Joe Wayring at Home/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII.
OFF FOR INDIAN LAKE.
WHEN Joe Wayring beached his canoe below the boat-house, he was immediately surrounded by his friends who were impatient to hear all about it. They knew there had been a foul, for some of the laggards in the race had seen it; but they could not tell how it had been brought about, or who was to blame for it.
"It was Noble's fault in the first place, and Tom Bigden's in the second," said Joe, in response to their hurried inquiries. "It seems that there are three 'cliques' in the club, one of which believes in doing things fairly, while the other two do not. Loren Farnsworth was 'booked' by one of the cliques to win the paddle race, while Frank Noble was the choice of the other. Each was determined that his opponent should not win, and the result was most disgraceful a deliberate collision at the stake-boat in the presence of all these strangers. What sort of a story will they carry back to the city about the Mount Airy canoe club Noble began the row by putting himself in Loren's way and Tom retaliated by capsizing Frank's canoe and throwing him out into the water."
"Do you think he meant to do it?" inquired Hastings, who was far in the lead at the time, and could not of course see what was going on behind him.
"I know he did," replied Joe, who then went on to give a circumstantial account of the manner in which the fouling was done. The boys all declared that it was a very neat trick, and one of them added—
"That Tom Bigden's cheek is something wonderful. As soon as he had backed out of Loren's way and laid himself across the course so that we couldn't get by him without losing more ground than we could possibly make up, he called out that he claimed foul on that. Did you ever hear of such impudence?"
"Please give me your attention for one moment, gentlemen," shouted the president of the club; and Joe and his friends turned about to see the referee perched upon a dry-goods box.
"Young gentlemen," said he, as the boys gathered around him, "the contestants in the paddle race will go over the course again this afternoon, one hour after lunch. They will be the same as before, with the exception of Frank Noble and Thomas Bigden, whom I am compelled to bar out. It is exceedingly unpleasant to me to be obliged to render this decision, but the rules under which your sports are conducted leave me no alternative."
"What do you think of that, fellows?" said Arthur Hastings. "If Bigden isn't satisfied now that he can't run this club to suit his own ideas, I shall always think he ought to be."
"Well, Noble," said Prime. "You're done for at last. You are ruled out of every thing. What are you going to do?"
"What are you going to do?" asked Frank in reply.
"I? Nothing at all. What can I do?"
"You can go home with me, can't you?"
"Eh? Well—yes; I suppose I could, but I don't want to. The fun is only just beginning."
"And are you going to stay here and enjoy yourself and assist in making the meet a success when one of your friends is barred out?" exclaimed Noble, indignantly. "I didn't think that of you, Prime. Why didn't you stay close to me so that you could put in a word to help me? You knew what I was going to do."
"I couldn't stay close to you. Those fellows in the lead made the pace so hot that I had to fall behind, and I didn't see the foul when it occurred."
"No matter for that. You could have said something in my defense if you had wanted to; but instead of standing by me, you left me to fight Joe Wayring and the judge alone. Look there! Bigden's cousins are not going back on him as you are going back on me. Tom is preparing to go home, and they are going with him."
But Noble did not know what a stormy time Tom had with Loren and Ralph before he could induce them to forego all the sports and pleasures of the meet. Loren was particularly obstinate. He was satisfied now that he was a pretty good hand with a double paddle, and confident that if any of the three recognized champions beat him when the afternoon race came off, they would have to make their canoes get through the water faster than they ever did before. Then there was the upset race, which Ralph was almost sure he could win, and the greasy pole walk, with Miss Arden's silk flag to go to the best man—must they give up all these things just because Tom had been ruled out?
"What's the reason I am ruled out?" exclaimed Tom, who was as mad as a boy ever gets to be. "Isn't it because I tried my best to help Loren win the paddle race? I tell you that you don't stand the least show of winning any thing; but stay if you want to."
Ralph and Loren were well enough acquainted with Tom to know that there was a volume of meaning in his last words. If they braved his anger they would be sure to suffer for it in the end, and if Tom turned against them, where could they look for friends and associates? Prime and his followers would not have any thing more to do with them; Joe Wayring, unless he was as blind as a bat, had seen quite enough to make him suspicious of them; and when they came to look at it, they found that they were in a very unenviable situation.
"I'd give almost any thing if I could live the last half hour over again," declared Loren, after he had taken a few minutes in which to consider the matter. "We've made Noble and his crowd so mad that they'll never look at us again, Tom is just as good as expelled from the club, and we may as well give up all hope of being admitted to the Toxophilites. We're at outs with every body, and the only thing we can do is to stand by one another."
Ralph thought so, too. Without wasting any more time in argument they put on their long coats to cover up the uniforms they would probably never wear again, shoved off their canoes, and set out for home; and no one except Frank Noble saw them go. The other members of the club were too much interested in their own affairs to pay any attention to the movements of a boy who had gone deliberately to work to mar their day's enjoyment.
