Scott Morgan
Boys of Oakdale Academy
CHAPTER XIX.
AN ENCOUNTER IN THE WOODS
The one in advance from whose lips that angry question had been flung, was Berlin Barker. Phil Springer was following. Barker’s face was almost snow-white, made thus by the rage that was consuming him. Springer looked greatly disturbed, and he muttered to himself:
“Now there’s sure to be tut-trouble.”
“What do you mean by it?” again demanded Berlin, as he faced Rod a short distance away, his gun gripped tightly in his glove-protected hands.
“I didn’t know it was your dog.” Slowly and awkwardly he shifted his position, in order to face Berlin.
“You lie!” retorted Barker; and every nerve in Grant’s body went taut as a bowstring.
With excited yelps, old Rouser came bursting forth from the woods.
“There’s the dog I reckoned was running this rabbit,” explained the young Texan, his voice a trifle husky, yet remarkably steady.
“That old has-been!” sneered Barker. “Why, he isn’t worth a charge of shot to put him out of the way; and he’s been bothering Silver Tongue. Of course you heard both dogs running.”
“Yes, but – ”
“If you know anything at all, you certainly knew old Sawyer’s cripple wasn’t leading.”
“I saw Rouser take up a track. It’s your dog that mixed in and interfered – if that is your dog.”
“You bet he’s mine! Just bought him for a fancy price, too, and I don’t propose to have him spoiled by Sawyer’s worthless brute. I’ll settle it. Come here, Silver Tongue – come away and give me a chance.”
His gun half lifted and ready for use, Barker attempted to call his own dog away from the other. Divining the fellow’s purpose, Rod Grant took three hasty strides, placing himself between Rouser and Barker.
“Get out of the way!” snarled Barker. “If you don’t you’ll have a chance to pick some shot out of your legs.”
The brown eyes of the boy from Texas glowed strangely, and he also held his shotgun ready for use.
“If I were in your place, my friend,” he said, “I wouldn’t try to shoot old Rouser; for just as sure as you do you’ll have a chance to bury your own dog.”
He meant it, too; there could be no doubt about that. Nor was he in the slightest degree intimidated by the menacing weapon in Barker’s hands. Shivering, Springer held his breath and watched those two lads gazing steadily into each other’s eyes. At length Phil managed to speak.
“Quit it, bub-both of you!” he spluttered. “Be careful with those guns!”
“Which is right good advice for your friend,” said Rod, without permitting his glance to waver for an instant from Barker. “If he should shoot up old Rouser, it sure would be a shame to retaliate on his innocent dog. I admit I’d feel much more like letting him have it himself.”
“You hear that, do you, Phil?” cried Berlin.
“Yes,” answered Springer, “and bub-by jingoes, he looks like he might dud-do it, too!”
In spite of himself and his intense rage, Barker wavered. For once, at least, he had found no symptom of faltering or timidity in the fellow he bitterly detested.
“Hey, what’s the matter over there?” cried a hoarse voice, and Hunk Rollins, breaking forth from a thicket, came shuffling toward them on snowshoes, carrying a gun. They were now three to one against Grant, but still Rod stood his ground unmoved.
“He shot a rabbit in front of Berlin’s dud-dog,” hastily explained Springer, “and Berlin’s blazing mad about it, too.”
“What’s he doing here, anyhow?” questioned Rollins contemptuously.
“I allow,” said Rodney, something like a faint smile flitting across his face, “that I have as much right to hunt rabbits hereabouts as you fellows.”
“Take his gun away from him!” roared Hunk. “Knock the packing out of him!”
But he stopped short with his first step toward the boy from Texas, for the muzzle of Grant’s gun swung toward him, and Springer shouted a warning.
“Look out! He’ll shoot!”
“Gee!” gasped Rollins. “He don’t dast!”
“Don’t make any mistake about that,” advised Rodney. “It would be a clean case of self-defense, and only a fool would let you take his gun away from him and beat him up.”
“Ginger!” gurgled Hunk. “I believe he means it!”
At this juncture Lander and Davis put in an appearance and came forward, wondering at the tableau they beheld. Grant laughed aloud as he saw them.
“Now we’re even as far as numbers are concerned,” he observed, suddenly at his ease.
“What’s the row?” questioned Bunk, glaring at Barker. “We heard you fellers chewin’ the rag half a mile away, I guess.”
