CHAPTER XII
CONSPIRATORS
With September a tint of scarlet crept into the foliage bordering thelittle creeks that stole from the river into the Aldercliffe meadows;tangles of goldenrod and purple asters breathed of autumn, and themornings were now too chilly for a swim. Had it not been for the greatfireplace the shack would not have been livable. For the first timeboth Ted and Laurie realized that the summer they had each enjoyed soheartily was at an end and they were face to face with a differentphase of life.
The harvest, with its horde of vegetables and fruit, had been gatheredinto the yawning barns and cellars and the earth that had given sopatiently of its increase had earned the right to lay fallow until theplanting of another spring. Ted's work was done. He had helped depositthe last barrel of ruddy apples, the last golden pumpkins within doors,and now he had nothing more to do but to pack up his possessionspreparatory to returning to Freeman's Falls, there to rejoin his familyand continue his studies.
Once the thought that the drudgery of summer was over would have been adelightful one. Why, he could remember the exultation with which he hadburned the last cornstalks at the end of the season when at home inVermont. The ceremony had been a rite of hilarious rejoicing. But thisyear, strange to say, a dull sadness stole over him whenever he lookedupon the devastated gardens and the reaches of bare brown earth. Therewas nothing to keep him longer either at Aldercliffe or Pine Lea. Hiswork henceforth lay at school.
It was strange that a little sigh accompanied the thought for had henot always looked forward to this very prospect? What was the matternow? Was not studying the thing he had longed to be free to do? Whythis regret and depression? And why was his own vague sadness reflectedin Laurie's eyes and in those of Mr. Hazen? Summer could not lastforever; it was childish to ask that it should. They all had known fromthe beginning that these days of companionship must slip away and cometo an end. And yet the end had come so quickly. Why, it had scarcelybeen midsummer before the twilight had deepened and the days mellowedinto autumn.
Well, they had held many happy, happy hours for Ted, at least. Neverhad he dreamed of such pleasures. He had enjoyed his work, constantthough it had been, and had come to cherish as much pride in thegardens of Aldercliffe and Pine Lea, in the vast crops of hay thatbulged from the barn lofts, as if they had been his own. And whenworking hours were over there was Laurie Fernald and the new andpleasant friendship that existed between them.
As Ted began to drag out from beneath his bunk the empty wooden boxeshe purposed to pack his books in, his heart sank. Soon the cosy housein which he had passed so many perfect hours would be quite denuded.Frosts would nip the flowers nodding in a final glory of color outsidethe windows; the telephone would be disconnected; his belongings wouldonce more be crowded into the stuffy little flat at home; and the doorof the camp on the river's edge would be tightly locked on a desertedparadise.
Of course, everything had to come to an end some time and often when hehad been weeding long, and what seemed interminable rows of seedlingsand had been making only feeble progress at the task, the thought thattermination of his task was an ultimate certainty had been aconsolation mighty and sustaining. Such an uninteresting undertakingcould not last forever, he told himself over and over again; nothingever did. And now with ironic conformity to law, his philosophy hadturned on him, demonstrating beyond cavil that not only did the thingsone longed to be free of come to a sure finality but so did those onepined to have linger.
Although night was approaching, too intent had he been on his reveriesto notice that the room was in darkness. How still everything was! Thatwas the way the little hut would be after he was gone,--cold, dark, andsilent. He wondered as he sat there whether he should ever come back.Would the Fernalds want him next season and again offer him theboathouse for a home? They had said nothing about it but if he thoughthe was to return another summer it would not be so hard to go now. Itwas leaving forever that saddened him.
He must have remained immovable there in the twilight for a much longertime than he realized; and perhaps he would have sat there even longerhad not a sound startled him into breathless attention. It was therhythmic stroke of a canoe paddle and as it came nearer it wasintermingled with the whispers of muffled voices. Possibly he mighthave thought nothing of the happening had there not been a note oftense caution in the words that came to his ear.
Who could be navigating the river at this hour of the night? Surely notpleasure-seekers, for it was very cold and an approaching storm hadclouded in the sky until it had become a dome of velvet blackness.Whoever was venturing out upon the river must either know the streamvery well or be reckless of his own safety.
Ted did not move but listened intently.
"Let's take a chance and land," he heard a thick voice murmur. "The boyhas evidently either gone to bed or he isn't here. Whichever the case,he can do us no harm and I'm not for risking the river any farther.It's black as midnight. We might get into the current and havetrouble."
"What's the sense of running our heads into a noose by landing?"objected a second speaker. "We can't talk here--that's nonsense."
"I tell you the boy isn't in the hut," retorted his comrade. "Iremember now that I heard he was going back to the Falls to school.Likely he has gone already. In any case we can try the door and examinethe windows; if the place is locked, we shall be sure he is not here.And should it prove to be inhabited, we can easy hatch up some excusefor coming. He'll be none the wiser. Even if he should be here," addedthe man after a pause, "he is probably asleep. After a hard day's worka boy his age sleeps like a log. There'll be no waking him, so don'tfret. Come! Let's steer for the float."
"But I----"
"Great Heavens, Cronin! We've got to take some chances. You're notgetting cold feet so soon, are you?" burst out the other scornfully.
"N--o! Of course not," his companion declared with forced bravado. "ButI don't like taking needless risks. The boy might be awake and hearus."
