Chapter XVII: The Expert Columbia

“Stand perfectly still, boys,” said Mr. Swan, when he and his young
friends halted on the bank of the creek and discovered that their
boats had vanished during their brief absence. “Stand still, or you’ll
muss the ground up so that I can’t see the villain’s tracks.”

“You don’t think they have been stolen, do you?” exclaimed Arthur
Hastings.

“I don’t think nothing else,” answered the guide. “I’ve handled a boat
too long to go away and leave it without pulling it so far out on the
bank that the current can’t carry it off. I’ve noticed that you are
middling particular about that, too. Of course our boats were stolen.
It’s one of Matt Coyle’s tricks.”

“Well, I _am_ beat!” cried Joe.

“And under our very noses, too,” exclaimed Roy.

“It isn’t quite as bad as that, but it’s bad enough,” said Mr. Swan,
who was angry as well as surprised. “This is the second time he has
played this game on us, and I don’t see why I didn’t tell one of you
to stay here.”

While the guide talked he scraped a few dry leaves and twigs together
and touched them off with a match. When they blazed up more fuel was
thrown on, and presently Roy pointed out something. It was the print
of a big foot in the mud close to the water’s edge.

“What better evidence do you want than that?” said Mr. Swan. “Matt
Coyle is the only man about Indian Lake who wears such a shabby
foot-gear and the only one who lugs a hoof of that size around with
him. I know, for I have followed his trail plenty of times.”

“Then he must have been the one who kindled that fire.”

“It’s very likely.”

“He may have been intending to camp there for the night when we
frightened him away,” added Arthur.

“He may have been in camp,” assented the guide, “but we never
frightened him. He had wind of our coming long before we got here. Of
course I don’t know how he got it, but that’s the way the thing
stands.”

“Well, what’s to be done?”

“Nothing at all to-night. We’ll camp right where we are, and at
daylight we’ll go back to the hatchery.”

“Camp right here,” repeated Joe, dolefully. “No blankets, no supper to
eat, and no nothing.”

“Go back to the hatchery,” murmured Roy, “and confess ourselves beaten
again by that villain, Matt Coyle. Oh, we’re the best kind of fellows
to go on a hunt after so cunning a criminal as Matt, ain’t we?”

Arthur Hastings was too angry to say any thing except that he was glad
the squatter had not run away with his gun as well as his skiff. Mr.
Swan was equally glad to have his beloved brier-root and a plentiful
supply of smoking tobacco in his pocket. If he had left them in his
canoe, as he usually did, he would have had the prospect of a
miserable night before him. As it was, he smoked and told stories, and
in listening to them the boys forgot that they had no blankets to
cover them, and that they would not find a bite to eat till they
reached the hatchery the next day.

When morning came Joe and his friends had nothing to do but brush the
leaves from their clothes, smooth their hair with their hands, perform
their ablutions in the creek, and then they were ready for their
ten-mile walk. Mr. Swan spent a few minutes in looking about Matt’s
old camp, but did not find any thing to tell him how long it had been
deserted or which way the squatter and his family had gone. They
arrived at the hatchery tired and hungry, and the bountiful breakfast
the superintendent placed before them was a tempting sight. That
official laughed when he heard how Matt had stolen up behind them and
run off with their boats, and scowled when Roy told him what he and
his boys had done in their camp at No-Man’s Pond.

“Why, what in the world could have put it into Matt’s head that you
had the money?” inquired the superintendent; and without waiting for
an answer he continued: “It beats the world where that money has gone,
but I think we’ll soon get on the track of it. Did you see the
watchman as you came by his shanty? Then perhaps you don’t know that
the old woman was taken into custody last night?”

“No,” replied Joe. “We hadn’t heard of that. What’s the charge?”

“Oh, she was taken in on general principles. I don’t suppose she can
be held as an accessory, for she hasn’t gumption enough to suggest or
plan the robberies that her worthy husband has committed; but she knew
all about them and can give the officers more help than any body else.
You see, ever since Matt and his family left Rube’s cabin, the deputy
sheriff has taken to sleeping there; and last night who should come
poking along but the old woman! When she found that she was a
prisoner, she lost heart and answered all the questions the sheriff
asked her. She didn’t have the pluck to stand out, and I don’t wonder
at it. She looked as though she was almost starved. She ate more grub
than you four are going to eat, judging by the way Joe is backing away
from the table already.”

“That’s good news,” said Mr. Swan. “Where’s Matt now?”

“On his way to Sherwin’s Pond.”

“I wonder if that’s so, or whether the old woman just made it up.”

“I am not sure about that, and neither was the sheriff. I loaned him a
boat and a couple of my men, and he’s gone up to Indian Lake with the
woman. From there he will take her to Irvington. He says she will have
to stand her trial with the rest of the family.”

“I don’t believe that Matt went to Sherwin’s Pond,” said Joe, after
thinking the matter over. “He would be in more danger there than he
would if he stayed here. The old woman told that story to throw the
sheriff off the track.”