“Oh, there isn’t any row to speak of,” said Rodney. “Both of these dogs were running the rabbit yonder, which I happened to shoot. It chanced that Barker’s dog was ahead of Rouser, and so Mr. Barker foolishly got a trifle warm under the collar. He made some silly talk about shooting old Rouser, but I don’t reckon he really meant it.”
“Oh, he did, hey?” shouted Lander, getting purple in the face. “Threatened to shoot Rouser, did he? Well, say! I’d like to see him try it!”
“He won’t try it,” assured the boy from Texas. “He got all over that inclination some time before you arrived, Bunk; but I had to tell him what would happen to his own dog if he didn’t hold up.”
“What a set of cheap skates!” sneered Berlin.
“Cheap skates, hey?” rasped Lander. “Well, if there’s anybody around these parts cheaper than you are, he can be bought for less than a cent. I know you pretty well of old, Barker. It was you who helped turn the fellers against me, and you was mighty rejoiced when I got into that little scrape two years ago. I don’t forget them things. Now you and your friends better chase yourselves and take your dog along with you, if you care anything about him. We’re hunting here in this swamp, and we don’t propose to be bothered by you. Git!”
“We don’t cuc-care about hunting around here,” said Springer hastily. “Come on, Berlin.”
Although reluctant to be driven away, Barker, having cooled down somewhat, began to entertain apprehensions for the safety of Silver Tongue should he remain in that vicinity.
“Mr. Grant is very courageous – when he has a gun in his hands,” he sneered. “At any other time he’s a – ”
“You’ve said that before,” interrupted Rod in a tone that made Berlin start a bit in spite of himself. “Be careful that you don’t say it once too often.”
Barker shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “I don’t have to say it; every fellow in Oakdale knows what you are. Come, Silver Tongue – come, sir. Come on, fellows; there are plenty of other places to run rabbits.”
“And, counting yourself and your friends, you make a fine bunch of dogs for the purpose,” Lander flung after them.
In a few moments Barker and his companions disappeared into the woods, and soon the muttering of their voices died out in the distance.
“How’d you get here, anyhow, Roddy?” questioned Bunk, with a grin. “We left you ’way back yonder.”
“Yes,” nodded Grant; “but I reckoned there wouldn’t be much shooting over there, so I pulled my picket pin and moved. Here’s another rabbit for that stew.”
“By jinks! Bunk,” said Spotty, “we ain’t shot one yet. We took him out to show him how ’twas done, and he’s showed us.”
“He showed Barker, too, I guess,” chuckled Lander. “Say, it done me good making that bunch turn tail and dig out. ’Tain’t more’n a mile to my camp, if it’s that fur; let’s strike over that way, for I’ll have an appetite by the time we can dress the rabbits and the partridge and get the stew cooked.”
“I’ve an appetite now,” declared Rod. “I’ve enjoyed the sport this morning very much indeed.”
CHAPTER XX.
A SUNDAY MORNING CALLER
On Sunday morning, between the hours of nine and ten, Spotty Davis knocked at the door of Miss Priscilla Kent. The spinster, dressed in plain black alpaca, admitted him when he asked to see Rodney.
“You’ll find my nephew in his room right up at the head of the stairs,” she said. “Rap on the door. I don’t think he’ll have much time to talk to ye, though.”
Spotty’s knuckles on the door panel brought Grant, half dressed and wondering.
“Hello!” he exclaimed in surprise. “You? I wondered who it could be. My visitors are sure getting amazing plentiful.”
Davis walked into the room.
“Kinder thought I’d come round and chin with ye this morning,” he grinned. “Sunday’s always a punk day fur me. I hate the sound of church bells. Went to see Bunk, but he’d gone off somewhere a’ready.”
“So you accepted me as a last resort,” laughed Rod. “Well, I’m afraid I won’t have much time to chin.”
“Why not? What you doin’? I see you’re dressin’ all up in your best bib and tucker. Goin’ somewhere?”
“Yes, to church.”
“What-at?” cried Spotty incredulously. “You don’t mean it!”
“I sure do.”
“Why, I didn’t know you ever ’tended church.”
“I haven’t as much as I should since coming to Oakdale,” admitted Rodney; “but you see my aunt is very peculiar, and she seldom goes. This morning she conceived a sudden desire to attend, and asked me if I’d go with her. That’s why I’m shifting over into my glad rags now.”
“Priscilla Kent in church’ll make folks rubber sure enough,” said Spotty, who had seated himself comfortably on the easy chair. “But say, I bet I know why she’s goin’. They’ve got a new minister, a young feller that ain’t married, and every single girl and widder and old maid in town is jest flockin’ to hear him. They say he’s perfectly lovely. Hee! hee! I guess your aunt is gittin’ the fever.”
