Scott Morgan
Oakdale Boys in Camp

CHAPTER XXIV.
STRANGE BEHAVIOR OF SLEUTH

Before long Piper grew restless, and his uneasiness was noticed by the others.

“What’s the mum-matter with you, Sleuth?” questioned Springer. “You’re as fidgety as a dog with fleas.”

Piper was stalking up and down in front of the tent. Without answering Springer’s question, he turned to Grant and asked the time.

“Nine o’clock,” said Rodney, after looking at his watch.

“I feel,” said Sleuth – “I feel the call of the wild. The wilderness is beckoning me to its bosom.”

“He’s got ’em again,” declared Crane.

“I must respond to the call. I must fare forth into the solitudes. I’m going away from here.”

“He’s going away from here,” repeated Grant solemnly.

“Well, I fuf-feel like doing something myself,” confessed Springer. “I’m with you, Sleuthy.”

“You are not,” retorted Piper positively. “I desire not your society nor that of anyone here. Alone I shall tread the dim trails of the forest.”

“I cal’late he’s goin’ after Injun scalps,” said Sile.

Piper turned a piercing look on the lanky fellow. “Of late,” he said, “although my mind has been greatly occupied with other matters, I have given a little thought to a most peculiar occurrence which transpired on the first night after we pitched our camp in the wilderness. The party from whom I obtained the sleeping bag that I brought with me had been keeping that bag in the attic of his settlement home, and it is not often that common black ants penetrate to the attic of a house and make their nests there. I likewise recall that, ere I sought to occupy the bag for the night, someone made remarks about the probability that it would be hot to sleep in and would cause me to itch. Furthermore, in summing up, I remember a certain individual who, after I had gotten into the bag, took great pains to tie it up securely around my neck, so that I could not get out without assistance. Although I may not lift the scalp of some bloodthirsty Wampanoag, I will confess that these meditations of which I speak have led me to thirst for the topknot of a certain paleface who thinks himself very smart – and was smart, in a certain sense, on an occasion not far remote.”

“Why, Sleuth,” drawled Crane, “I hope yeou don’t think – ”

Piper held up his hand. “Don’t convict yourself by unnecessary protestations. Even now I am loath to believe that a comrade could be so perfidious. The sadness which the bare suspicion brings to me adds to my longings to be alone. Perhaps the solitudes will cleanse my heart of resentment. Farewell until I return.”

“But when do you expect to return?” asked Stone, as Piper started away.

“That I can’t tell; it may be hours before you again look upon my countenance. However long the time is, I bid you not to worry. I shall return in due course, even though, ere my return, the sun may linger low in the western sky.” Then, with the stealthy step of a trapper, he slipped into the woods and was gone.

“He’s on to you, Craney,” laughed Springer. “You bub-better watch out.”

“Oh, Sleuth’s harmless,” laughed Sile; “and, anyhaow, I can’t help thinkin’ it’s more than a desire for solitude that’s sent him pikin’ off into the woods all by his lonesome.”

Whatever the reason for Piper’s action, and despite the fact that he had told them hours might pass before his return, they finally began to wonder over the matter, with the afternoon on the wane and no sign of their absent companion. They had occupied themselves in various ways, but at last whatever task or game they took up was broken and interrupted by frequent pauses to look for Piper and to seek one another’s opinions concerning this “new freak” of his.

“Perhaps,” suggested Grant, as at last they lounged before the tent, “he has gone alone to solve the mystery of Spirit Island.”

Springer immediately scoffed at this. “Dud-don’t you believe anything of the sort. There isn’t money enough to hire him to go on to that island alone.”

“Besides,” said Crane, “haow could he get there? He didn’t take the canoe.”

“He must be hungry,” said Stone. “He hasn’t had any dinner.”

Five minutes later some distance away on the lake they perceived a small white rowboat that seemed to be heading for their camp. In the boat a single person plied the oars industriously.

“We’re going to have a visitor” said Stone. “Wonder who it is?”

“Cuc-can’t be Mr. Granger,” was Springer’s immediate decision. “He came in a canoe t’other time.”

“It doesn’t look like Granger,” said Grant, stepping out from the trees and shading his eyes with his hand. “Great Caesar! fellows, I believe it’s Piper!”

“Piper! No, no; you must be mistaken.”

But, as they watched the boat draw nearer and were able to get a better view of its occupant, they were compelled to acknowledge that he looked like Sleuth. And Sleuth it was who came rowing serenely into the cove and beached the boat.

“Ho, comrades!” he hailed, stepping out. “I have returned. I am with you once again.”

They surrounded him.

“Where have you been?”

“What kept you so long?”

