The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “That means he is ready if you are.”

  “I am to have an hour’s start?”

  “More if you wish it.”

  “That’s enough, and you are sure he will not attack me?”

  “Have no fear of that, but I suggest that you do not tempt him.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked young Rothstein.

  “Don’t tackle him first; and when he comes up with you, as he is sure to do, stop running. The Belgian dogs have a trick of dodging between the legs of a fugitive and tripping him, but the bloodhound prefers to drag him down.”

  “In other words,” said Mike, “whin the dog gits ye down, and has his paws on yer breast, and is hunting out the best place to begin his feast, h’ist the flag of truce.”

  Isaac, accompanied by Scout Master Hall and several of the boys, passed into the bungalow, closing the door behind them, and went out of the rear door which was also shut. The dog remained on the front porch with his master and the other scouts, each party out of sight of the other. A few minutes later, Isaac’s friends rejoined their comrades, Burton and several of the Scouts glancing at their watches to note the time. Zip lay at his owner’s feet, with his nose between his paws, as if intending to pass the interval in sleep.

  Before starting, Isaac was asked to explain his plan. He replied that it was merely to do everything he could to puzzle his pursuer, and he was confident of succeeding. It was useless to make any effort at the start, and he walked away at his ordinary pace, quickly disappearing among the trees.

  The moment, however, he was out of sight he began the precautions he had decided upon before starting. He turned at right angles, walked rapidly for a hundred yards, then changed again to the same extent. Since the shift each time was to the right, this made an exact reversal of the course upon which he set out, and being kept for a little while took him back to the bungalow, a rod or two from his starting point. No one saw him, since every one was at the front. Thus he made a second get away, which delayed him for a few minutes.

  Isaac chuckled, for he was sure he had played a cute trick upon the dog, which he believed would be puzzled thereby, and yet you and I can readily see that there was “nothing in it” at all.

  Again the youth dived in among the trees, or broke into a rapid run, going straightaway, but taking as long steps as he could. Then he zig-zagged, first to the right and left, describing irregular circles which assuredly would have led him astray had he not caught glimpses of the lake now and then, and thus knew the course he was following, which in the main was toward the cabin of Uncle Elk.

  He kept note of the time, and just before the hour expired made a long sweeping curve to the right, which brought him back to the opposite end of the bungalow from his starting point.

  “Hurrah!” he called as he bounded up the steps among his friends; “where’s Zip?”

  “On your trail,” replied his owner.

  “Don’t be too sure of that; I’ve given him the task of his life.”

  “Undoubtedly the easiest one; now that you have returned,” said Burton, “you may as well tell us everything you did.”

  Isaac described his course from the first,—how he had actually started twice, often shifting and finally making a big curve, still marked by abrupt changes that were sure to baffle the keenest nosed bloodhound that ever tracked a fugitive into the depths of the Everglades.

  “You couldn’t have given Zip an easier task,” said Burton; “when he left here a short time ago he circled about the clubhouse, and in three minutes at the most took your scent.”

  “But didn’t the two trails puzzle him?” asked the astonished Isaac.

  “There was a difference of a few minutes in their making and he took the freshest.”

  This sounded so incredible that the guest qualified his assertion.

  “Even if he accepted the older scent, it led him straight to the second. All your circlings and doublings availed you nothing; you never perplexed him for more than an instant.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “There’s your answer.”

  Burton nodded toward the steps up which Isaac Rothstein had come some time before. There was Zip, who without baying or making any kind of outcry, galloped over the porch and directly to where the astounded lad was sitting. Stepping a pace or two away, he looked up at the youth and then walked over to his master and sat down beside his chair.

  “You can translate his remarks,” said the latter. “Words could not be plainer: ‘There’s the young man who thought he could fool me, but never was he more mistaken.’”

  Isaac joined in the clapping of hands. Zip preserved his dignity and paid no heed to strangers. All he cared for was the good opinion of his master and he knew he had that.

  “Next!” called Burton, and the tall, stoop-shouldered Hoke Butler rose to his feet.

  “I don’t want any help,” he remarked with a wink toward Isaac Rothstein, as Zip sniffed about his feet; “stay right where you are. Mr. Burton, a half hour start will be enough for me.”

  “As you please, but you may have two hours if you wish.”

  “And we’ll save our bouquets till Zip throws up the sponge,” said Mike, “or rather until I tries me hand with the intilligint canine.”

  Instead of leaving the bungalow from the rear, Hoke walked deliberately down the eastern steps, and sauntered off where he was in plain sight of all until he entered the wood which approached to within a few rods of the lake. He had given no one a hint of the scheme he had in mind, but the feeling was general that whatever its nature it was original, and more than one-half suspected he might outwit the remarkable dog. In this list we must not include George Burton.

  Now Hoke had learned that it was useless to try to throw Zip off the scent by any such artifices as young Rothstein had used. As the guest declared, the tracker had not bothered the dog to the slightest extent. It therefore would be folly for the second fugitive to repeat the experiment. He had no thought of doing so.