"Tom's got two fellows to stand by him, but I am left alone," thought Noble, with no little bitterness in his heart. "Prime and the rest of them pretend to hate Wayring and his crowd, and yet they are willing to stay and help on the sports after I have been kicked out of the lists. For two cents I'd hunt up Wayring and tell him to look out for Scott and Lord."
But he didn't do it. He knew that such a proceeding would turn every body against him, and he had made enemies enough already. Without attracting attention he got into his canoe and paddled down to his boat-house.
The unfortunate ending of the paddle race had a most depressing effect upon the members of the canoe club, some of whom declared that their organization was on the eve of falling to pieces. After that every thing "dragged". The whole programme was duly carried out, but the contestants did not enter into the sports with their usual spirit and energy. Scott and Lord, who were "booked" for the sailing and upset races, respectively, won nothing at all. They could not win fairly, and the promptness with which Tom and Frank had been ruled out deterred them from attempting any tricks. Arthur Hastings won the paddle race after a hard struggle; Joe Wayring, being the first to walk the greasy pole, carried off Miss Arden's silk flag; and Roy for once went home as empty handed as he came, the sailing and upset races being won by other boys. But Roy wasn't mad about it, as some of the unsuccessful ones were. He had come there for a "good time", and he had it; and his failure to win a prize did not spoil his day's sport.
After the spectators had gone back to their hotels and all the members of the club had set out for home, the three chums sat down in the boat-house to compare notes.
"I am glad it's over," said Roy, giving expression to the thoughts that were passing through the minds of his companions. "It was the meanest meet I ever heard of. I wouldn't have had that affair at the stake-boat happen for any thing. Those visitors from New London will say that we are as bad as the professional oarsmen who saw their boats, and capsize themselves on purpose."
"Well, you expected something of the kind, didn't you?" said Joe. "I did. When Bigden told me that there were certain boys in the club who had been 'booked' to win certain races, I was sure that Prime had a finger in the pie, and that the reason Tom told me about it was because he had got mad at him or some member of his party. The events of the day have proved that I was right. In making up the slate, Prime and his friends either forgot or refused to give any of the races to Tom and his cousins, and that was what caused the trouble."
"Well, it's some satisfaction to know that they will never have a chance to cause us any more trouble," said Arthur. "They will withdraw from the club, of course."
"I think there's no doubt about that," said Joe. "I know that that is what I should do if I were in their place. As Tom Bigden said: 'What's the use of belonging to a club if you are not allowed to take part in the contests?' I am of the opinion that they will band together and get up a club of their own. Now let's talk about something else. To-morrow we start for Indian Lake."
This was a much more agreeable topic of conversation than the canoe meet, and they talked about it until the lengthening shadows admonished Arthur and Roy that it was time for them to set out for their homes.
Indian Lake was a favorite place of resort for the Mount Airy sportsmen, and for these three boys in particular. They went there regularly every summer. The country about the village was not wild enough to suit them, and besides the trout streams were so constantly fished by the New London anglers, that they were beginning to show signs of giving out. Joe and his friends were so well acquainted with the lake that they never thought of taking a guide when they went there for recreation. They went everywhere that a guide could take them, and with no fear of being lost. They were joint partners in a skiff, which they had fitted up with special reference to these annual trips—a strong, easy running craft, so light that it could be carried over the portages without any great outlay of strength, and so roomy that the boys could sleep in it without being crowded. It was provided with lockers fore and aft, in which the owners carried their extra clothing, provisions and camp equipage, an awning to keep off the sun and a water-proof tent which would keep them dry, no matter how hard the rain came down. With this boat a journey of a hundred miles—that was the distance between Mount Airy and Indian Lake, and there was a navigable water-course almost all the way—was looked upon as a pleasure trip. The boys would have been astonished if they had known what was to be the result of this particular visit to the lake.
That night there were three busy young fellows in Mount Airy, who were packing up and getting ready for an early start on the following morning. If you could have seen their things after they got them together, you might have been surprised to see that there was not a single fowling-piece among them. What was the use of taking guns into the woods during the "close" season—that is, while the game was protected by law? But each boy took with him a weapon which, in his hands, was almost as deadly as a shot gun is in the hands of an ordinary marksman—a long bow with its accompanying quiver full of arrows. The law permitted them to shoot loons—if they could. At any rate it was sport to try, and to see the lightning-like movements of the bird as it went under water at the twang of the bow-string.
"There's one thing about your outfit that doesn't look just right," said Uncle Joe, pointing to the heavy bait-rod which his nephew placed in the corner beside his long bow. "The idea of catching trout with a thing like that, and worms for bait! Before you go into the woods again I will see that you have a nice light fly-rod."
"But I can't throw a fly," said Joe.