“Mebbe not,” replied the guide. “Don’t we know by experience that the
squatter is a master hand to slip around and operate in the rear of
his pursuers? What more natural than he should run up to the pond to
get behind us, thinking he would be safer there than in the Indian
Lake country? At any rate, there’s where I am going as soon as I can
get a boat.”

“All right,” said Joe. “Any thing to keep busy.”

“But if I was in your place I wouldn’t go there just yet,” added the
guide. “You want your boat and the other things Matt stole, don’t you?
Well, then, hire a boat of Hanson, go up the creek, explore every
little stream that runs into it on the right hand side as you go up,
and you will find some of them. You won’t find all, of course, for
Matt kept one of the boats, all the provisions, and every thing else
that would be of use to him. After you have done that, you can come up
to the pond, and you’ll be sure to find me and some of the boys there.
That would be my plan.”

A very good plan it was, too, the boys told one another, and they
decided to adopt it. After the superintendent had set them across the
outlet, they made the best of their way toward Indian Lake, where Mr.
Swan said they would sleep that night. The first persons they saw,
when they entered the hotel and approached the clerk’s desk to ask if
they could hire a skiff for a few days, were Jake and Sam Coyle. But
they were not as ragged and dirty as usual. Their faces had been
washed, their hair combed, and somebody had given them whole suits of
clothes.

“Where did you catch them?” inquired Roy.

“Right here in front of the house,” answered the clerk. “They came in
and gave themselves up.” And then he went on to tell their story
pretty nearly as I have told it. For once in their lives Jake and Sam
had told the truth, and the sheriff knew whom he must find in order to
recover the money. Of course the boys did not know where their father
had gone, but the officer put implicit faith in the old woman’s story.

“There’s where we’ve got to go, Swan,” said the sheriff, “and there’s
where we shall find our man, if we find him at all. I have engaged
four unemployed guides to go with me, and you will be a big addition
to our party. Joe and his friends—”

“They ain’t going,” said Mr. Swan; and then he told _his_ story,
whereat the sheriff laughed uproariously.

“But you are not to blame,” said he, consolingly. “Matt would have
played the same game on any body else. But he’s got to the end of his
rope now, for I know just what I have to work on. Don’t neglect to lay
in a good supply of provisions, for it may take us two or three weeks
to catch him, and I am not coming back without him.”

Bright and early the next morning two parties left the Sportsman’s
Home and started away in different directions, the sheriff and his
posse heading for Indian River, and Joe and his friends striking for
the “old perch-hole.” They followed Mr. Swan’s advice to the letter,
and slept that night in the same camp that the squatter had occupied
two nights before. They found the most of their things, too, some in
the bushes, some floating in the creek, and the heavy articles, like
the two extra camp-axes and superfluous dishes, at the bottom of it.

“Joe’s unlucky canoe is gone again, and so are our blankets and all
our grub,” said Roy,

“The possession of the six thousand dollars must have made Matt
good-natured, or he would have smashed our boats before he left.”

“Perhaps he didn’t think it best to waste time on them,” said Arthur.
“He might have broken them up in a few minutes with the axes, but we
might have heard him. The cove isn’t so very far from here.”

Having recovered the most of their property the boys became impatient
to join the sheriff’s posse; but they were not well enough acquainted
with the country to make the journey to Indian Lake in the dark. So
they built a cheerful fire, cooked a good supper and finally went to
sleep wrapped in the new blankets they had purchased to take the place
of those Matt Coyle had carried off. Two days later they had returned
Mr. Hanson’s boat in good order, settled their bills at the hotel,
placed Mr. Swan’s canoe under cover, and were on the way to the pond
in their own skiff. They grumbled at the rain, as the squatter had
done when he passed that way a few hours in advance of them, and did
most of the rowing with the awning up and their rubber coats and hats
on. After they had made about fifty miles up the river they began
telling one another that if the sheriff had gone on to Sherwin’s Pond
he had made a mistake.

“Just see how the current runs,” said Joe, as he tugged at his oar.
“Matt, strong as he is, never could have forced the canvas canoe
against it. He’s camped somewhere, waiting for better weather, and we
are getting ahead of him.”

The other boys thought so, too, but as they could not tell what else
they ought to do they kept on; but they did not attempt to run out of
the river into the pond. As Arthur said, “it looked too pokerish.” The
rain had ceased, but the water was still high, the driftwood was
coming down in great rafts, and the current was so strong that they
could not stem it with their three oars. There was nothing for it but
to tie up to the bank in some sheltered spot, set the tent, get their
stove going to drive the dampness out of it, and make themselves
miserable until the water fell. As for hunting up Mr. Swan and his
party, that was out of the question. The boys knew by experience that
there was no fun in traveling through a piece of thick woods when
every thing was dripping wet. Their quarters, although a little
cramped, were dry, warm, and comfortable; they had an abundance of
provisions in the lockers, and if it had not been for their impatience
to be doing something to aid in the search they might have enjoyed
themselves. On the morning of the third day of their forced
inactivity, they were surprised to hear a hail close at hand. They
looked out and saw a boat with two Mount Airy constables just coming
out of the pond into the river.

