when both were startled by the greeting in a gruff voice that evidently was meant to be conciliatory:
“Good arternoon, lady and gentleman.”
With a faint gasp, the wife looked up, while the doctor swung both feet so as to rest them on the ground, sat upright, checked the swaying of the hammock and picked up his hat which had fallen to the ground.
“Hello! where did you come from?”
Two frowsy, villainous looking tramps had come out of the woods, walking so softly in their dilapidated gum shoes that they were not heard until they spoke. These gentry as a rule do not abound in Maine, but no section of our country is absolutely free of them. The two were burly vagrants with matted hair, spiky beards, and hickory shirts, much in need of washing and without collars. One supported his patched trousers by means of a single soiled suspender which, crossing the shoulder, was skewered in front by a wooden peg. His companion obtained the same result by means of a leathern belt buckled around his waist. They were innocent of stockings and wore straw hats, one of which lacked a crown, and the other was minus one half of its original brim. Both doffed their head gear and assumed the cringing attitude of all members of the begging fraternity.
Dr. Spellman was anything but pleased with his callers. He had hoped he was rid of the tribe, but here were a couple of them and he faced the situation.
“We ambled all the way, sir, from Bath since morning,” was the reply of the one who stood nearest the doctor.
“No you didn’t; the distance is too far and none of your kind could be persuaded to step aside into a place with such a name as Bath.”
One of the scraggly rogues turned to his companion.
“Say, Saxy, was the last town, where we spent a week at the leading hotel, Bath or Christmas Cove?”
“Naw; it was Boothby Harbor,—what guff are ye giving us?”
“It is a small matter,” said the doctor; “what is your purpose in calling here?”
“Jes’ to show our respects, boss; we haven’t our cards wid us, but me name is Buzy Biggs and my valet here is Saxy Hutt, late from Washington, where he’s been serving as aide to the President.”
“Whither are you bound?”
“We haven’t made up our minds whether to accept a invite to lecture afore the Boston Lyceum or to go on to New York and give the folks a talk on the Whichness of the Which. But that ain’t nyther here nur there. We have been walking since daylight and hain’t had a mouthful of grub since yesterday afternoon.”
“We cannot let any one go away from our door hungry,” broke in Mrs. Spe
llman, laying aside her fancy work and flitting into the kitchen department.
“I don’t see how you’re going to help it,” called her husband, “when you undertake to give a couple of tramps all they can eat. They are like dogs—always hungry.”
“Ain’t ye a little rough, boss, on a gentleman?” asked Biggs, with an ominous glint in his piglike eyes.
“Produce the gentleman and I’ll reply.”
The physician’s dislike of the nuisances was so strong that he could not pretend to hide it. Sharp words might have been followed by something regrettable, had not the wife come out at this moment bearing a couple of enormous ham sandwiches. The men again doffed their fragmentary hats, bowed and mumbled their thanks.
“There’s the gentleman,” said Biggs, nodding toward the smiling woman and addressing her husband, “which you was saying you would like to see. These be fine sandwiches and will sarve us very well for starters.”
“That’s what they are meant to do,” said the doctor; “you may start at once and need not show yourselves here again.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Biggs, speaking with his mouth stuffed full of meat and bread; “I reckon you don’t own the lake and this part of the State.”
“I own enough to warn you to keep your distance; we choose our friends.”
“Mebbe we may take a notion to drop in on ye bime by; with thanks, mum, we now sagaciate.”
Dr. Spellman was a man of quick temper, and felt so incensed by the smirking glance of the scamp at his wife, that he bounded from his hammock and into the house for his revolver. Suspecting his purpose, his wife interposed:
“What are you going to do, Wilson?”
“Shoot that scoundrel! Let me get my pistol.”
“You shall do nothing of the kind; the man hasn’t done me any harm and is leaving. He doesn’t deserve another thought.”
“He deserves what he will get if he ever dares to show himself here again.”
The doctor had the good habit of yielding to the domination of his much better tempered partner. He turned round without his weapon and resumed his seat in the hammock which he nervously rocked, thereby helping to soothe his anger. His wife sat on a camp stool and did not speak but looked at him with a smile whose significance was that of many words.
“Don’t,” he protested; “pitch in and scold all you wish, but don’t look at me like that—hello! hark!”
From across the lake came the faint, dull report of a revolver. The doctor raised his hand and whispered:
“Listen!”
In a few seconds, a second report traveled over the water to their ears. If that was all, it would mean nothing, but with the same interval, the third sound reached the startled couple.
“It is a call for help!” exclaimed the doctor bounding to his feet; “I am wanted at once by the Boy Scouts.”
The wife turned white and gasped: “Something has happened to Ruth!”
“We can’t know until we reach camp; come on!”
He dashed into the house, caught up his case of instruments and revolver, but left his rifle. Quick as he was, she was at the shore ahead of him and had grasped the canoe to shove it into the water. At the moment the craft was floating clear and the doctor caught up the paddle, they heard again the triple reports of the revolver,—one after the other and with but an interval of a second or two between the shots.
And then Dr. Spellman paddled as he had never paddled before, for no more powerful motive could have stirred all the strength and energy of his nature.