Rod smiled. “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted; “but really, I doubt if she’s even heard there has been a change of ministers, for you know she is something of a recluse, and doesn’t gossip with the neighbors. You’ll excuse me if I keep on with the adornment of my person.”
“Oh, go ahead,” nodded Davis, producing a pack of cigarettes. “I’ll have a coffin nail and be sociable while you’re toggin’ out. Say, that stew was rippin’ good, wasn’t it?”
“First rate,” agreed Rod, searching for a suitable necktie in a drawer. “I allow I enjoyed it, all right.”
“What do you think of Bunk’s old hang-out?”
“It’s a right comfortable place.”
“It’s great. We ought to have some fun over there this winter. We three make a pretty good crowd. Of course it would be better if we had another feller, but the right kind can’t be found around here. You didn’t seem to feel much like playing cards yesterday.”
“Not for money, and that was what Bunk proposed.”
“And I was busted,” chuckled the visitor, “so there wasn’t anything doin’. Bunk’s pretty slick with the pasteboards. You’ve got to keep your eye peeled for him. All the same, he needn’t think he knows it all; there is others.”
“Playing cards for money is bad business,” was Grant’s opinion. “I’ve seen trouble come of it. I’m willing enough to play for sport.”
“But there ain’t much sport in it unless there’s a little money up. If I’d had some loose change in my clothes, I’d tackled Bunk yesterday. Say, I’ve been thinking how we bluffed Barker and his bunch, and it makes me laugh.”
Grant frowned. “Berlin Barker wants to put a curb on his tongue, or it’s going to get him into trouble some day.”
“Oh, he don’t love you a bit, and he’ll love you less since you give him that call. Gee! I didn’t know what was goin’ to happen when I and Bunk heard you chawin’ and come out where we could see ye standin’ there holdin’ your gun jest as if you meant to use it any minute!”
“I should have used it if Barker had carried out his threat to shoot Sawyer’s hound,” declared Rod; “but I’d been sorry afterward, for I meant to shoot his dog the instant he fired at old Rouser. That would have been a right nasty thing for me to do.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Silver Tongue wouldn’t have been to blame for the act of his master.”
“Oh, a dog’s only a dog,” said Davis, letting thin dribbles of smoke escape from his mouth as he spoke, “and you’d been justified in it.”
“I don’t see it in that light – now. I should have been revenging myself on a dumb animal that had done me no harm. At the time, however, I didn’t stop to consider that any. Stir a Grant up right thoroughly, and he isn’t liable to take consequences into consideration. It’s best for me to look out not to get riled, though that isn’t easy sometimes.”
“To hear you chin like that,” grinned Davis, “anybody’d think you a red-hot proposition; but around here they’ve got the idee you’re mild and docile and all your talk is hot air.”
“Something may happen sometime,” returned Rod, “to satisfy them that it’s not all hot air – though I hope not.”
The voice of his aunt called him from the foot of the stairs, and he stepped outside the door to answer her. She wished to know if he was nearly ready, and he replied that he was.
“It will take some time to get to the church, Rodney, and the second bell will commence ringin’ pretty soon. We’d better start in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be down right soon,” was his assurance as he turned back into the room.
Spotty had abandoned the butt of his cigarette and risen to his feet; he was standing with his hands in his pockets, seeming deeply interested in one of the pictures hanging on the wall.
“Well,” he said, turning, “I guess I’ll skin along and leave ye. Jinks! you’re goin’ to look stylish to-day, Rod. Where’d you git all them good clothes?”
“My father blew himself on me when he decided to send me East. Reckon he wanted me to make a good appearance in the bosom of refined and cultured New England.”
“Even Barker doesn’t dress as swell as that. The only feller around here who ever did was Bern Hayden, and he certainly did put on the lugs; but he was a rotter. Hope you enjoy the sermon, old chap. Don’t let Aunt Priscil’ flirt with the new minister. Hee! hee! hee! So long.” With this final bit of pleasantry Davis departed, hurrying down the stairs and out of the house.
Grant finished dressing in a few moments and was ready to join his aunt. He paused to pick up his money and some keys and pocket trinkets which he had left lying on the table. Something caused him to hesitate as his fingers touched the little thin fold of bank bills, and he was suddenly struck with the idea that the money was not lying as he had dropped it. He counted it over, finding a five, two twos and two ones.
