CHAPTER XIV
TRAILING THE STOLEN MONEY
Several miles away from the wagon trail that led from Staretta to the now destroyed Longknives' clubhouse, two boys were groping along in the falling twilight in a discouraged manner.
Around them stretched seemingly endless vistas of burned and blackened forest, stark, leafless, forbidding. Under foot was a sooty, miry quagmire of rain-soaked soil, naturally low, swampy in places, and now all but impassable. The rain had subsided into a misty drizzle, soft, fine, yet penetrating.
"Gee but I'm tired, Chip!" said the younger of the two, lifting with effort one foot after the other from the deep mud underneath.
"Well, she is gettin' rather bad," replied the other. "Won't be much moon tonight, I reckon."
"D'you suppose the other boys will start out such a day as this?"
"Dunno; hard to tell. But we've come a right smart ways, Paul, and so far as I kin see we're gettin' further and further into these big woods."
"But we've never lost old Murky's trail. Have we, now?"
"Nope! Dark as it is, I kin make it out. You know when we started out we noticed that one of his shoes or boots had a prong on one side of the heel. Well, here she is–see?"
And Chip Slider pointed to a deep impression made apparently by a big shoe-nail or some other peculiarity which the lads had noted earlier when the light was better. Paul grunted a tired assent.
"Where do you reckon we are, anyhow?"
Chip was staring at a high bulge ahead as if some huge rock or boulder protruded upward from the nearly level ground.
"I dunno. There's something ahead that looks like we might find a shelter. Come on, Paul."
The two plodded on, one carrying the lone blanket and the other the small store of eatables that remained after their last inroad upon it. When they were nearly up to this unusual obstruction there came a sparkle of light that hit the damp air momentarily, then went out. It seemed to Chip, who had the keenest eyes of the two, as if it might have been the flare of a match.
The boys halted at once and stood staring, listening, perplexed and yet most curious. Finally they heard a snapping of twigs, and then came another flare and still another. Nothing else could they see for, as Chip suspected, it was only the reflection of a light that they had seen. Evidently there must be someone behind that bulge. While they waited breathless, there came a confirmation of their fears–or rather was it their hopes?
"Blame me!" growled a heavy voice. "Why in sin won't she get afire?"
With one accord the two boys stood and stared–at each other. Finally Paul leaned forward, whispering:
"Murky, Murky!"
Chip more composedly nodded; then he too whispered:
"We must slip up behind that thing. It's a rock, I reckon."
Paul said nothing but when Chip started, he did likewise.
"Step keerful," whispered Slider. "Don't let your feet make a noise when you pull 'em out of the mud."
A low rumble of thunder muttered its way out of the west indicating more rain. As if to emphasize the menace of this, they heard Murky cursing to himself. He, too, was aware that further rain and storm boded no good to himself.
More softly still the boys came gradually up under the shelving sides of a great rock, that proved to be the termination of a chain of similar rocks which abutted from a ridge of low hills off to the northeast.
Beyond, on the other side of this last big boulder, they could still hear Murky–if it was Murky–renewing his attempts to make a fire. Under the shelving sides the boys had some shelter. But from the brighter glare on the other side they knew that the tramp had succeeded in starting his fire. Was he any better protected from the increasing rain than they?
For quite a time the two crouched, blanket over their shoulders, while the rain pattered harder and harder. Finally a slight shift of wind to the westward caused the rain to beat in on them more. They were very uncomfortable, squatting in the wet mould with their backs against the damp rocks.
"See what I got?" Paul held up something that Chip cautiously felt.
"Where did you get that?" Chip was astonished.
"I knew we had one at the camp. But I thought it was lost. But today I found it in one of our bags. When we started I managed to slip it into my pocket. We're only two boys, and Murky is a grown man. Why, you've got bruises on you now that he gave you–" Paul was showing a pistol.
"Hs-sh!" whispered Chip. "Not so loud. Lemme see that gun!"
"All right," and Paul passed it over. Chip looked at it closely. "I can't tell yet if the chambers have any cartridges. We might need it."
By the mere feel of the thing they did not make sure, so Paul, before Chip had time to remonstrate, struck one of his own matches. By this light the two bent closely, the light flaring out into the night air. At last, as the match went out Chip declared:
"The chambers are all empty except one, and I can't see–hold on!"
Forgetting his previous caution, Chip himself struck another match. While they bent again to see if the cartridge was a full one they were appalled when a deep, rough voice from out the apparent wall of rock behind struck on their boyish ears like a knell of coming destruction.
They turned, Paul grasping the dubious pistol, while Murky, still wet, covered with mud and doubly forbidding by reason of this, seized Chip Slider in one hand and reached for Paul with the other.
Where had Murky come from? How did he suddenly appear apparently out of what the boys supposed to be a solid wall of rock? But at any rate there he was with Chip squirming in his grasp while Paul, darting to one side, barely eluded his left-handed clutch. Altogether it was a ticklish situation.
