The Boy Patrol Around the Council Fire

CHAPTER XXIV – “The Latchstring Was Inside!”

The meeting was a joyous one. Alvin and Chester sprang to their feet and grasped in turn the hand of their astonished friend, while Zip, never forgetting his dignity, looked on as if he understood it all, as quite likely he did.

“I didn’t leave Uncle Wilson’s until after dinner yesterday,” said Burton, “and as Zip and I were in no hurry, it was growing dark when we got here. Somehow or other, I fancied the looks of this old-fashioned inn and decided to stay over night, but what is it brings you here?” asked the young man as all three sat down to the table.

And then Alvin told his astounding story, to which Burton listened with breathless interest.

“How dreadful!” he exclaimed; “it distresses me more than I can tell. It was fortunate indeed that I decided to stop here, for I may not return to Mouse Island for several days. I reckon we shall do some tall traveling to Gosling Lake.”

They did not linger over their breakfast. Burton tossed a few mouthfuls of meat to the dog, which sat on the floor beside his chair. As a rule, when off on one of his tramps, the hound shared his room, though he did not do so at the bungalow, which explained why Alvin and Chester saw nothing of the animal when they arrived several hours before.

“It isn’t any use to theorize,” remarked Burton, as the three paid their bill and hurried out of the inn, “for at such times you are more likely to be wrong than right. Ruth may have fallen into the lake and been drowned, without her body being found for several days; it may be that those tramps belong to an organized gang and have stolen and hidden her, but in that case,” added the young man with a flash of his eyes, “they forgot to reckon with Zip; and if so, they will soon learn their mistake.”

“The general belief when we left last night,” said Chester, “was that she had simply wandered off in the woods until tired out, when she lay down and fell asleep.”

“That sounds reasonable, but I can’t shake off the fear that it is not the right explanation.”

It need not be said that while the three boys were hurrying over the highway and along the rough path with the eager Zip, who knew that something was in the air, keeping them company, the Boy Scouts and Doctor Spellman and his wife were busy.

Their aimless groping through the wood was kept up until far beyond midnight, when the physician compelled his wife to return with him to the house and lie down for a brief rest. Scout Master Hall suggested to the members of the troop to return to the bungalow, he accompanying them, where they too secured sleep, and ate their morning meal at daylight. The agreement was that all should assemble at an early hour at the doctor’s home, where a decision would be made as to what was next to be done.

If the child, as all prayed was the case, had simply gone astray in the woods, she would awake at an early hour and renew her effort to find her way home. With so many persons wandering here, there and everywhere she must hear their calls and her rescue could not be long delayed. If such proved not to be the case, and she had not been drowned, it would mean the worst. She was the victim of the most atrocious miscreants who lived, – for no crime is more merciless and unforgivable than the kidnapping of the pet of a household, and giving its parents the choice of paying an enormous ransom or never seeing it again.

Now, it may have struck you as strange that no reference has been made to Uncle Elk in the consternation which followed the discovery that Ruth Spellman had been lost or stolen. In knowledge of woodcraft none of the searchers could be compared to him, and yet no one had asked his help. The reason was simple. With all his skill in the ways of the forest, he could do no more, so long as the night lasted, than the youngest member of the Boy Scouts. He could join in the aimless groping and shouting, but with a score already doing their utmost, he would simply be one among them.

Although morning brought a change of conditions, it would seem that they were still unsurmountable, for what Apache, or Sioux or Shawnee (unless he were Deerfoot) could trail a little child through the forest, when her almost imperceptible footprints had been repeatedly crossed by other feet?

“I think we ought to appeal to Uncle Elk,” said Scout Master Hall to the parents, after the scouts assembled at the Doctor’s home had scattered to press their hunt harder than ever. “None of us can equal him.”

“You know that for some cause which I cannot fathom, he has formed an intense dislike for my wife and me,” said the perplexed father.

“But it is impossible that it should include the little one. At such a time as this no heart has room for enmity, no matter what fancy may have dictated.”