“Wh-where did you get that boat?”

“What sort of a rinktum be yeou cuttin’ up naow?”

“Restrain your impatience, I beseech you,” said Piper, pulling the boat up securely. “In good time I will reveal all. Just now, if you’ve any cold snack in the larder, I would satiate the cravings of the inner man.”

Nor could they induce him to relieve their curiosity until he had eaten. When, presently, he wiped a few crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned with a sigh of satisfaction against the trunk of a tree, they again insisted on an explanation.

“Friends and fellow citizens,” began Sleuth.

“This ain’t no stump speech,” interrupted Crane. “Come daown to earth and get it aout of yeour system as quick as yeou can.”

“Well, then, I’ve been visiting.”

“Visiting?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“The gentleman who called on us and entertained us with such beautiful, well-polished and interesting tales.”

“Granger,” said Grant.

Sleuth nodded. “Yes, I was seized by a consuming desire to visit Mr. Granger in his cabin retreat.”

“But how did you gug-gug-get across there?” asked Springer. “Did you tut-tramp it all the way round the lake?”

“If you will kindly permit me to recount my doings in my own way, you will become informed in a manner regular and satisfactory. I did not walk around the lake shore. I have never seen a fiction writer in the throes of composition, and always I have longed to know how they do it. Therefore, it didn’t take me long to decide that I would casually drop in upon Mr. Charles Granger with the design of discovering him at his labors. With this in my mind, I made arrangements with Simpson to take me across the lake in his boat at ten o’clock today.”

“Why didn’t you tut-tell us what you was going to do?” questioned Phil, a bit resentfully.

“Because I feared that some of you would insist on accompanying me, and it was not at all likely that Granger would be pleased to have several of us come in upon him. Furthermore, I wished to ask him some questions concerning his labors and his methods of writing stories, and it is said that some authors are much disinclined to talk about their business. I fancied that, alone, I could obtain much more satisfaction. It was necessary for Simpson to show me where Granger was to be found.”

“And you found him?” said Grant.

“I found him. Simpson left me, that he might return to his arduous labors upon his father’s farm. Alone, I approached the log cabin, which is temporarily occupied by Charles Granger. As I drew near, the clicking of a typewriter came to my ears, and I perceived that the cabin door was standing open to admit air and sunshine. With the stealthy tread of a redskin I slipped up to that door and peered in. There was the author, hard at work, his typewriter mounted on a little table and sheets of manuscript scattered all about. He was so absorbed that he did not hear me, and for some moments I watched him in silence. Presently he lifted his head and sat back to meditate, without doubt, upon the clever construction of some involved sentence. Chancing to turn his eyes in my direction, he perceived me and jumped to his feet as if shot.

“I will not pretend,” proceeded Piper, “that Granger was pleased on beholding me. In fact, he seemed much annoyed, and in fervid language he desired to know what I was doing there. Beaming on him in a friendly fashion, I entered and explained that I had heard he was a writer of fiction, and that, therefore, my curiosity had been awakened and spurred to a two-minute clip. After a time, perceiving perhaps no token of guile in my demeanor, Granger cooled down and laughed over the start I had given him. He was genuinely pleasant and friendly, and we chatted for some time. He even showed me one or two of his stories in a publication, but he admitted that far more came back than were accepted and paid for.”

“Well, did yeou hang araound there all the afternoon?” asked Crane.

“Indeed, no, comrade – indeed, no,” replied Piper. “I will admit that my call was more or less protracted, but, on perceiving that the genial host was becoming aweary, I took the hint and departed. Having for some time felt the desire to visit the hotel, I seized the opportunity. It is a splendid establishment for the entertainment of the summer vacationist with a long purse and a yearning desire to be separated from his good money, and it seems to be prospering. Why should it not, having near at hand such attractions as Lovers’ Leap and the haunted island?”

“But the bub-boat,” said Springer – “where did you get the bub-boat?”

“At the boathouse connected with the hotel. They have boats of various kinds for the pleasure of the guests, and, for my own special use, I hired the one in which you saw me returning. Had to plank down four dollars a week for its use, and pay the first four bones in advance.”

“Yeou extravagant boob!” cried Sile. “I didn’t knew yeou had four whole dollars to yeour name.”

“Indeed,” said Sleuth loftily, “I have much more than that; but a man of wealth seldom boasts of his possessions.”

“It was right thoughtful of you to hire a boat,” said Grant. “One canoe was not sufficient for the whole of us, but now we can all go fishing on the lake at the same time, if we wish.”

“You failed to observe, I think,” returned Sleuth, “that I stated I secured that boat for my own special use.”

