The Great Oakdale Mystery

CHAPTER VIII.

HOOKER HAS A PLAN

On Thursday afternoon the Oakdale football team put in the last strenuous practice before the first real game of the season, which was to be played Saturday on the home grounds, the contesting eleven coming from Barville. As far as possible Captain Stone had drilled a knowledge of the new rules into the heads of his followers, and although, like a good captain, he was not wholly satisfied either with their advancement or his own, he decided that stiff, strenuous practice work on Friday would not be advisable, considering the possibility that someone might get hurt, with insufficient time to recover before the Barville contest. Therefore he simply notified his teammates to come out Friday for a little brushing up in signals.

Encouraged by Sage, Hooker had practiced faithfully, and had made a fairly good showing in the line of the scrub team when it played short periods against the regulars. Fortunately, Roy’s “condition” had been excellent when he began this, and therefore, save for a few minor bruises and sprains, which caused temporary soreness or lameness, he escaped injury. He was feeling somewhat elated over this when he left the gymnasium in company with Fred.

“It doesn’t seem to be such a tough old game, after all,” said Roy. “Of course a fellow gets pounded around a lot, but it doesn’t hurt him much if he’s good and hard.”

“That’s the point generally overlooked by people who put up a holler against the game,” said Fred. “Football isn’t for babies and weaklings, and the fellow who goes into it should be in perfect health and hardened by training that will enable him to stand up under pounding and jolts which would put a feeble chap all to the bad in no time at all. Observe how quickly fellows in fine condition recover from injuries on the field which would seem sufficient to put them under the doctor’s care for weeks or months. When some foolish chap who is soft as mush or has some chronic weakness attempts to get into the game, notice how often it happens that he’s the one seriously injured; and of course this gives people who do not understand the circumstances and who are opposed to the game a chance to raise a great to-do.”

“My folks have never wanted me to play.”

“Well, mine are not enthusiastically in favor of my playing, although my mother is the chief objector. But she’s always worrying about me of late, no matter what I do. It has been that way ever since – ” He checked himself suddenly.

“Ever since what?” asked Roy.

“Oh,” answered Fred evasively, “ever since I got old enough to go in for such things. She doesn’t like to have me go gunning, and she actually cried when father bought me my gun.”

“Oh, say,” exclaimed Hooker quickly, “that makes me think of something. Why can’t we get in a little shooting Saturday morning? There ought to be ducks over in Marsh Pond, and we could try ’em Saturday, and arrange to get home by the middle of the forenoon-by half past ten or eleven, at the latest. That would give us plenty of time to rest up before the game.”

“But Marsh Pond is nearly five miles from here, and, in order to get there early enough to pick up any ducks in the morning, we’d have to turn out in the middle of the night and make a stiff tramp of it. I’m afraid that would be a little too much, Hooker.”

“Now listen to me; I have a plan. I’m not in favor of rising at two or three o’clock and hoofing it all that distance for half an hour’s shooting after daybreak. You’re as wise to the signals as any fellow on the team, aren’t you?”

“I think so,” nodded Fred modestly.

“Think so! Why, you’ve got them down pat. You can reel ’em off like hot shot, and you know every time just what you’re firing at. A little signal practice to-morrow wouldn’t do you any good, and, as I’m only a scrub man, it isn’t worth my while bothering. I know where we can get a good set of decoys to use on that duck hunt, and if you’ll go I’ll agree to get ’em. We can start right after school to-morrow, and I’ll bet I can hire Abe Hubbard to take us over to the pond with his old horse and wagon. It won’t cost a great deal, for Hubbard isn’t doing much of anything, and he’d be glad to pick up a dollar. It wouldn’t surprise me if the sight of a whole dollar would hire him to tote us over there and come for us any time we might set on Saturday. If I can fix it,” he concluded eagerly, “will you go?”

They had paused in front of the post-office, and Fred meditated a moment over the proposal. They were standing there as Sleuth Piper came up, passed them and entered the building, turning to cast a swift glance in their direction.