  Mention has been made in the preceding pages of a brook which ran near the home of Uncle Elk. After a devious course this emptied into Gosling Lake at a point about halfway between the cabin and the bungalow. Hoke rested his hopes upon this little stream.

  “Burton barred the lake,” chuckled the youth, “but he didn’t say anything of this stream, though I was awfully afraid he would. I guess he doesn’t know about it,—yes, he does, too, for he had to cross it on his way to the bungalow, but he forgot it. He can’t kick when he finds I have made his dog sing small.”

  Allured by the single purpose, Hoke pushed straight on, turning neither to the right nor left. Recalling that he had shortened the time Zip was to wait, he broke into a lope. His build made him the fleetest runner in camp, and it did not take him long to reach the stream. He had crossed it so many times that the lower portion was familiar, and he turned as if to follow it to its source in the spring near Uncle Elk’s cabin.

  He found it of varying width. It was so narrow where a regular path had been made by the passing back and forth of the hermit and his friends, that nothing in the nature of a bridge was used. A long step or a moderate jump served.

  Nowhere did the depth seem to be more than a few inches, except where a pool or eddy occasionally appeared; but as Hoke Butler picked his way along the bank, he was pleased to note here and there a considerable expansion.

  “That’s good!” he said to himself; “it will make it all the harder for that dog.”

  He now put his scheme into operation. Without removing his shoes, he stepped into the brook, sinking halfway to his knees, and began walking up the bed of the stream. The water was as cold as ice, and he gasped at first, but became quickly accustomed to it. The bottom was so irregular that he progressed slowly, and more than once narrowly escaped falling. Here and there boulders protruded from the shore and he steadied himself by resting a hand upon them as he labored past. Those that rose from the bed of the stream itself and around which the current
foamed, afforded convenient stepping stones and were turned to such use.

  “Of course that wouldn’t do on land,” he reflected, “for the dog would catch the scent, but he can’t know I’m in the water, and will be hunting elsewhere for my trail. He’ll be the most beautifully fooled dog in Maine.”

  CHAPTER XIX

  The Final Test

  “Mr. George Burton may think he has a mighty smart dog,” reflected Hoke Butler, as he picked his way up the small stream, “and he isn’t any slouch, but there are some things he can’t do, and one of them is to follow a fellow’s trail through the water. Funny that when Burton shut us off from the lake he forgot this brook. Since he didn’t mention it, I have the right to use it.

  “Now,” continued the logical young man, “while I keep to the water I don’t leave any scent; I’m like the fawn which the hound can’t track through the woods, and when Zip comes to the point where I stepped into the water, he’ll be up against it—hello!”

  He had come to a place where the brook expanded into a pool and more than fifty feet across. Opposite to where he halted, the foaming current tumbled over a series of boulders, and then spread out into the calm expanse, whose outlet was the small stream which Hoke had ascended to this point. The water lost a good deal of its limpidity, so that the bottom could be traced only a little way from where he stood.

  “That’s bully!” exclaimed the Scout, after brief reflection; “I’ll walk across the pond—it can’t be deep—and step ashore on the other side, Zip won’t come within a mile of the spot.”

  He began wading, cautiously feeling each step before advancing. Since the depth was unknown he could not be too careful, though confident that the little lake was shallow in every part.

  Half across the icy water reached to his knees. He pressed slowly on, thrusting out a foot and making sure of a firm support.

  “It ought now to grow more shallow,” he reflected as he felt his way forward; “when I get to shore I may as well go back to the bungalow and wait till Zip returns disgusted. I guess Burton can take a joke when it’s on him, and he’ll laugh with the rest of us—”

  At that instant, Hoke stepped into an unseen hole and dropped out of sight. The sudden clasp of the icy element made him gasp, and when his head popped up, he spat and struck out frantically for land. It was remarkable that the only spot in the pond where the water was over his head was barely two yards across, and beyond it the depth was so slight that while swimming, one of Hoke’s feet struck bottom. He straightened up, and strode to land, shivering in his dripping garments.

  “Who’d have thought that? I didn’t dream of anything of the kind—where did you come from?”

  This angry question was addressed to Zip, who thrust his muzzle against Hoke’s knee, looked up and wagged his tail.

  “I’d like to know what led you here, when you hadn’t any scent to follow.”

  “It was his nose,” remarked young Burton some time later, when Hoke having exchanged his wet clothing told his story to the laughing group on the piazza.

  “I left no scent when I stepped into the brook,” replied Hoke.

  “Therefore he knew you were in the brook; and set out to find where you had left it.”

  “He had to follow both sides in turn.”

  “Not at all; from one bank he could detect, without the least difficulty, the scent on the other side. He failed to take it up, and therefore knew you had still kept to the stream. If you had not been in sight when he reached the pond, he would have circled around it and nothing could have prevented his discovering your trail within the next few minutes. But he saw you feeling your way across, and the direction in which your face was turned told him where you would come out,—so he trotted around to welcome you when you reached land.”

  “Why didn’t he jump in to help me out of the hole?”

  “The bloodhound is content to leave that kind of work to his brother the Newfoundland, and a few others. You are ready to admit, Hoke, that there are bigger fools than Zip.”