“Hang it!” exploded Springer. “You don’t mean to sus-say that you’re not going to let the rest of us use it at all? That would be downright hoggish.”

“If I desire company in the boat,” retorted Piper, “I’ll extend an invitation. Otherwise, I, alone, will use it.”

“Kick me,” exclaimed Crane in disgust, “if I ever figgered it aout that yeou was that kind of a narrer-contracted, selfish critter! Sleuthy, yeou’re showin’ a side of your nater that makes me plumb ashamed of yeou.”

“He’s joking,” said Stone.

“I never was more serious in my life,” averred Piper.

Nor did their scorn and ridicule seem to have the least effect upon him; in spite of it he continued to caution them not to trespass. Their indignation turned to coldness, but still he was unmoved.

“I have my reasons,” he declared, “and, until I see fit to reveal them, it will be a waste of time to pester me.” After a few moments of silence he added: “Do you know, comrades, I believe I can write stories myself.”

This remark was received with an outburst of amused derision, and Piper shut up like a clam.

CHAPTER XXV.
A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT

During the days that followed the behavior of Piper was even more inexplicable and annoying; for each day, refusing to let anyone accompany him, he set forth alone in his boat, sometimes leaving the camp before noon, and usually remaining away until near nightfall. Nor would he offer any explanation, compelling his perplexed and offended friends to remain as content as possible with his promise that he would “reveal all in due time.”

“I’d give tut-ten dollars to know what he’s up to,” said Springer.

“So’d I – if I had ten dollars,” declared Crane.

Once Phil and Sile attempted to follow Piper with the canoe, but when he detected them he promptly turned about and rowed straight back to Pleasant Point.

“Think yeou’re smart, don’t ye?” sneered Crane, when he and Phil had also returned. “Yeou make me sick at the stomach.”

“It’s plain,” retorted Piper grimly, “that you need another lesson to cure you of your overweening curiosity.”

After that they ceased their efforts, Sile and Phil treating Piper with the utmost disdain, although Grant appeared to be more or less amused; and, in his quiet way, Stone accepted it all as an entertaining joke.

One day the boys saw Piper come swiftly forth from the tent and make for his boat, bearing the shotgun. Immediately Sile shouted:

“Hey, there! Yeou leave that gun! Yeou’ve got a crust, takin’ it without askin’ leave. Drop it!”

But Sleuth hurried on, placed the gun in the boat and pushed off, paying not the slightest heed to Crane’s commands. They watched him rowing steadily away across the lake, heading somewhat to the south of Spirit Island, and finally he passed from view beyond a wooded point of the farther shore.

Keeping close to the shore after rounding the point, Sleuth plied his oars in a gentle way, as if trying to make as little noise as possible. Presently he ran into the narrow mouth of a sluggish, boggy brook and made a landing amid some overhanging bushes, where were to be seen marks which seemed to indicate that this was not the first time a boat had touched there. Stepping ashore, he pulled the little boat up until it was well hidden by the bushes, after which he took the gun and turned away. His manner, as he stole cautiously through the woods with the gun in his hands, was that of one bent upon a stealthy and dangerous manœuvre. No scout or trapper of colonial days had ever attempted to preserve more caution in a region possibly infested by redskins.

For something like a quarter of a mile the boy made his way through the thickets, maintaining that air of extreme caution. Indeed, if possible, he became even more careful, and finally he took to creeping forward on all fours, ending with a snake-like squirm flat upon his stomach, which brought him to a thick cluster of bushes on the edge of a small clearing near the lake shore. Parting the bushes gently, he thrust his head into them and looked forth through a filmy veil of ferns into the clearing.

Near the shore, where there was a landing place, lay an overturned canoe, and from the landing a path ran up to the open door of a small log cabin. That there was someone within the cabin this open door seemed to denote, but from his place of concealment Piper could perceive no person. Nevertheless, with amazing patience, Sleuth remained hidden there, watching and waiting, his chin upon his hands and the shotgun beside him. Nearly an hour had passed in this manner when from the cabin there came a spasmodic clicking sound, which caused the concealed youth to breathe a sigh of satisfaction.

“He’s there,” whispered Sleuth to himself. “I knew he must be, for the door is open and the canoe is in sight. He’s hammering at his old typewriter. It’s about time he did something else.”