“It listens good, Hooker,” said Fred, tempted; “but where are we going to stay all night? Have you thought of that?”

“You bet I have. Why, don’t you remember there’s an old camp over there, which nobody ever uses nowadays? It has a stone fireplace, and if we take an axe along to cut wood we can be as comfortable as you please.”

It was not remarkable that the temptation grew, for what real boy would not be lured by the prospect of a night in an old camp in the woods?

“It listens good,” repeated Fred, smiling a bit; “but how about a boat? Without a dog to do our retrieving, if we shoot anything we’ll certainly need a boat. Spot is no water dog, and he’d be practically useless for us.”

“There isn’t any boat,” admitted Roy; “but I know where there’s an old raft on the shore within twenty rods of the shooting blind some hunters made last fall. I know the raft ought to be there, for I used it when I was over there fishing once this summer. I saw the blind and inspected it, too, and it will be all right for us without doing a thing to it. It’s close by the feeding grounds at the western end of the lake and will serve us much better than a new one, as the ducks are thoroughly accustomed to the sight of it by this time. You know how they shy sometimes at a newly built blind they’ve never seen before. With that raft near by for our use, we can pick up any ducks we knock down. Come on, Fred, of course you’ll go.”

“I’ll speak to Stone about it in the morning.”

“That would be rather late, for you know I’ve got to see Hubbard and fix it with him. Why not see Stone to-night? Give him a good game of talk. Tell him you feel the need of something like this to brace you up. Hard study, regular practice, monotony, anxiety about the game – you know the sort of argument to put up. He’ll be a chump if he refuses. Why, if I was on the team I’d simply see him and tell him I was going to go anyhow.”

“And you’d put yourself in bad with old Stoney. He’s an easy-going fellow in some things, but when it comes to football matters he believes in discipline and enforces it, too.”

“Yes,” nodded Roy, “he’s a little too stiff to suit me; something of a tyrant, it seems.”

“Not a tyrant; simply a captain who knows what is right and demands it of his followers. If Stone says he doesn’t think I should go, of course I won’t, that’s all.”

“But you will if he’ll agree?” cried Hooker exultantly. “Say, old man, leave it to me; let me talk to Ben. I’ll tell him you want to go, but don’t like to ask the privilege.”

“And that would be the truth.”

“Sure. No need to lie about it. Think perhaps he can put a substitute in your place, same as he would have to do if you were hurt in a game, and that will be a good thing, as it will brace the sub up on signaling. Will you leave it to me, old chap?”

After a little hesitation, Sage agreed. “Go ahead; have your own way about it. If Ben says it’s all right, I’ll go ducking with you.”

“I’ll let you know this very evening,” promised Hooker, as his friend started up the street toward home.

Sage did not see Piper come quickly out of the post-office and hasten after Roy. Having observed the two boys in earnest consultation, Sleuth’s curiosity was at white heat.

Near eight o’clock that evening Hooker came to see Fred at the latter’s home.

“It’s all right,” he announced in enthusiastic triumph. “I brought Stone round nicely, and he says you may go. I’ve seen Hubbard, too, and fixed it up with him. He’ll be ready to start right after school to-morrow, and he’ll come for us at half past nine Saturday morning.”

Fred’s mother was listening with sudden interest. “What are you planning, boys?” she asked.

Fred explained, observing that her face took on a shade of anxiety.

“Now don’t begin to worry, mother,” he begged. “You know Roy and I are both careful with guns, and there isn’t a bit of danger. I don’t want to fret you, but I hope you won’t object.”

She sighed a little. “I suppose it’s foolish, but I can’t help feeling anxious about you when you go gunning. However, your father bought you the gun, and, now that you have it, it wouldn’t seem reasonable for me to seek to prevent you from getting some pleasure through the use of it.”

“All boys love a gun,” smiled Andrew Sage, “and the right sort of a boy rarely gets hurt with one.”

“Then it’s all fixed,” laughed Roy. “Get everything ready to start right away after school, Fred. Take along a blanket, for you’ll need it in the old camp. If we have any luck at all, we ought to bring home some ducks.”