  “Yes,—and here sits one of them. Mike doesn’t seem to care to match with him.”

  “There’s where you’re mistook, as Bridget Lanigan said whin she picked up a red hot poker thinking it was a ribbon she had dropped from her hair. Come, boys.”

  Mike sprang from his seat and addressed Alvin and Chester. There was much chaffing as the three passed into the bungalow and out at the rear. Zip had taken his place beside his master’s chair, where he sat with his long tongue hanging far out, his mouth wide open, and his big ears dangling below his massive jaws. He manifested no further interest in what was going on around him, though he must have understood everything.

  The agreement with Mike was that the dog should remain on the piazza with his master and the other scouts until a full hour should have passed. Then he was to be allowed to smell of a pair of shoes which the fugitive left behind him. These belonged to Alvin Landon, who had brought some extra footgear. They had been worn by Mike for several days when he replaced them with his own, which he had on at the time he left the bungalow. Thus far everything was plain and above board.

  “I don’t know what Mike has up his sleeve,” remarked young Burton; “no doubt it is something ingenious, for he and his two chums have been whispering and chuckling a good deal together, but Zip will defeat him as sure as the sun is shining in the sky. You have noticed that my dog does very little baying,—or rather, Isaac and Hoke have noticed it.”

  “But he gets there all the same,” laughed Rothstein; “I should like to know what plan Mike has in mind.”

  “We shall learn when he comes back and we hear his story.”

  Prompt to the minute, Burton directed the attention of Zip to the pair of shoes that had been placed on the ground at the foot of the steps.

  “Find him,” was the command of his master, and the hound fairly bounded out of sight around the corner of the building. He bayed once as he picked up the scent, and then vanished like a bolt from a crossbow. The crowd of Boy Scouts resumed their chat and awaited as patiently as they could the issue of the novel test.

  Meanwhile, Mike Murphy and his two chums set to work to carry out the scheme which they had formulated, and which each one was confident must result in the humiliation of the wonderful dog and his owner. With abundance of time at their command they did not hasten, but walked with a moderate pace to a point some two hundred yards from the bungalow. They had straggled along side by side, without trying to make their trail hard to follow, and now halted.

  “This is far enough,” remarked Alvin, as the three peered around without seeing any one.

  His companions agreed. Then Alvin and Mike sat down on the ground and exchanged shoes. Not only that, but the former stooped and the latter mounted his back, his arms loosely around Alvin’s neck with his legs projecting in front and supported by the crooked elbows of his carrier. Then he resumed his walk with Chester trailing behind.

  When the distance from the bungalow had been doubled, Alvin asked:

  “How much do you weigh, Mike?”

  “A hundred and forty-three pounds—when ye started.”

  “I think it is about a ton now; how far do you expect me to carry you?”

  “Not far,—say two or three miles.”

  “I rather guess not; Chest, it’s time you took a turn.”

  “Oh, wait awhile; you have only just begun.”

  “This isn’t as much fun as I thought,” growled Alvin, resuming the task that was fast becoming onerous.

  “I’m enj’ying mesilf, as Jerry Dunn said whin he tackled three p’licemen. When I git tired I’ll sing out, and we’ll make a change.”

  Chester’s sense of justice led him soon after to help in shifting Mike to his own shoulders, and the progress was resumed much the same as before.

  You will perceive the trick the boys were playing upon the bloodhound. Mike had not only changed shoes with Alvin Landon, but his new ones were not permitted to touch ground while they traveled
a fourth of a mile through the unbroken woods. Moreover, for this distance the leaves were trampled by Mike’s shoes, but they were on the feet of Alvin.

  The next step in this curious mixup was for Alvin, still wearing Mike’s shoes, to diverge to the left, while Chester, with Mike on his shoulders, went a considerable distance to the right, where he halted and the Irish youth slipped to the ground and stood in the footgear of Alvin, who was so far away that he could not be seen among the trees.

  All this was prearranged, as was that which followed. Mike started off alone, aiming to return to the bungalow by a long roundabout course, while the other two came together at a new point, and made their way by a more direct route to where their friends were awaiting them.

  “I wonder that Zip doesn’t show up,” said Alvin, when they caught sight of the building, and he looked back; “it is considerably past the hour, and he ought to be in sight.”

  “It can’t be he was sharp enough to detect our track.”

  “Impossible!”

  And yet that is precisely what he did do, and later, when all were gathered on the piazza, including the dog, who arrived less than ten minutes after the astounded Mike, George Burton complacently explained how it had all come about.

  “It was an ingenious scheme, Mike, and deserved success, but it did not bother Zip for more than a few minutes. If a dog can smile, he must have grinned when he penetrated your strategy. You made one mistake which was natural.”

  “It looks to me as if our greatest mistake was in thinking the pup didn’t know more than ten times all of us together,” said Mike with a sniff.

  “That, too, was natural in the circumstances, but when you changed your shoes with Alvin, then was the time you three should have parted company. Instead, you stayed together, and Zip kept to the trail, for it was the only one for him to follow. Had you separated, he probably would have followed Alvin for awhile, but not long. He would have detected the deception, run back to the point of separation and hit the right one.”