But it seemed that Sleuth waited in vain for Charles Granger to do anything else. The dozy afternoon hours crept on. At times the sound of the typewriter would cease, only to be heard after an interval. A kingfisher, swooping along the shore, uttered a shriek and went careening away with a burst of mocking laughter. A chipmunk, scurrying through the underbrush, stopped suddenly within three feet of Piper and challenged him with a sharp chatter. The lad remaining motionless, the little ground squirrel seemed both perplexed and offended, for he continued to squeak and chitter and flit his tail in a desperate effort to make the silent figure stir. Wearying of this at last, Sleuth turned his head a bit and gave a sharp hiss, whereupon, with a scream of delighted dismay, the squirrel fled.

The afternoon was passing. In spite of himself, Piper’s eyelids drooped. Suddenly they snapped wide open, and there before him in the doorway, leaning indolently against the casing and smoking a corncob pipe, was Mr. Granger, minus coat, vest and hat, and wearing an old pair of slippers upon his feet. For nearly ten minutes he lounged there, gazing dreamily toward the landing, and then he turned back into the cabin and disappeared.

“Piffle!” whispered Sleuth. “He’s not going out. Another day wasted, but I’ll foil him yet.”

He was about to retreat when a faint, far-away sound caused him to prick up his ears and remain concealed in the bushes. Someone was whistling in the distant woods, and gradually the sound drew nearer. It was a rollicking jumble of popular tunes, and after a time the whistler, a boy about Sleuth’s age – possibly a little younger – came out by a path that led away from the cabin. Straight to the door the boy advanced, and there he was met by Granger, who, like Piper, had heard the whistling.

“Here’s something for you, Mr. Granger,” said the strange boy as he drew a sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it over to the man.

“Thanks, Jack,” said Granger. “How is everything?”

“First-rate,” was the cheerful reply. “I’ve got to hustle back. So long.”

He was off as quickly as he had come, again making the woods ring with his whistling.

With the sealed envelope in his hand, Granger retired into the cabin.

“Piffle!” said Sleuth once more. “A returned manuscript, I suppose. I guess this story writing is poor business, all right. No use for me to watch any more today; I’m baffled again.”

Withdrawing from the bushes, he crept away until he could rise to his feet and retreat fully hidden in the thickets. He seemed to be not a little disappointed and downcast, and while returning to the boat he failed to maintain the caution that had marked his movements at an earlier hour.

Putting the gun back into the boat, he pushed off and was soon out upon the lake. The sun was just touching the crest of the mountains, but its full light still fell upon the dark, pine-covered body of Spirit Island. Involuntarily Piper rowed toward the island.

“I’d just like to land there alone and look it over again,” he muttered. “Springer thinks I wouldn’t dare. Huh! I’ve got a loaded gun, and I’d like to see a ghost that could make me run now. By smoke! I’ve half a mind to do it!”

This temptation persisted even when he had rowed close to the island, for all of the fact that he could again feel more than a touch of the awesome, scarey sensation that he had experienced during his previous visit to that haunted spot.

“I’ll do it!” he suddenly decided, choking down the unmanning fears with a strong hand. “I’ll just land and look around a few minutes before it gets dark.”

Selecting a landing place on the eastern shore of the island, he beached the boat and drew it up safely. Then, with the gun in his hands and a quiver in his veins, he sought for the path that led to the hermit’s hut.

Despite the fact that the sun had not yet set, that path was amazingly gloomy and dark. Piper’s hands gripped the gun almost fiercely as, with parted lips, he followed the path.

Again he took note of the seeming utter absence of life and movement upon the island, and several times he paused to listen and to peer into the shadows on either side.

At last, however, he reached the clearing and saw the old hut standing lurch-wise beneath the taller pines. And now the sunlight just touched the tops of those pines, telling that the sun was dropping behind the mountains. Twilight would follow in a few moments, and then darkness would gather over Spirit Island.

Piper sprang the catch of the hammerless, set his teeth and advanced, his finger on the trigger. Up to the very door of the hut he went, halting there with one ear half turned and listening, although he kept his slantwise gaze fixed on the dim interior. He could hear it again, faint, muffled, yet regular and distinct enough – the ticking of the unseen clock!

He had even thought of stepping, alone, inside that hut, but his resolution had been drawn upon to the limit, and he found it impossible to carry out the design. The shadows seemed to be thickening with amazing swiftness, and, shaken by the sudden dreadful thought of night upon that awesome island, Sleuth beat a precipitate retreat.

“What’s the use?” he whispered huskily, as he retrod the path. “I can’t find out anything this way, and I’ve done more than any other fellow of our bunch has dared to do. If I tell them, they’ll think I’m lying.”

The sun was gone when he reached the shore, and, arriving at the spot where he had left his boat, he made the disconcerting discovery that that likewise was gone. In the sand he could see the marks he had made when he drew the boat up, but, to his horror, it was not there, nor could it be seen afloat anywhere upon the lake.