Ellis Edward Sylvester
The Boy Patrol Around the Council Fire

CHAPTER XXIII – A Fortunate Meeting

Scout Master Hall was right when he said Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes would not waste a minute in carrying out the task he had given them. They were determined to secure the arrest of the men who it was believed had kidnapped the little daughter of Doctor Spellman, before they could leave that section. In addition, they aimed to get the help of George Burton and his bloodhound.

This last was far more important than the other, and would insure the discovery of the fate of the child. If Zip was allowed to take the scent within twenty-four hours after she left home – and possibly a little later – he would never lose it.

It was four miles over the rough broken trace to the highway, and then two more of smoother traveling would bring them to the straggling town of Bovil, where they hoped to secure telephonic communication with Boothbay Harbor and other near by towns. If that could be done, they could reach Samoset Hotel, on Mouse Island, by the same means. It would be like young Burton to start at once. He could be taken quickly across to Boothbay in a motor-boat, where he knew the right course to follow, since he had been over it with Zip. He would have to ascend the Sheepscot and walk three miles to reach Bovil, but if a midnight start was made, he ought to reach the village at daylight and soon after.

It was between eleven and twelve o’clock that Alvin and Chester came in sight of the score of buildings which make up the village of Bovil. When they passed through it on their way to Gosling Lake, they paid so slight attention that they could not recall whether it had an inn. Vastly to their delight, however, they came upon the old-fashioned structure near the center of the place, and it was the only one in which a light was burning.

“That’s luck,” said Alvin, as the two ascended the steps, pushed open the door and entered the roomy office, with its unpainted desk, broad fireplace where no wood was burning, a bench without any back, several rickety chairs, and showy posters on the walls for the information of travelers by boat or rail.

Staring around the room, by the dim light of the kerosene lamp suspended from the middle of the ceiling, the youths at first saw no person, but heavy breathing directed attention to a settee at the other side, upon which a young man was stretched at full length, with his coat doubled under him for a pillow. He was the model watchman, who was aroused only by vigorous shaking. By and by he glumly assumed a sitting posture, and blinked at the disturbers.

“What do you want?” he demanded sourly.

“Can you get us a room?”

“’Spose so. Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“Because we came later,” replied Chester; “have you got a telephone in the house?”

“’Course we have, – what of it?”

“We want to use it at once to call up Boothbay Harbor.”

“This ain’t no time to bother with such things; you’ll have to wait till morning. What bus’ness had you to wake me up?”

“See here,” said Alvin, who was in no mood for trifling, “we have come a good many miles to reach a telephone; this is a case of life and death; we haven’t a minute to spare.”

“Don’t make no difference; you’ll have to wait till to-morrer morning.”

“Give me the number of the Chief of police at Boothbay.”

As Alvin made the peremptory request, he slipped two silver half dollars into the bony hand of the young man. This effected the purpose intended. He became wide awake on the instant, stepped briskly to the desk, caught up the receiver of the instrument, asked and answered several questions, and after a brief wait, nodded to Alvin, who with Chester stood at his elbow.

“Here you are,” he said, passing the receiver to the former; “Art Spofford is the chief of police at Boothbay, and he’s at t’other end of the wire.”

Artemus Spofford, or “Art” as he is called by every one, was courteous, and replied that no tramps had been seen in town for several weeks, but he and his officers would be on the alert and arrest and hold any vagrants answering the description. Not only that, but he volunteered to communicate with the neighboring towns and see that every possible precaution was taken.

“Leave it to me,” he added; “don’t mix in; I can attend to it better than you; how shall I reach you, if we scoop in the gentlemen?”

It was agreed that Art should ’phone to Bovil, where some of the Boy Scouts would call at intervals of a few hours to get any message left for them. This arrangement was the most convenient for all concerned.

It took some trying minutes for Alvin to get Hotel Samoset on Mouse Island. It looked as if Everett Ham, the night clerk, was also asleep at his post, but I must not do the faithful young man that injustice. He responded after a time, and an understanding was speedily reached.

“Is George Burton staying at your hotel?”

“Yes; he has been here for a week.”

“Please call him to the ’phone as quickly as you can; this is of the utmost importance; don’t delay for a moment.”

“Hold the wire.”