“I am willing to be guided by your judgement,” replied the doctor, after his wife had joined in the plea. “If Ruth has slept alone in the woods, she must have awakened an hour or two ago and ought to have been found. I don’t see how the old hermit can help us, but we must neglect nothing. Come on.”

But Mike Murphy had anticipated their action. We know what unbounded faith he held in Uncle Elk, and more than once he had felt inclined to go to his cabin. With the coming of morning he decided to do so.

Consulting with Patrol Leader Chase, Mike found that he had formed the same decision. Accordingly the two withdrew from the others without attracting notice and made their way together to the cabin of their old friend. This was so far removed from the zone of active search that none of the other Scouts was met.

“If he can’t help us, no one can,” said Chase.

“There’s only one cratur that can thrack Sunbeam through the woods, and his name is Zip,” replied Mike. “If I hadn’t seen with me own eyes what he can do, I wouldn’t belave the same. Wal, here we are!”

They had reached the little clearing in the middle of which stood the familiar cabin, as silent and devoid of all signs of life as ever. Without hesitation, Mike led the way up the path, placed his foot on the small steps, and was about to reach up to draw the latch, when he recoiled with a gasp.

“Do ye obsarve that?” he asked in a startled whisper.

The latchstring was inside!

Never since the leathern thong was first shoved through the little orifice above the tongue of iron had this occurred, by day or night.

The two boys stood for several minutes staring at the blank door, and then looked in each other’s face. Not the slightest sound was heard from within.

“What does it mean, Mike?” asked the Patrol Leader in a still lower whisper.

“It maans ‘no admittince’; this is no place for us. I can’t guess what raison Uncle Elk has for shutting ivery one out, but he’s done it, and we must respect it.”

They turned away, hurrying in the direction of Doctor Spellman’s house, and had almost reached it when they met the physician, his wife and Scout Master Hall, to whom the two boys told the astounding news. In other circumstances they would have theorized as to the cause of Uncle Elk’s unaccountable action, but there was only one theme that filled every mind.

“It shuts us off from any aid by him,” remarked the doctor; “we can only keep up the search and wait for the coming of my nephew and his dog, – but,” he added bitterly, “that may not be for days, when even he can do nothing.”

A ringing shout caused all to turn their heads and look along the beach toward the northern side of the lake. Three boys were coming toward them on a run, and a few paces ahead of them, as if he were their leader, galloped a black dog.

“God be thanked!” exclaimed the mother clasping her hands. “It’s George and Zip!”

“Not forgitting Alvin and Chest, the two best boys that iver lived, barring only mesilf.”

The next minute the parties were mingling, and greeting one another. Alvin, Chester and young Burton were panting, for they had not let the grass grow under their feet on the way from Bovil to Gosling Lake, but they were still good for much more of the same kind of work.

“Zip is ready,” said his master, “and we are near the house. Let’s make a start, for we are soon to learn the truth.”

The news of the arrival of Zip quickly spread by means of shouts and calls to the scattered Boy Scouts, who began flocking to the quarters of Doctor Spellman, until very nearly the whole troop were gathered there. In answer to the request of Burton for some article of wearing apparel recently worn by Ruth, the mother with a calmness that impressed every one, brought forward a pair of chubby shoes, which the little one in an effort to “break them in” had kept on her feet until late in the afternoon, when they irked her so much she changed them for an old pair. Burton held them out to Zip, who sniffed several times and then turned his head away to signify that he had learned enough.

“Now, get to work!” commanded his master.

The scent was perhaps fourteen hours old when the Boy Scouts assembled in front of the wooden structure, saw Zip begin trotting to and fro with his nose to the ground. Suddenly he bayed slightly, and started down the slope in the direction of the lake.

“He’s hit the trail!” said the excited Burton, dashing after him; “not too fast, Zip.”

The youth never used a leash. The hound wore a handsome collar with his name and the address of his master engraved on it. His voice was sufficient to restrain Zip if he traveled too rapidly.