Roy had been gone some time when Fred’s mother came up quietly behind his chair, bent over him and put her arms about his neck.

“Don’t think me foolish, my dear,” she said in a low tone. “You understand why I can’t help worrying. You’re the only boy I have left, now.”

CHAPTER IX.

THE CAMP IN THE WOODS

Something over four miles from Oakdale Abel Hubbard reined his horse into an old road which led from the main highway into the depths of the woods. Fred and Roy, with their outfits, were in the wagon, and, the time being short ere darkness must come on, they urged Hubbard to make haste.

“Can’t hit any high places along this old road,” answered the fat little village constable. “If I tried it, I’d bounce ye both out in no time. ’Tain’t fur to the pond now, so what’s the use to be in such an all-fired rush? All I want to do is git back on to the main road before it sets in dark.”

“But we’ve got some things to do ourselves,” said Roy. “We’ve got to find the old raft and have it ready for use in the morning, besides cutting firewood and getting settled down for the night.”

“That hadn’t orter take ye long. I’ll git ye there as soon’s I can. It’s sort of an accommodation, anyhow. I wouldn’t think of making both trips for anybody else unless they paid me twice as much.”

“You’re not very busy these days, are you, Mr. Hubbard?” asked Fred, smiling a little. “It seems to me an easy way for you to pick up a dollar.”

“Oh, I could be busy,” returned the man, “if I wanted to work for Lem Hayden in his quarry or kilns, and I guess I could find a job in the mills; but, as a regular commissioned officer, it’s my duty to be unhampered and ready for anything that may turn up. If I was workin’ and Sheriff Pickle happened to need me, I’d have to knock off.”

Real work had never seemed to have much fascination for Abel Hubbard.

“Then there are plenty of jobs a man might get around Oakdale,” said Roy. “If a stranger should show up with references, he could find something to do, couldn’t he?”

“Reckon he could, such as it was. I don’t cal’late them Dagoes in the quarries bring many references.”

“You haven’t seen any stranger around town recently looking for work, have you?”

“No, don’t think I have.”

“I didn’t know,” said Roy. “Last Saturday, while gunning with Fred, I met a man who said he was in search of a job, and he asked me about the chances in town. I haven’t seen anything of him since.”

“I generally take special notice of everybody that comes inter Oakdale,” asserted Constable Hubbard. “I cal’late it’s good policy to do so. Ain’t nobody new showed up lately, so I guess your man didn’t stop around here.”

“I don’t believe he did,” said Roy.

Presently they reached the old camp, from which, through the trees, they could get a glimpse of the pond. It did not take them long to jump out and unload their belongings, which were carried into the camp, the door being fastened merely by a wooden peg thrust through a staple. Hubbard backed his wagon round, bade them good luck and drove off into the shadows which were gathering in the woods.

“Well, here we are, Roy,” said Fred.

“Yes, and it’s up to us to hustle. Let’s look for that raft while it’s light enough to find it. We can get together firewood later. Come on.”

Leaving their property in the camp, they hurried to the pond, and Hooker led the way along the marshy shore. The water-grass and rushes stood thick and rank at this end of the lake, and soon Hooker pointed out a mass of dead brush in the midst of the reeds some distance from the marshy shore.

“There’s the old blind,” he said. “You can see it is located so it commands the cove beyond, and that’s where the ducks coming in to feed usually ’light.”

“How does a fellow get out to the blind?”

“Wade. The water won’t come up to your knees. There’s a sort of little knoll or island out there, and the brush has been built up and woven into the branches of an old fallen tree that may have grown on that knoll before the water was so high. It’s a fine chance all right. But come on, we must dig that raft out.”

They went forward again, and suddenly, with a splash and a sound of throbbing wings, a small duck rose amid the rushes and went flying away over the bosom of the lake.

“Hang it all!” exclaimed Roy in vexation. “Just look at that! If we’d brought our guns, we might have knocked her down. That’s a young duck, or it would have flown before we got anywhere near. Young ones always hide if they can, until they get thoroughly used to the idea that their wings will serve them better. We’ll get some shooting here in the morning, mark what I say.”