"Well, you can learn, can't you?"
Joe said he thought he could, and there the matter rested for a whole year.
The next morning at four o'clock Joe Wayring was sitting on the wharf in front of the boat-house, watching Arthur Hastings, who was coming up the lake in the skiff. When he arrived Joe passed down to him two cases, one containing his long bow and quiver, the other his bait-rod and dip-net, a bundle of blankets, a soldier's knapsack with a change of clothing in it, and the contents of a big market basket. The basket itself was left on the wharf, because it would have taken up too much valuable space in the lockers. Mars, the Newfoundlander, begged to go, too, and growled spitefully at Arthur's little cocker spaniel, which growled defiantly back at him from his safe perch on the stern locker. Jim (that was the spaniel's name), always went on these expeditions as body-guard and sentinel. He seemed to have a deep sense of the responsibility that rested upon him, and the arrogant and overbearing manner in which he conducted himself toward strangers, proved that he considered himself to be of some consequence in the world. He was a featherweight and took up but little room; while the Newfoundlander's huge bulk would have been sadly in their way. They might as well have added another boy to the party.
Having stowed his supplies and equipments away in the lockers, Joe picked up an oar and assisted Arthur to pull the skiff up to Mr. Sheldon's boat-house, where they found Roy waiting for them. He soon transferred himself and his belongings from the wharf to the cockpit, and then the skiff went at a rapid rate across the lake toward the river, the boys chanting a boat song as they steadily plied the oars. They paused a moment at the head of the rapids, and as they gazed at them, Arthur said—
"How do you suppose Matt Coyle ever succeeded in getting that big heavy punt of his down there? I wouldn't make the passage in her for all the money there is in Mount Airy."
"It's a wonder to me that he didn't smash her all to pieces," said Joe. "She's in Sherwin's Pond now, I suppose, and there she will have to stay, for there is no way to get her out. I wonder what Matt has done with my canoe?"
"Oh, he has snagged and sunk her before this time," replied Roy, consolingly. "I wonder what he has done with the rod he stole from me?"
"Some black bass has smashed it for him most likely," said Arthur. "At any rate you will never handle it again."
The boys had from the first given up all hope of ever recovering their lost property. The deputy sheriff and constable, stimulated to extra exertion by the offer of a large reward by the Mount Airy authorities, had scoured the woods in every direction in search of the thief, but their efforts had met with no success. They found the site of Matt's shanty, as we have said, but the shanty itself had disappeared. So had Matt and his family, and the officers could not get upon their trail. Perhaps if we go back to the day on which Matt stole Joe Wayring's canoe and follow his fortunes for a short time, we shall see what the reason was.
When the squatter picked up Joe's double paddle and shoved away from the shore, after taking possession of all the fishing rods and bundles that he could lay his hand on, he told himself that he had done something toward paying off the Mount Airy people for the shameful manner in which they had treated him and his family.
"They wouldn't let us stay up there to the village an' earn an honest livin', like we wanted to do," said Matt, with a chuckle, "an' now I'll show 'em how much they made by it. Them things must be wuth a power of money," he went on, looking down at the elegant rods which he had unjointed and laid on the bottom of the canoe, "an' I reckon mebbe we've got grub enough to last us fur a day or two good grub, too, sich as don't often come into our house less'n we hooks it. This is a powerful nice little boat, this canoe is, an' now we'll go up to Injun Lake, an' me an' the boys will set up fur independent guides. If they won't have us there, we'll bust up the business."
While communing thus with himself the squatter did not neglect to ply his paddle vigorously, nor to look over his shoulder now and then to satisfy himself that his rascality had not yet been discovered. But Joe and his companions spent fully half an hour in roaming about through the woods, looking for the bear and shooting squirrels for their dinner, and when they came out, Matt was nowhere in sight. He had crossed the pond, and was urging the canoe up a narrow winding creek toward his habitation. With a caution which had become a part of his nature, he had concealed his place of abode so effectually that a fleet of canoeists might have passed up the creek without knowing that there was a shanty within less than a stone's throw of them. The only visible sign that any body had ever been in the creek was a disreputable looking punt, with a stove and battered bow, which was drawn out upon the bank. She had had a hard time of it in getting through the rapids, and it was a mystery how Matt had saved himself from a capsize, and kept his miserable old craft afloat until he could get her up the creek. She had carried the squatter and all his worldly possessions for many a long mile on Indian Lake and its tributary streams, but her days of usefulness were over now. Her trip down the rapids was the last she ever made. She was in Sherwin's Pond and there she must stay.
"Hi, there!" yelled Matt, as he ran the bow of the canvas canoe upon the bank.
An answering yelp came from the bushes, and presently Matt's wife and boys came hurrying out. They would not have expressed the least surprise if the squatter had come back with as many turkeys or chickens as he could conveniently carry, because they were accustomed to such things; but to see him in possession of a nice little canoe, live silver mounted fishing rods and as many big bundles, excited their astonishment.