“Eleven dollars,” he muttered. “Why, I sure thought I had another two dollar bill. I would have sworn I was carrying thirteen dollars, besides the change in my pocket. It can’t be – ”
He stood there frowning for several moments, plainly perplexed and undecided.
“Oh, I must be mistaken!” he finally exclaimed. “Spotty has had his lesson, and he wouldn’t do a thing like that again. Besides, he was put up to the first job; he didn’t do it of his own accord. I’ve bought skates and moccasins and things, and I must have made a mistake about how much I spent. Still, it might be right wise not to put temptation in the way of a fellow like Davis.”
Pocketing the money, he descended to join his waiting aunt.
CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT SLEUTH PIPER SAW
From the lips of Rollins and Springer the boys of Oakdale Academy learned something of the encounter with Grant during the rabbit hunt, but, naturally, even Springer colored his statements in a manner which did not place Barker in an unfavorable light. Save to sneer about the boy from Texas, Berlin himself had little to say. Nevertheless, the general impression went forth that Rod had first threatened to shoot Silver Tongue, and had been prevented from doing so only by Barker’s firm stand. This added to the almost universal dislike in which the young Texan was held.
Ben Stone refrained from questioning Grant directly, but he gave Rod a chance to make a statement, and was disappointed when the latter betrayed a disinclination to talk of the matter.
Grant still bore himself with unruffled independence, paying such attention to his studies that he stood high in his classes and received the outspoken approval of Prof. Richardson. This also, under the circumstances, did not conduce to his popularity. With Davis and Lander he continued friendly at all times, actually taking a sort of perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that his enemies were calling attention to his behavior as proof of their just estimate of his character.
A bit of “soft weather,” with cold nights, made excellent sliding, and evening after evening the double runners, loaded with laughing, shouting boys and girls, went shooting down Main Street through the very center of the town and over the bridge as far as the railway station. Although Rod was never caught watching them, more than once he paused at a distance to listen to their joyous cries, and, truth to tell, there was regret in his heart.
Thursday morning Sleuth Piper, reaching the academy, had a tale for the ears of a group of interested listeners. Mysteriously beckoning the boys around him in the coat room, Piper held up one finger for silence.
“’Sh!” he sibilated. “Perhaps some of you fellows observed that I was not out sliding last night. I struck a trail. Having noticed that one Rodney Grant and his two boon companions were not to be discovered around the village evenings, my astute mind led me to the deduction that they must be up to something of a dark and secret nature. Last night, from a place of secure cover, I watched with the patience of a redskin, and eventually I was well rewarded for so doing. I saw the miscreants meet secretly on High Street, near the foot of the path which leads to the home of Priscilla Kent. Under cover of darkness the beforesaid miscreants set forth to the westward, totally unaware that I was shadowing them. Of course, as there was no immediate cover for concealment, my task was extremely difficult, and when they reached the Barville road I lost them.”
“Is that all you’ve got to tell us?” asked Chub Tuttle, cracking a peanut. “I thought you’d caught them robbing a hen-roost or breaking into a bank.”
“I lost them for the time being,” continued Sleuth, undisturbed; “but, after meditating at the corner for some time, I was led to the deduction that they had gone north toward Turkey Hill, as it was not probable they would have chosen that roundabout course to turn the other way.”
“Great head, Sleuth,” complimented Cooper.
“They must have made haste,” said Piper; “for, though I hustled along all the way to the hill, my searching eyes failed to discover even a glimpse of them. Nevertheless, I was not baffled. Further meditation led me to decide that there could be only one destination for the aforesaid miscreants. It was awful dark in the woods over back of the hill, but my iron nerve remained unshaken. Setting my teeth firmly, I followed the course of Silver Brook all the way up to the swamp, into the vastness of which I boldly penetrated.”
“Daring deed,” murmured Cooper, in mock admiration.
“By this time,” pursued Piper, unmindful of the interruption, “my keen intellect was satisfied beyond reasonable doubt that the destination of that trio of night prowlers was Lander’s old camp. You see, my perspicacity was alive and working.”
“Who’s he?” questioned Cooper.
“Who’s who?” snapped Sleuth, irritated.
“Why, Percy P. Cacity. Have there been rumors afloat concerning his death?”
“Shut up! You’re interrupting the flowing course of my thrilling narrative. Having decided beyond doubt that I would find them at Bunk’s camp, I stole onward through the silent depths of the gloomy swamp. Not a sound broke the deathly stillness.”