The raft was found where Hooker expected to find it. It was a small affair and would support only one of the boys, but would be sufficient for their use in picking up such ducks as they might shoot. With the raft there was a long pole and a piece of board that had been roughly hewn into the shape of a paddle.

When the raft was floated Roy got on it and poled it around into the little cove near the blind, where he succeeded in concealing it quite effectively amid the grass and reeds. Then he waded ashore in his water-tight boots without sinking nearly as much as he had thought he would.

“That’s done,” he said. “Now we’ll get back to the camp and chop our firewood while we can see to do it. There are no signs to indicate that anyone has shot from the blind this fall, and therefore the ducks ought to come up to it without fear.”

Soon the strokes of an axe were ringing through the gloomy woods as Sage worked at the trunk of a dry fallen tree. Hooker carried the wood into the camp and piled it beside the old stone fireplace. Sunset’s faint afterglow faded from the sky, and with gathering darkness the atmosphere took on a sharp, nipping chill, which, however, was little felt by the active boys. Sage continued chopping, while Hooker found time between armfuls to build a fire. Through the open door of the camp Fred saw the welcoming glow of the flames, and it gave him a feeling of buoyancy, of keen relish, of intense satisfaction in life and the pleasures thereof. It was good to be there with his chum in those dark and silent autumn woods, making ready to spend the night together in that old camp before the duck hunt that was to come in the crispness of gray dawn.

Hooker’s figure was silhouetted in the open doorway.

“I say, old man,” he called, as he came out, “there has been somebody in this camp lately.”

“That so? I thought you said you were sure no one had used the shooting blind.”

“I am; I’ll bet on it. I looked to see, and I could tell that no one had been there. They would have left tracks and marks and probably empty shells. Whoever it was that stopped in the camp, they did not try any shooting from the blind. And say, I’ll bet somebody was in that camp last night. I thought I caught a smell of tobacco smoke when we first opened the door, but it was so dusky inside that I didn’t notice anything else. There’s fresh-cut boughs in the bunk, and the ashes in the fireplace were hardly cold. I found crumbs on the floor, too, and part of a newspaper not quite two weeks old.”

“Then I reckon you’re right,” agreed Sage, “though I don’t quite see why anyone should stop in the old camp this time of year, unless he came here to shoot ducks. We’d have been in a scrape if we’d found someone here ahead of us to-night.”

They bore the last of the wood inside and threw it down on a heaping pile beside the now merrily blazing fire, which illumined the entire interior of the camp. Hooker had thoughtfully brought a can of water from a nearby spring, and, thus prepared, they were ready to settle down to the supper of sandwiches and doughnuts put up for them by their mothers.

Roy closed and fastened the door with the inside hasp.

“You can see,” he said, with a gesture toward the old bunk at one side of the room, “those boughs on top are fresh cut.”

“That’s right,” nodded Sage, after examining them. “Hacked off with a jackknife, I should say, and not two days old. Well, somebody was kind enough to help make us comfortable, for, with our blankets and a fire going, we ought to find that bunk all right to-night. I’m really much obliged to the unknown person or persons. I presume there may have been more than one.”

“Here’s that part of a newspaper,” said Roy, taking it from the small rough table that had been nailed against the wall opposite the bunk. “The date on it is enough to show that someone has been here lately.”

Fred took the paper and glanced at it carelessly. In a moment, however, a queer expression flashed across his face, his eyes opened wide, his lips puckered, and he gave a long, low whistle.

“What is it?” questioned the boy.

“By Jove!” muttered Sage wonderingly. And then, after a moment of silence, he repeated with greater emphasis: “By Jove!”

“What is it?” exclaimed Hooker.

“This paper,” answered Fred, staring at some headlines in bold-faced type. “It’s either a part of the same one or a duplicate of an issue I saw in the possession of Billy Piper last Saturday night.”

CHAPTER X.