"Where did you get 'em, old man, an' what's into them there bundles?" was the woman's whispered inquiry.
"I got 'em up there in the pond clost to the foot of the rapids," answered Matt, gleefully. "I'll learn them rich fellers up to Mount Airy to treat a gentleman right the next time they see one. We're jest as good as they be if we are poor."
"Course we be," said Jake, Matt's oldest boy. "What's them there things—fish poles? I want one of 'em."
"All right. You an' Sam take your pick, an' we'll sell the rest. If you see a feller that is needin' a pole, you can tell him that you know where he can get one worth the money."
"About how much?" queried Jake.
"Wal," said Matt, reflectively, "them poles must have cost nigh onto five dollars; but seein' that they're second hand we will have to take a leetle less fur 'em—say two an' a half."
"An' how much be them there things with the cranks onto 'em wuth?" asked Sam.
"'Bout the same. You tell the feller, when you find him, that he can have a pole an' a windlass fur five dollars."
This showed how much the squatter knew about some things. There wasn't a rod in the lot that cost less than twenty dollars, or a reel that was worth less than thirteen. Matt would have thought himself rich if he had known the real value of the property he had in his possession.
"What's into them there bundles?" demanded the old woman.
"Grub," answered Matt. "Good grub, too."
In less time than it takes to tell it, the bundles had been jerked out of the canoe and torn open. Matt's family was always hungry, and his wife and boys fairly gloated over the hard boiled eggs, bacon, sardines, sandwiches and other nice things which the boys' thoughtful mothers had put up for their dinner.
"Rich folks has nice grub to eat, don't they?" said Jake, speaking as plainly as a mouthful of bread and meat would permit.
"Yes; an' we'll soon be in a fix to have nice things, too," said Matt, confidently. "I've got a boat of my own now, an' I'm goin' to Injun Lake an' set myself up fur a guide."
"But, pap, they drove us away from there once," exclaimed Jake. "They was jest like the Mount Airy folks—they didn't want us around."
"Don't I know it?" cried Matt, laying down his sandwich long enough to shake both his fists in the air. "But they won't drive us away again, I bet you, 'cause it'll be wuss for 'em if they try it. I'll kick upsich a rumpus in them woods that every body will steer cl'ar of 'em; then what'll become of them big hotels when they ain't got no custom to support 'em? I reckon we'd best be gettin' away from here this very night. I'm in a hurry to get to guidin' so't I can make some money before the season's over, an' besides I kinder want to get outen the way of that there constable. He'll be along directly, lookin' fur these things, an' I don't care to see him."
"What'll we do with the house?" asked the old woman. "We can't tote it cl'ar to the lake on our backs."
"Course not. We'll burn it an' the punt, too. They won't never be of no more use, 'cause 'taint no ways likely that we shall ever come here agin', an' we ain't goin' to leave 'em fur them Mount Airy fellers to use when they come to the pondhuntin' an' fishin'."
The squatter need not have borrowed trouble on this score. There was not a hunter or a fisherman in the village who could have been induced to occupy his shanty or use his punt, for, like their owners, they were things to be avoided. But Matt and his family seemed to think that they would be accommodating somebody if they left them there, and the order to destroy them by fire was carried out as soon as they had eaten the last of the stolen provisions.
While his wife was engaged in removing the bedding and cooking utensils, and tying them in small bundles so that they could be easily carried, and the boys were at work hauling the punt out of the water and turning it up against the house so that the two would burn together, Matt busied himself in putting the rods into their cases; after which he walked around the canvas canoe and gave it a good looking over. Tom Bigden had told him that if he didn't want to carry the canoe on his back, he could take it to pieces and carry it in his hand as he would a gripsack; but the trouble was, Matt did not know how to go to work to take it apart. Every thing fitted snugly, and he could not find any place to begin. The only parts of it that he could move were the bottom boards; and when he had taken them out, the frame-work of the canoe was as solid as ever. He spent a quarter of a hour in unavailing efforts to start something, and then giving it up as a task beyond his powers, he decided that the only thing he could do was to carry it as he would carry any other canoe. A less experienced man would have shrunk from the undertaking. It was fully twenty miles to the river which connected the two lakes, and the course lay through a dense forest where there was not even the semblance of a path. But there was no other way to get the canoe to Indian Lake.
Meanwhile, Matt's wife and boys had worked to such good purpose that every thing was ready for the start. Each one had a bundle to carry, and the boys had set fire to a quantity of light wood which they had piled in the middle of the shanty. They lingered long enough to see the fire fairly started, and then turned their faces hopefully toward Indian Lake, the old woman leading the way, and Matt bringing up the rear with the canvas canoe on his back.