CHAPTER XXX. THE STOLEN SKIFF.
The sun streamed into the miserable old shanty. It had lookedunattractive enough by night. Seen by day it was ten times more shabbyand ramshackle. Old fish nets, ragged, frayed lines, all theparaphernalia of a river fisherman lay scattered about.
On the crude table stood some unwashed tin dishes, great shad-flies andeel bugs buzzing about them with a whirring sound. Against the wall hungsome of old Whey's clothes, queer, homemade garments, half patches andhalf the original material; it was hard to tell where one began and theother ended. The sunlight that streamed into the squalid place, whichhad an untidy, dirt floor, came from the same window through which Ralphhad observed the light the night before.
The place was the typical home of a St. Lawrence River fisherman. In onecorner stood the old man's most cherished possessions, his sturgeonspears and a big jack lantern for night fishing. A crude attempt attaxidermy, too, was above an open fireplace at one end of the hut--astuffed "butter-ball" duck. It stood wobbling on one leg, the seams ofits sewn-up skin bursting through with the cotton that stuffed it.
In the opposite corner was a rusty stove with three legs, the place of afourth support being supplied by a log. A few tin plates, clumsy knivesand forks, bags of flour, potatoes, onions and other staples aboutcompleted the furnishings of the hut. The roof was leaky, as some muddypools on the floor and the sunlight streaming through sundry holes intothe room, amply testified.
Ralph's eye took in all this in a few seconds. Then his mind reverted tohis loss. Beyond a doubt, old man Whey was the thief. The old rascalmust have decided to search his guest in the night and abstract whateverof value he found. The boy could not help an indignant exclamation as hethought of the almost priceless collection of gems the old man'srapacious fingers had gathered in.
"Just to think," exclaimed Ralph indignantly, "that an old, half-senileman should have robbed me of precious stones that I thought nobody couldtake from me!"
Angry at his lack of caution in not having hidden them before he enteredthe hut, Ralph went to the door. It was ajar, and a touch threw it open.Outside, the morning sparkled brightly. The hut was on the river's edge.On the shore was drawn up a St. Lawrence skiff, a narrow, double-endedcraft of a type peculiar to the great river.
Its oars lay on their fixed thole pins and the line that lay up on thebeach was bone dry. Plainly, if this was the old man's only boat, which,considering his poverty-stricken state, was likely, old Whey had notbeen out that morning.
This rather puzzled Ralph. He had made up his mind that the old man hadrisen as soon as the storm died out--or perhaps he had not gone to bedat all--and had looted his garments and bed and then made off with theirvaluable contents. If the venerable thief had decamped, however, it wasplain he had not gone in his own boat; that is, unless he was possessedof more than one, which, for the reasons mentioned, was highlyimprobable.
Some bacon was in a frying-pan on the rusty stove in which a fire wassmoldering. A pot of coffee, also, stood there; and with some bread fromone of the corner cupboards Ralph managed to make a rough breakfast.Then, refreshed and invigorated, he set out for the scene of the wreck.Naturally, the desire to see how badly the _River Swallow_ was damagedwas uppermost in his mind. It outweighed even his worry over the losing,or, rather, the theft, of the leather wallet.
He had not proceeded very far when his steps were arrested by a low cryfrom a clump of brush back from the beach.
"Don't strike me again! Don't!" came in a trembling voice from whoeverwas concealed there.
"Somebody hurt," said Ralph to himself, and began to hasten up the beachtoward the clump of bushes.
As his footsteps crunched on the gravel the voice broke out afresh:
"It's the boy's wallet, I tell you. You mustn't steal it! Give it back!Give it back!"
Much mystified at this mention of the wallet, Ralph parted the bushes.He had hardly done so, when he started back with an exclamation. Old manWhey lay there in a crumpled heap. Apparently he was injured. But Ralphsoon discovered that although the old man's face had been bruised by abrutal blow he was not badly hurt.
Old man Whey lay there in a crumpled heap.]
"What's the matter, Mr. Whey?" asked the boy, blaming himself for hissuspicions of the old man. "What has happened?"
"Oh, is it you, my boy?" asked the old man, opening his eyes. "Three mencame to the hut while you were asleep. I had dozed off and opened myeyes in time to see them taking something from under your pillow."
"Those men!" cried Ralph, guessing the truth. "Were there _three_ ofthem?"
"Yes. I saw them take your wallet. I chased them and told them to giveit back, but they laughed at me and then struck my face as you see, andthrew me into these bushes. I'm not much hurt, but I'm half dead fromfright."
Ralph's mind was busy reconstructing things. There were three men. That,then, made it plain that La Rue had not perished, but had managed to getashore through the shallow water. He must have met Malvin and theNorwegian sailor when they landed, which accounted for the promptdisappearance of the latter two.
Apparently, then, they had watched him (Ralph) come ashore, and hadtracked him to the hut of old man Whey. Having done this, they hadawaited an opportunity to recover the gems, which Hansen had evidentlyseen Ralph transfer from the coat pocket of La Rue's discarded garmentto his own. It may be said here, that this is precisely what hadhappened and Ralph's guesses were not a whit short of the whole truth ofthe matter.
Despite his anxiety to reach the scene of the wreck, the boy felt thathis first duty lay to old man Whey, who was in a pitiable condition ofshakiness over his fright. But when Ralph had helped him to his feet, herallied and began to grow quite angry.
"Ah! If I'd been young and strong like I was once this wouldn't havehappened," he quavered. "I'd have given them something to think over.Yes, I would. But I'm old and all alone since Jimmie left me."
"Who was Jimmie?" asked Ralph, more to keep the old man's mind off hisbrutal treatment than anything else, as the two advanced toward the hut.
"Jimmie! Why, he was my grandson. He was a fine little lad, Jimmie was,but he was lost in his boat two years ago, and I've never got a trace ofhim since."
"Lost? You mean that he was lost in a storm?"
"Yes. Jimmie was out fishing when one of those storms we call a twistercame up. The last I saw of him he was being blown round that pointyonder. I've never seen him since. He'd be about twelve years old now,Jimmie would. He was a fine boy," garrulously went on the old man, "andafter his father, my last living son, died, Jimmie meant a lot to me."
His voice broke and his dim old eyes grew dimmer.
"You don't think it possible that he may have been saved?" inquiredRalph, with a vague hope of comforting the old man.
Old Whey shook his head mournfully.
"No, sir. Jimmie's dead and gone, he is, and the old man is left alone.All alone."
After he had had some strong coffee and breakfast, however, the old manrallied. He said he would accompany Ralph to the scene of the wreck. Hesuggested taking the row boat, as it would be easier than walking. Justas a westerner catches up a pony rather than walk a quarter of a mile,so a denizen of the St. Lawrence always travels in a skiff or a punt ora "put-put" (St. Lawrence for motor boat), if he is lucky enough topossess one.
But when they came out of the hut, imagine the surprise of the old manand the boy when they saw that the boat had gone!
There was no question about it, the skiff had vanished utterly withoutleaving a trace.
They hurried to the beach, the old man almost tearful over this newcalamity. Ralph bent and examined the ground in the vicinity of theplace where the boat had lain. Then he straightened up with an angryexclamation.
"La Rue's work again!" he cried. "Three men have been here and, beyondthe shadow of a doubt, it was La Rue and his companions. They haveescaped from the island with the gems in your stolen boat."
&nb
sp;
The Border Boys Along the St. Lawrence Page 31