“Not even the bark of a dogwood tree?” questioned Chipper.
Sleuth glared at him. “If you don’t want to listen, go chase yourself and give others the chance. It was so dark there in the swamp that even I, with all my keen sagacity, found it difficult to locate that old camp. At length, however, I perceived a faint gleam of light, and my heart gave an exultant leap, although my nerves were steady as iron. Guided by the before-mentioned light, I made my perilous way onward. I had not been deceived, for the beacon gleamed through the window of the den I sought. I was within a rod of the place when a sudden terrible racket broke forth. The sound of loud and angry voices reached my ears, telling me beyond question that there was a commotion within. Knowing full well that while they were making all that racket the before-mentioned miscreants could not hear me, I dashed forward to the window, through which I peered, beholding a scene of strife and contention. The rascals were there; perhaps they had been there for half an hour or more while I was seeking to locate them. They had built a fire, and, by the light of an old kerosene lamp, I perceived that they had already engaged in a suitable diversion for such reprehensible characters. Briefly and concisely stated, they had been playing cards – for money.”
“I wonder where Spotty Davis got the money to play with?” muttered Sile Crane.
“There were cards scattered on the table before them, and I know I saw money also,” Piper declared, “Lander was wrought up to a white pitch of wrath. I give you my verbatim statement that I never saw a feller as mad as he was. From his angry words I instantly gathered that he had caught Davis cheating, and he was strenuously seeking to lay violent hands on the aforesaid Davis. Mr. Grant, of Texas, had interfered and was keeping them apart, though it was plain enough that Spotty wasn’t anxious to mix it up with Bunk. Just as I looked in Lander yelled at Grant to take his hands off, and when the last mentioned party failed to comply Bunk let him have a poke in the mug.”
“Oh, joy!” chortled Cooper. “That cooked Mr. Grant, didn’t it?”
“Cooked him!” exclaimed Piper. “It turned him into a raging whirlwind. Say, you should have seen him sail into Lander! Why, he had Bunk pinned up against the wall, shaking him like a rat, in less than two seconds. I never saw any human being as mad as Grant, and I give you my word he handled Bunk just like a feller might handle a baby.”
“Come, come!” scoffingly derided Barker, who had joined the group in time to hear part of this yarn. “What are you giving us, Sleuth? Why, that fellow wouldn’t fight, and, if he did spunk up enough courage to try it, Lander could whip him with one hand tied behind his back.”
“Don’t you believe it!” spluttered Sleuth. “I know better. I know what I saw, and he took the starch out of Bunk Lander in double quick order. He just fastened his hooks on Bunk’s woozle and choked him till his eyes stuck out, and I was beginning to think that would be the finish of the before-mentioned Lander. It was a tragic and terrifying spectacle. Davis was frightened into fits, and finally he rushed forward and tugged at Grant’s wrists, begging him to stop. Just as I was deciding that I had arrived in time to witness red-handed murder, Grant suddenly seemed to come to his senses; he let go of Lander, who dropped in a heap, as limp as a rag, gasping for breath. Davis was crying by this time; never saw anybody so frightened. Grant backed off a step or two, sort of shivering, his face pale as chalk. ‘Get some water, Spotty,’ says he. ‘I’m glad I didn’t kill him.’”
Barker laughed in his cold, sneering way. “You have a vivid imagination, Sleuth,” he said; “but you want to quit reading cheap novels.”
Piper resented this. “I’ve given you the plain, cold, unadulterated facts, Mr. Barker. I know what I saw.”
“Perhaps you dreamed it.”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Perhaps you saw them playing cards, but this final sensational touch of your dramatic tale – this account of the fight – is preposterous. Grant wouldn’t any more dare buck up against Bunk Lander than against me.”
“Take my advice,” said Sleuth, “and don’t count on it too much that he wouldn’t dare tackle you.”
“Why, that has been proved to everybody’s satisfaction.”
“Not to mine since what I saw last night. I give you my word, I’d rather get a grizzly bear after me than that feller. Soon’s I saw Spotty getting a tin can to bring water, I sagely concluded it was time for me to move, and straightway I did so. I wasn’t nearly as long getting out of the swamp as I had been finding Lander’s camp.
“That’s the whole veracious narrative, faithfully given in the minutest detail. But let me add that the chap who wakes Rod Grant up and gets him real fighting mad is liable in less than ten seconds to find himself taken all to pieces and scattered over the immediate vicinity; I’ll stake my professional reputation on it.”