But Paul was plucky. In a trice, remembering the one cartridge, he levelled the pistol and began pulling the trigger.
"Let go that boy!" his almost childish treble rang out. "Leggo, I say!"
Click–click–click went the hammer as he pulled the trigger, at the same time jumping back further from Murky's gripping hand. Meantime Chip managed to loose himself. Murky, hearing the empty sound of the striking hammer, growled:
"Huh-h! She's empty, blame ye–"
Just then–crack! came the sound of the full cartridge; but Paul's aim being unsteady, the ball just clipped Murky's left ear.
It maddened him more than anything else. With a yell of rage and pain he sprang at Paul, catching the lad as the latter tried to spring backward, but stumbling in the mud, while the pistol flew from his hand. By this time the light of Murky's fire was blotted out by some passing object that darted swiftly out of the obscurity whence Murky had sprung. At the same time Chip, now free, leaped pluckily to the assistance of his friend.
But on the instant the unknown object, emitting a Swedish howl of rage, burst through, striking Murky with an impact that sent him headlong out into the night. With this collision back came the light that had been momentarily blotted from view by the last welcome intruder.
When this last stood revealed, big, heavy, yet strangely hampered by his half useless arms, the two boys were in turn again astonished yet gratified to behold–Nels Anderson. Accompanying this appearance came the sounds of rapidly retreating steps as Murky, recognizing defeat, made himself scarce as fast as he could. The three looked at each other, grinning the while as they looked.
"Say, Mr. Anderson," began Paul, "it was bully of you to come, and you still crippled in your arms!"
At a glance both saw that Nels, while active as ever in body and legs, held his arms loosely, both hanging down at his sides.
"My arms no good," he began, "but I bane all right yet. Coom–ve look fer dot feller."
He turned, diving through a side passage hitherto hidden from Paul and Chip, while they, following, emerged into a recess where two gigantic boulders, leaning together, made the shelter under which Murky had started the fire that, flaring out into the darkness, had so puzzled the boys before. Here Murky, becoming aware that someone was beyond him, had crept up between rocks, listening when the boys arrived, and had sprung upon them as has been described.
For half a minute Nels stood, glaring at the embers of the fire and around to see what else might be there. But there was nothing, apparently, beyond a few scraps of eatables and a remnant of wet tow sacking.
"Coom on!" shouted the big Swede. "We bane get nothin' here!" And he darted off in the darkness towards where Murky's retreating steps had last been heard. But nothing resulted except a trio of tired searchers with deep mud on their legs and a sense that Murky had eluded them again.
"I don't see any signs of money round here," gloomily owned Paul, looking about the rocky recess where Murky had been quartered but a short while before. "It is dark as pitch everywhere else. One thing, Chip. I fancy we got his grub, whatever he had left after eating."
"That's something," owned up Chip. "A feller can't git along much in these woods unless he has something to fill his belly with."
Anderson, paying little heed to this, was staring into the fire, doubtless thinking matters over. Chip picked up the tow-bagging, scanned it closely and turned to Paul standing near. He pointed at a shred of the bagging that, without being detached from the sack, had somehow caught a small patch of greenish paper inside its loose clutch. Carefully Chip picked out this, and handed it to Nels and Paul.
"That looks like a piece of money," quoth Chip. "Ain't it the corner of a bill of some kind?"
Closer inspection revealed, even to Anderson's thicker brain, that the paper shred had undoubtedly been part of a bank note of some kind. Being wet, it was easily torn from the parent bank note in the rough handling the money had undergone. At least such was the conclusion drawn by all three after a short inspection. Paul was greatly excited.
"What did I say when Phil found that old suit-case? Murky must 'a' put the money in something else. It must 'a' been all wet. He must 'a' had that money here. What did he do with it?"
"I'm goin' to hunt for it right now!" said Chip now all eagerness.
"First we find Murky," interposed Nels. "Vere he be, dere ve find money."
"But Murky didn't have no load on him when he tackled us!" was Chip's objection.
"I goin' make light," said Nels. "You look roun'. Mebbe fin' money. Mebbe fin' nothin'. I bane go fin' Murky. Make heem tell. Yah!"
And Anderson, who still had some use of his big hands, picked up a hatchet left by the fugitive in his haste and clumsily began to split some dry pine which had long lain under shelter, doubtless left there by former campers or hunters. For several minutes the boys ferreted their way into or through the neighboring crevices among the jumble of rocks, even using part of Anderson's splinters to aid them; but nothing did they find.
"Now we go," said Nels at last. "You boys bane tired mooch?"
The truth was all were pretty tired, but not one would acknowledge the fact. Nels, used to long fatigues, and crippled besides, made both Paul and Chip reluctant to own up that they needed sleep more than further travel.
The upshot of all this was that, in a short time, all were following the mud trail left by Murky in his flight but a brief spell back. The fire had been replenished, so as to give them some clue as to where they were, should they wish to return. Chip bore the torch; Paul carried an armload of fat splinters; while Nels, plodding between, bent his woods-sharpened eyes on the tracks that were plain enough yet, for the rain had at last ceased.