But the dog at his slowest traveled so fast that the boys had to trot to keep pace with him. His master by common consent took the lead, with Alvin, Chester, Mike and the others at his heels. Zip would have drawn away from them all had not his master sharply restrained him. The doctor was well to the rear, in order to keep company with his wife.

The hound went straight toward the water, but a few paces away turned to the left, taking a course which if continued would lead him to the bungalow. This was kept up for more than a hundred yards, when he abruptly stopped and throwing up his head looked off over the lake, without emitting any sound.

The mother with a moan staggered and would have fallen had she not been caught in the arms of her husband.

“That means she is drowned!” faintly whispered the stricken wife. “O Wilson! I cannot bear it!”

“No, my dear; he has gone forward again; be brave; hope is still left.”

Zip now led the company along the beach, at the same steady trot, with his master almost near enough to grasp his collar, and checking him now and then when he went too fast. There could be no doubt that he was following the scent, from which nothing could divert him.

But whither was it leading?

The run was a long one, always within a few paces of the water, until a point was reached opposite the path which led to the cabin of Uncle Elk. Here, to the astonishment of every one, the dog turned off and went up the slope.

“What can that mean?” was the question which each one asked himself.

And with more amazement than before, the procession of pursuers saw Zip follow the path across the clearing to the door of the cabin, where he stopped, threw up his nose and bayed. It was notice that he had reached the end of the trail.

Ruth Spellman was inside the log structure.

In a twinkling the whole company was grouped around the front of the building.

“Why don’t you go in?” demanded the Doctor, pressing impatiently forward.

“You forget the latchstring is inside,” reminded Scout Master Hall.

“What difference does that make? Is this a time to hesitate? Let’s break in the door! Make room for me and I’ll do it!”

Mike Murphy, Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes ran to the little window a few paces beyond the door and peered through the panes.

“Sunbeam is there!” shouted Mike, “and nothing is the matter with her!”

Before he could explain further, there was a crash. The impact of Doctor Spellman’s powerful shoulder carried the staple which held the latch from its fastenings and the door swung inward. Through it swarmed the Boy Scouts, the physician and his wife in the lead.

In front of the broad fireplace, where the embers had long died, sat Uncle Elk in his rocking chair, silent, motionless and with head bowed. Seated on his knees, with her curls half hiding her pretty face and resting against his massive chest, was Ruth Spellman, sleeping as sweetly as if on her cot at home.

With a glad cry, the mother rushed forward and flung her arms about the child, sobbing with joy.

“O my darling! Thank heaven you are found!” and she smothered the bewildered one with kisses and caresses.

Suddenly Doctor Spellman raised his hand and an instant hush fell upon all. He had lifted the limp arm of the man and placed his finger on the wrist. The professional eye saw that which escaped the others. He said in a solemn voice:

“Uncle Elk is dead!”

CHAPTER XXV – And the Last

Enough has been said in the preceding pages to show that Elkanah Sisum was a man of excellent birth and superior culture. He possessed moderate wealth, and when admitted to the bar his prospects could not have been brighter, but misfortune seemed to have marked him for its own. It delivered the first crushing blow by taking away the beloved wife of his young manhood, and leaving him an only child, – Ruth, who was as the apple of his eye. At eighteen she married a worthy young man who was admitted as a partner in the law firm and displayed brilliant ability. Unto the couple was born also a single daughter, named for its mother.

Sisum never remarried, but lavished his affection upon his daughter and especially the grandchild Ruth, whom it may be said he loved more than his own life. Thus things stood until the little one was nearly five years old, when she showed alarming signs of sinking into a decline. Her parents decided to take her on a long sea voyage in the summer time. The understanding was that they were to be gone for several months, but they never returned. Their steamer was not heard of again.