With his ear to the receiver, Alvin Landon plainly heard by means of the marvelous invention the hurrying footfalls of Clerk Ham as he dashed out of the office, along the hall and upstairs to rouse Burton. Sooner than was expected he was back at the instrument.

“Hello! are you there?” he called.

“Yes; where is Burton?”

“He isn’t in the hotel.”

The boys were dumfounded for the moment.

“You are sure of that?”

“Yes; I’ve been to his room; he isn’t there; then I remembered he went off two days ago and hasn’t been back since.”

“Didn’t he leave any word as to where he was going?”

“He never does; he and that dog of his are on the tramp all the time.”

“Then you can’t help me to locate him?”

“I wish I could; there’s only two things he’s fond of, – that is scouting through the country with that dog of his, and going to clambakes. Capt. Free McKown says he’s looney on clambakes and eats as much as any two men.”

“Well, Mr. Ham, will you be good enough to give a message to Burton the first minute you see him?”

“I surely will.”

“Tell him to make all haste to his uncle on Gosling Lake – Got that? That their little girl is lost, and her parents are distracted with grief – Get that? And they beg him to come as quickly as he can – Get that?”

Ham repeated the substance of the words, and then rang off.

“We may as well go to bed,” said Chester to the clerk, who had sauntered back to the settee and sat down. He lighted a tallow candle and led them upstairs to a roomy apartment, where he bade them good night, pausing at the door long enough to say:

“There’s only one other chap staying with us; he’s at t’other end of the hall. Do you want me to call you in the morning?”

“No; we shall wake early.”

“That’s a bad setback,” said Chester dejectedly, as the two began preparing for bed; “we never dreamed that Burton would be away from Mouse Island.”

“And with not the remotest idea of where to look for him. He left his uncle’s house this forenoon, and may be miles inland, without our being able to get track of him for a week. I can’t help feeling that Zip is the only one that can solve the puzzle, and it won’t take him long to do so.”

“No one who knows the dog can doubt that. If Sunbeam has managed to fall into the lake, he will lead us to the spot. If those scamps have stolen her, she will be found within an hour or two, – and then may the Lord have mercy on them!”

“Chest, do you believe they are mixed up in this business?”

“I can’t help suspecting it.”

“I don’t, even though their hanging about Doctor Spellman’s home has a bad look. Those kidnappings are done in the cities, – not in the open country like this; and then think for a moment of the conditions. For two tousled bums to steal a little girl, and compel her father to pay a ransom for her, – here in the Maine woods, within a few miles of Boothbay Harbor, – why the thing is preposterous.”

“Has it occurred to you that they may be connected with others? They may be agents of the Mafia or Camorra or some regularly organized gang of kidnappers.”

This was new to Alvin, and disturbed him painfully. What was improbable about it? The persistency of Biggs and Hutt in prowling about the lake suggested a strong motive, – such as that of earning a big reward through the commission of some such crime as indicated.

“I tell you, Chest, none of us has gone the right way about this business. Suppose Chief Spofford or some other officer succeeds in arresting the two tramps, what good will it do? They are not such fools as to walk into a town with a little girl in their charge. They would be called to account on sight without any request from her friends. As we agreed, we must pin our faith on the bloodhound, and we may not find him for days, when the trail will be so cold that even he cannot follow it.”

The two felt that for the present they were at the end of their rope. They had done all they could to set the wheels in motion for the arrest of the tramps who were under suspicion, and the dread was strong with them that if such arrest could be brought about it would affect nothing. Any plan for the kidnapping of the little girl would be so cunningly laid by master minds that their agents would never walk into a trap, no matter how skilfully set.

“We must find Burton and his dog,” was the last remark of Alvin. His companion murmured assent and then the two sank into the sleep of weariness and sound health, because of which they did not awake until the young man who had received them the night before hammered on the door and shouted that breakfast would be ready in ten minutes.

With self-reproaches they bounded out of bed, hurried through their preparations, and went down stairs two steps at a time. The meal was on the table, and for the moment they were the only guests, with the young man referred to acting as waiter.

The boys had hardly seated themselves when through the open door entered a third guest, accompanied by a black, sturdy, long-eared dog, and the name of the youth was George Burton and that of his canine companion Zip.

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!”