A PERPLEXING QUESTION

The black headlines which had attracted Fred’s eye told of the five hundred dollar reward offered for the capture of Jim Wilson, who had escaped from the Harpersville jail after a murderous assault on the guard. The manner in which the paper had been folded indicated that this sensational article had been left outermost, and the blurred ink and wear in the creases of the folds bespoke the fact that the paper had been carried around in someone’s pocket.

“Piper?” muttered Hooker. “Why, it isn’t likely that he has been here.”

“It doesn’t seem at all likely,” agreed Sage; “but still – ”

“What was he doing with the paper, anyhow?”

Fred turned sidewise, so that the bright light from the open fire fell full on the page, and his finger indicated the news article which had held such deep interest for Sleuth.

“See that?”

“Yes,” said Roy, peering over his chum’s shoulder. “‘Five hundred dollars reward. Desperate character breaks jail after murderous assault on keeper.’ Oh, yes, that’s the sort of stuff that would interest old Sleuthy.”

“I’ve kept my promise to Piper to say nothing about his wild theory,” said Fred, “and, a full week having passed with no result, I don’t fancy it will do him any good for me to continue a clam. I was sure there was nothing in it, anyhow. You see, Piper had a crazy notion that this escaped criminal and the stranger you talked with last Saturday might be identical. It’s rather odd that the printed description of James Wilson, as given here, corresponds with your description of the man who talked with you and ran away at my approach. Here it is.”

His eyes puckered, his lips pursed a little, Hooker read the description of Gentleman Jim.

“Why, that’s right,” he said slowly. “It does sort of fit, and no mistake. But Pipe didn’t say anything about this to me. You know I told you how he came round and asked me a lot of questions, some of which I couldn’t answer, and the most of which seemed more or less foolish. He tried to find out everything I knew about you and your folks, seeming especially anxious to learn where you came from when you moved into Oakdale. Now what’s that got to do with this stuff in the newspaper?”

Fred laughed shortly. “You see,” he explained, with a touch of scorn, “Sleuth was trying to connect us somehow with the notorious and desperate Mr. Wilson.”

“How could he do that?”

“Have you forgotten that your stranger made inquiries concerning the Sages in Oakdale? Now you tumble; you’re on. If that man was Wilson, he would not make such inquiries without some knowledge of us, and, if he knew us, it was natural to suppose that we knew him. I informed Piper that I had never heard of such a man.”

“That should have ended it.”

“Not with Sleuth. Doubtless he reasoned that if we had ever known this criminal we would, most naturally, be sure to deny the fact.”

“But you never did know him?”

Sage shot his friend a quick, resentful glance. “Do you think I’d lie, even to Piper?”

“Of course not.”

“I never heard of this James Wilson, alias Gentleman Jim, until Sleuth told me about him. My denial, however, had little effect on Piper, who hinted at family skeletons hidden away in closets and then proceeded to watch me in true dime novel detective style. For a day or two I couldn’t shake him; he hung around me all the time. At last I got tired of it and gave him to understand flatly that he’d better let up.”

“By Jingoes!” laughed Roy. “He was watching you last night. After we fixed it up for this little expedition and you had started for home, Piper overtook me and casually did a little pumping. Reckon I was easy, for I told him all about it. Say, you don’t suppose – ” Roy paused, as if wondering over an idea that had flashed into his mind.

“What?”

“You don’t suppose he came here to this camp after that? Perhaps he dropped the paper himself.”

Following a moment’s thought, Sage shook his head. “It was after dark last night when he found out what we had arranged to do, Roy. Piper was at school to-day, and we left him starting out for practice with the rest of the team. While it’s not impossible, it’s most improbable that he visited this place after learning we were coming here, and got home in time to attend school. The signs of a recent fire in the fireplace and the fresh boughs on the bunk we may accept as positive assurance that someone spent last night here. Under any circumstances, Sleuth wouldn’t do that – alone.”

“Never,” agreed Hooker, with conviction. “This piece of newspaper must have been left here by someone else. It’s a mere coincidence that it happens to be the same issue shown you by Piper, and it isn’t worth bothering our brains over any further. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”