CHAPTER XXI
How It Happened
Jack Crandall, Arthur Mitchell and Gerald Hume were members of the Stag Patrol, and the age of each was slightly more than fourteen years. Jack was tall, muscular and had an inclination to stoop, due probably to his rapid growth. He was somewhat reserved by nature, but his good disposition made him one of the most popular of the Boy Scouts. What distinguished him among his comrades was his fondness for bird lore. He had been dubbed the official ornithologist and his note books, which he had filled with “pointers” picked up on his excursions in the woods at home, were of the most interesting nature. Sometimes by invitation of Scout Master Hall, he read from them in the evening when the company gathered around the camp fire for reports and gossip. He not only investigated, but studied text books on the subject. No intelligent lad can follow such a course without becoming well informed in any branch of knowledge. It gave him pleasure to answer questions, of which many were asked, and it was universally agreed that he was one of the most valuable members of the troop that was spending the month of August in the woods of southern Maine.
All that I have to tell about Jack was to his credit. He had no brothers and but one sister, two years younger than himself. His mother was a widow in straitened circumstances, who would have had a hard time to get on, but for the cheerful help of Jack, who loved her and Maggie with a devotion that could not be surpassed. One fact will tell more than could be given in a dozen paragraphs. He wrote a letter to his mother, with a message inclosed to his sister, on every day he was absent from home. Since the wagon with supplies labored through the forest only twice a week, the dear ones had the pleasure of receiving two or three of his cheery missives by the same mail, after waiting several days for them. I need not say that those at home were equally faithful.
Now on the afternoon following the visit of little “Sunbeam” to the bungalow on the shore of Gosling Lake, more than half the boys, as you may remember, divided into small parties and set off on a ramble through the wilderness. The three whom I have named took a southern course which led them into a lonely section and expected to be absent all the afternoon. Five minutes after starting they were out of sight of their friends.
You would not be interested in a detailed account of what was done during most of the afternoon. Later on I may have something to tell you of the birds found in that part of our country.
No boy or man pays much attention to the passage of the hours when absorbed in a pleasant task. The three youths were surprised when the approaching twilight warned them that the long summer day was drawing to a close.
“Gee!” exclaimed Gerald Hume; “it’s time we hiked for home.”
Jack was the only one who carried a watch. It was a cheap pattern but a good one. He drew it out and looked at it.
“It is ten minutes to seven. Today is Monday, the fifth of August, and the sun sets in sixteen minutes past seven. It will be dark when we get to headquarters.”
“How far do you think it is?”
“We have followed such an aimless course that it is hard to tell, but it must be a mile at least; what do you think, Arthur?”
“I should say it is a good deal more than that, but what’s the odds? We’re not likely to meet any Indians or to run afoul any wild beasts.”
“We must keep to the right course, however,” said Gerald, “or we shall have to camp out.”
“It won’t hurt us if we do, even when we have made no preparations,” replied Jack, who added:
“We went south from the lake, but the points of the compass are all twisted.”
“It would do us no good if they weren’t, for we haven’t an instrument with us.”
“Yes; we have,” remarked Jack, who still held his watch in hand. “Have you forgotten that a watch is a good compass when the sun is shining?”
“Mr. Hall showed us while we were on our way here,” laughed Arthur, “but I have forgotten what he said.”
“So have I,” added Gerald.
“Luckily, I have had to test it before, and after seeing me use that means I know you will remember it.”
Jack pointed the hour hand to the sun already low in the horizon and explained:
“If it were forenoon, half way between the hour hand and noon is due south. But it is afternoon and I must reckon half way backward. Notice,—I point the hour hand at a fraction before seven. Now divide the distance between that point and the figure 12 into halves and take th
e midway point: there you are—that indicates south.”
“Suppose the sun wasn’t shining, Jack?”
“If the clouds were too dense to allow you to locate the sun, your watch would be useless as a compass, but that isn’t often the case. You should stand in the open where no shadow falls upon you, and hold your knife point upright on your watch dial. Almost always you can see a dim shadow which shows where the sun is.”
“But,” inquired Arthur with a laugh; “now that we know the points of the compass what good will it do us?”
Gerald took it upon himself to answer:
“If we went south from the lake all we have to do is to go north to get back to it.”
“Yes, ‘if’ we did that, but we have paid no attention to our course and may be east or west of the bungalow.”
Jack interposed with the good sense which rarely forsook him:
“While it is impossible that we should have held a direct southern line, I believe we nearly did so and by going north we shall not stray far from the right path. At any rate, we have only to try it. If we get lost we can yell for help.”
Jack took the lead, but had not gone a hundred yards when he stopped with an exclamation:
“Look at that!”
He pointed to the upper branches of a tall pine, betraying an excitement that was new to him. His companions followed the direction of the extended finger.
“I don’t see anything but a lot of branches,” replied Gerald, after a brief scrutiny.
“Nor do I,” added Arthur.
“Are you blind? On that limb that puts out to the right is a bird’s nest.”
“Well, what of it? This isn’t nesting time; there are no birds there now,” said Arthur after he had located the dark bunch of twigs and grass, well out on a long slender branch.
“I must have a look at the nest; it is a different pattern from any I have seen since coming to Maine.”
“Well, take your look and we’ll pass on.”
“That won’t do; I must have a peep inside.”
And to the astonishment of his companions, Jack flung aside the staff he had been carrying and began climbing the long, smooth trunk. To Gerald and Arthur nothing could have been more foolish, but they understood their friend too well to object.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 311