It was years before the grandfather gave up hope. The long brooding over his grief and the final yielding to despair, – slow but final, – produced a strange effect upon his mind. Only his most intimate friends saw that his brain was affected; others met and talked with him daily with never a suspicion of the fact. He had come to the gradual but fixed belief that although his dear ones had left him for the land of shadows, yet somewhere and at some time in this life his grandchild would come to him. She might not remain long, but she would reveal herself unmistakably before Uncle Elk himself passed into the Great Beyond. It was the centering of his thoughts and hopes upon this strange fancy that was actual monomania. Scout Master Hall detected it, though none of the Boy Scouts dreamed of anything of the kind. As the delusion fastened itself upon the old man, he formed a distaste for society, which of itself grew until it made him the hermit we found in the Maine woods during this summer. There he spent his hours in reading, and in studying animal and bird life, – trees and woodcraft. He never lost his gentle affection for his fellow men, and at long intervals visited his former acquaintances; but, though he left his latchstring outside and gave welcome to whoever called, he preferred to make his abiding place far from the haunts of men.

What mind can understand its own mysteries? While the current of life was moving smoothly with the old man, Doctor Spellman put up his summer home on the shore of the lake not very distant from the cabin of Uncle Elk. The latter set out to call upon them almost as soon as he learned of their arrival. While too far for the couple to see him, he caught sight of them sitting in front of their structure, the doctor smoking and the wife engaged in crochet work. Their child was playing with a doll indoors, and Uncle Elk saw nothing of her, nor did he learn of her existence until several days later, when occurred the incident that will be told further on.

It was that sight of the man and woman that gave a curious twist to the delusion of the hermit. He was startled by the woman’s striking resemblance to his own daughter who had been lost at sea years before. He formed a sudden and intense dislike of the man who had presumed to marry a person that resembled his child, and it was painful to look upon the wife who bore such a resemblance. No brain, except one already somewhat askew, could have been the victim of so queer a process. Such, however, was the fact and of itself it explains a number of incidents that otherwise could not be explained.

It will be noted that thus far Uncle Elk had not seen the little child who was the image of her mother, and since the parents quickly learned of his strange antipathy and took care to avoid meeting him, it is unlikely that in the ordinary course of events he ever would have come face to face with the little one.

Now nothing is more evident than the absurdity of my trying to describe the mental ordeal through which this man passed on that last and most memorable night of his life. I base what I say upon that which Doctor Spellman told me as the result of his painstaking investigation, during the succeeding months, of the most singular case with which he was ever concerned, and even the brilliant medical man could not be absolutely certain of all his conclusions. However, they sound so reasonable that I now give them.

Throughout the afternoon, Uncle Elk was depressed in spirits, as is sometimes true of a person who is on the eve of some event or experience of decisive importance to himself. He was subject to a peculiar physical chilliness which led him to kindle a fire on his broad hearth, in front of which as the night shadows gathered, he seated himself in his cushioned rocking chair. As time passed he gave himself over to meditation of the long ago with its sorrowful memories.

He had sat thus for some time when he was roused by the twitching of the latchstring. He turned his head to welcome his caller, when he was so startled that at first he could not believe what his eyes told him. A little girl, of the age and appearance of the one who had gone down in the depths of the fathomless sea, stood before him.

“Good evening,” called the child in her gentle voice; “how do you do?”

“Who are you? What’s your name?” faltered the astounded old man.

“I am Ruth,” she replied, coming toward him with the trusting confidence of childhood.

This was the name of the loved one who had left him in the long ago. The resemblance was perfect, as it seemed to him. It was she!

He rose to his feet, reached out, clasped her hand and touched his lips to the chubby cheek.

“God be praised! You are my own Ruth come back to me after all these years!”

That poor brain, racked by so many torturing fancies, accepted it all as truth.

“I am so tired,” said the wearied little one, “I want to rest myself.”

He tenderly lifted her in his arms and carried her behind the curtains, through which the firelight shone, laid her on the couch with her head resting on the pillow, and drew the coverlet over her form. At the end of the few moments thus occupied he saw that she had sunk into the soft dreamless sleep of health and exhaustion.