"What if he does? Haven't I told you I will invent some yarn to put himoff the scent? He wouldn't be suspecting mischief, anyhow. I tell youI'm not going drifting round this river in the dark any longer. Nextthing we know we may hit a snag and upset."
"But you insisted on coming."
"I know I did," snapped the sharp voice. "What chance had we to talk ina crowded boarding-house whose very walls had ears? Or on the villagestreets? I knew the river would have no listeners and you see I wasright; it hasn't. But I did expect there would be a trifle more light.It is like ink, isn't it? You can't see your hand before your face."
"I don't believe we could find the float even if we tried for it,"piped his friend with malicious satisfaction.
"Find it? Of course we can. I've traveled this river too many times toget lost on it. I know every inch of the stream."
"But aren't there boats at the landing?"
"Oh, they've been hauled in for the season long ago. I know that to bea fact."
"Then I guess young Turner must have gone."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last half-hour,"asserted the other voice with high-pitched irritation. "Why waste allthis time? Let's land, talk things over, lay our plans, and be gettingback to Freeman's Falls. We mustn't be seen returning to the towntogether too late for it might arouse suspicion."
"You're right there."
"Then go ahead and paddle for the landing. I'll steer. Just have yourhand out so we won't bump."
The lapping of the paddles came nearer and nearer. Then there was acrash as the nose of the canoe struck the float.
"You darned idiot, Cronin! Why didn't you fend her off as I told youto?"
"I couldn't see. I----"
"Hush!"
A moment of breathless silence followed and then there was a derisivelaugh.
"I told you the boy wasn't here," one of the men declared aloud. "If hehad been he would have had his head out the window by now. We've madenoise enough to wake the dead."
"But
he may be here for all that," cautioned the other speaker. "Don'ttalk so loud."
"Nonsense!" his comrade retorted without lowering his tone. "I tell youthe boy has gone back home and the hut is as empty as a last year'sbird's nest. I'll stake my oath on it. The place is shut and lockedtight as a drum. You'll see I'm right presently."
Instantly Ted's brain was alert. The door was locked, that he knew, forwhen he came in he had bolted it for the night. One window, however,was open and he dared not attempt to close it lest he make somebetraying sound; and even were he able to shut it noiselessly hereflected that the procedure would be an unwise one since it would cuthim off from hearing the conversation. No, he must keep perfectly stilland trust that his nocturnal visitors would not make too thorough aninvestigation of the premises.
To judge from the scuffling of feet outside, both of them had nowalighted from the canoe and were approaching the door. Soon he heard ahand fumbling with the latch and afterward came a heavy knock.
Slipping breathlessly from his chair he crouched upon the floor, greatbeads of perspiration starting out on his forehead.
"The door is locked, as I told you," he heard some one mutter.
"He may be asleep."
"We can soon make sure. Ah, there! Turner! Turner!"
Once more a series of blows descended upon the wooden panel.
"Does that convince you, Cronin?"
"Y--e--s," owned Cronin reluctantly. "I guess he's gone."
"Of course he's gone! Come, brace up, can't you?" urged his companion."Where's your backbone?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Tell that to the marines! You're timid and jumpy as a girl. How are weever to put this thing over if you don't pull yourself together? Imight as well have a baby to help me," sneered the gruff voice.
"Don't be so hard on me, Alf," whined his comrade. "I ain't donenothin'. Ain't I right here and ready?"
"You're here, all right," snarled the first speaker, "but whetheryou're ready or not is another matter. Now I'm going to give you a lastchance to pull out. Do you want to go ahead or don't you? It's no goodfor us to be laying plans if you are going to be weak-kneed at the endand balk at carrying them out. Do you mean to stand by me and see thisthing to a finish or don't you?"
"I--sure I do!"
"Cross your heart?"
"Cross my heart!" This time the words echoed with more positiveness.
"You're not going to back out or squeal?" his pal persisted.
"Why, Alf, how can you----"
"Because I've got to be sure before I stir another inch."
"But ain't I told you over and over again that I----"
"I don't trust you."
"What makes you so hard on a feller, Alf?" whimpered Cronin. "I haven'tbeen mixed up in as many of these jobs as you have and is it surprisingthat I'm a mite nervous? It's no sign that I'm crawling."
"You're ready to stick it out, then?"
"Sure!"
There was another pause.
"Well, let me just tell you this, Jim Cronin. If you swear to stand byme and don't do it, your miserable life won't be worth afarthing--understand? I'll wring your neck, wring it good and thorough.I'm not afraid to do it and I will. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes."
The terror-stricken monosyllable made it perfectly apparent that Cronindid know.
"Then suppose we get down to hard tacks," asserted his companion, thenote of fierceness suddenly dying out of his tone. "Come and sit downand we'll plan the thing from start to finish. We may as well becomfortable while we talk. There's no extra charge for sitting."
As Ted bent to put his ear to the crack of the door, the thud of aheavy body jarred the shack.
"Jove!" he heard Cronin cry. "The ground is some way down, ain't it?"
"And it's none to soft at that," came grimly from his comrade, as asecond person slumped upon the planks outside.
Somebody drew a long breath and while the men were making themselvesmore comfortable on the float Ted waited expectantly in the darkness.
Ted and the Telephone Page 13