“Well, well,” said one of them, as they came alongside the skiff and
laid hold of the gunwale to keep themselves stationary while they
talked to the boys. “You have had a time of it, haven’t you?”

“Seen any thing of Mr. Swan and the sheriff and the rest of them?”
asked Arthur, in reply.

“No. Are they in this part of the country?”

“Here’s where they started for. But if you haven’t seen them how do
you know that we have had a time of it? You have not been to Indian
Lake this summer, have you?”

“No; but we’ve read the papers.”

“The papers?” echoed Joe.

“Yes. The New London _Times_ is full of it. It told how Matt Coyle
tied Joe to a tree and threatened him if he—”

“I wouldn’t have had my mother hear of it for any thing,” interrupted
Joe. “Of course it worried her.”

“Well, rather; but your father’s mad and so is your uncle Joe. They’ve
offered a thousand dollars apiece for Matt Coyle’s apprehension, and
that’s what brought us out here in the rain.”

“What brought the sheriff up here, any way?” said the other officer.
“Where is he now?”

Roy Sheldon, who generally acted as spokesman, replied by relating a
long and interesting story, saying in conclusion that he didn’t know
where the sheriff was, but he and a posse had come to Sherwin’s Pond
because Matt had come there, believing it to be the safest place for
him. His wife said so.

“Mebbe she did, but that was a blind,” replied the officer. “Three
boat-loads of us have been out in all the rain, scouring the country
high and low, and not the first sign of any body did we see. Swan and
his crowd must have gone way up some of the creeks, or else we should
have met them.”

“Didn’t the papers say that my friends rescued me from the squatter’s
clutches?” inquired Joe.

“Of course they did, but that didn’t make your folks feel any easier
about you. They’ll worry till they see you among them safe and sound.”

“Boys,” said Joe, decidedly, “I’m going home; but you needn’t go. You
want to see Matt caught, and I’d like to; but I must go to mother as
soon as I can. If you will set me on the other side of the creek I
will start without a moment’s delay.”

“Not much we won’t put you on the other side of the creek and leave
you to walk twenty-five miles through the wet woods alone,” answered
Arthur. “You ought to go; I can see that plain enough; so we’ll all
go.”

“I think you ought,” said the constable. “Your folks will all be
uneasy till they see you. They think you and Matt are still in the
Indian Lake country, and are afraid he will do some harm to you.”

That settled the matter. After a little more conversation the officers
went back into the pond to see if they could find any signs of the
sheriff and his posse, while the boys cast off the lines that held the
skiff to the bank and headed her down the creek. They must make a
journey of seventy-five miles in order to get above the rapids that
lay between Mirror Lake and Sherwin’s Pond. The narrow streams they
followed were so difficult of navigation, and the various currents
they encountered were so strong, that it took them four days to
accomplish it; but the sight of Mirror Lake, with all its familiar
surroundings, amply repaid them for their toil.

Of course they went to Joe’s home first, for he was the one who had
been tied to the tree and for whose safety the Mount Airy people were
mostly concerned. If they had been fresh from a battle-field they
could scarcely have met a warmer greeting than that which was extended
to them when they walked into Mrs. Wayring’s presence and Uncle Joe’s.
The former, in spite of their protests, insisted on making heroes of
them.

“Well,” said Uncle Joe, when he had listened to a hurried description
of their various adventures, “I don’t suppose you were at all
disappointed when you found that I could not take you on that trip
that we had been talking about for a year or more?”

“Oh, yes, we were,” exclaimed Joe. “But we couldn’t think of spending
more than half the vacation in doing nothing, and that was the reason
we went back to Indian Lake.”

Leaving Roy and Arthur in conversation with his relatives, Joe
Wayring, who had been taught to take care of his things as soon as he
was done using them, took his gun under one arm and Fly-rod under the
other and went up to his room. A few minutes afterward the boys heard
him calling to them from the head of the stairs to “come up” and “come
quick.” They went, and found Joe walking about his room in great glee,
trundling an elegant nickel-plated bicycle beside him. On the table
lay a card to which he directed their attention. Roy picked it up and
read:

“I am a present for Joe Wayring, and hope in some degree to recompense
him for the disappointment he must have felt when he found that his
uncle could not take him on a trip this summer. Use me regularly and
judiciously, and if you do not say that life has suddenly doubled its
charm—if you do not, before the end of the year, notice a thousand and
one improvements in yourself, both physically and mentally, then I
shall have failed of my mission. There are two others like me in town,
and one of my relations, ridden by Thomas Stevens, the
trans-continental cyclist, is now on his way around the world.

“AN EXPERT COLUMBIA.”