After leading them a sinuous path through the blackened wilderness for perhaps a mile, the tracks turned sharply to the right and upward along a more gravelly slant until what seemed the backbone of a wooded ridge was attained. Here the fire in consuming leaves, fallen branches and most of the thinner undergrowth, had thus swept from the gravel beneath all the surface refuse. Probably this was accomplished before the rains began.
In consequence the tracks, growing more and more imperceptible, finally vanished entirely.
"I bane tired," and Nels sat down, shaking his great head discouragingly.
"Gee whiz!" gurgled Jones. "I almost wish I was back in Staretta in my little bed 'stead of way out here where I don't even know where I am or how I'll get out again."
But Chip was made of sterner stuff. Seeing his companions were in the dumps, he perked up and sniffed the night air expectantly.
"What's the use of gittin' discouraged? Mornin' 'll soon be here. We kin see that fire yet, can't we? Les' go back and git some sleep."
"No use of dat." This from Nels. "It bane very late now. We git fire here. Sleep a bit."
But it was concluded not to make a fire, as it might give the man they were hunting a clue as to where they were. So the three prepared to pass a comfortless night. Fortunately it did not rain any more and, after a fashion, they managed to endure the rest of the night. At last, cool and cheerless, the dawn came, and with the first glimmer the three set out along the ridge. Nels kept to the summit, while the boys patrolled the sides, keeping an eye out amid the softer mud and ashes for any sign of foot tracks.
A mile or more might have been traversed thus when, at a shout from Chip, the others hastened to him and saw that the boy had detected distinct foot tracks leading away towards the east.
"Fresh ones too," said Paul, pointing. "And–look there. Criminy! I'm going to take a look inside that hollow log."
He darted towards a rusty looking tree trunk over which the fire had swept, leaving naught but the solid wood cylinder of dead beech. Most of the shrivelled bark, moss and dead leaves were reduced to ashes. These the rain had made into a moist, blackish gray mush. At the larger end were plain signs as if some heavy body had crawled inside and perhaps out again. Nels, more up to woods lore, looked, sniffed, fingered clumsily, then delivered himself.
"Murkee, he bane sleep here yoost li'l whiles. Git oop soon. He bane gone a'retty–yuss!"
"Gone–yes!" exclaimed Paul. "But where did he go? How did he get away so all-fired soon–hey?"
Here another call from Chip solved the question. Not far below the hollow log began a tiny slough which presently widened out until footprints were discernible in the mushy tussocks of what had before been a fringe of marsh-grass. It was Chip who led the way now, and eagerly pointed out further developments in the hunt.
"Do you reckon this really is Murky we are following?" asked Paul while Nels, tired, hungry and sleepy as well, dragged along dumbly.
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Chip, who was bent on solving the apparently unsolvable. "Who else would it be way out here in this wilderness? We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Murky: Murky wouldn't be here if his own work hadn't driven him into it. Let's go on."
And on they went, the trail growing plainer as the slough widened and deepened. Finally they came to a fallen tree extending from one side of the slough to the other. The scorched, blackened, rain-soaked top reached to their side. Half way across the branches ceased and nothing but a slimy black trunk reached to the other side. Already they were about to pass this when Chip, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped.
"I don't see no more tracks," said he, seemingly nonplussed.
At once Nels came forward, took one look about, then pointed at a sooty limb projecting landward from the trunk.
"W'at de matter wid dat?" he exclaimed. "She bane go dat way."
"Sure–you're right!" cried Paul, instantly comprehending. "But how will you get across, Mr. Anderson?"
CHAPTER XV
MURKY AT BAY
Chip Slider, always willing when there was something to do, caught hold of the limb that showed signs of recent use and swung himself up into the top. Paul Jones followed, but Anderson shook his head as he tried to raise his half useless arms. Without assistance he could not make it. Yet it was evident that the fugitive Murky must have taken that road.
Meanwhile Chip, landing on the other side after a slippery passage on the log, saw the tracks leading straight off through the woods as if Murky well knew what he wanted and where he was going. Paul, in crossing, noticed midway of the log certain muddy smears as if someone had either fallen off or had climbed up on the log about midway of the slough. This did not much impress him at the time. Hastening on to join Chip, the two then perceived that Nels was still on the other side.
"By cripes! Anderson can't make it, Chip! We ought to have waited and helped him over. That log's mighty slippery. Looks as if someone had fallen off already. What had we better do?"
"Say, Paul, this trail leads right back in the direction of them rocks where we spent last night. What do ye think of that?"
But Paul was now calling to Nels on the other side. He had heard what Chip said and shouted to the big Swede its import. At this Nels solved the difficulty in a few words, directing the boys–if they were sure of this–to follow the new trail while Nels would go back to the head of the slough and rejoin them somewhere near the foot of the rocky ridge they had previously traversed.
Still the trail was puzzling. Both lads found not only a fresh trail leading ridgeward, but signs of an earlier trail, now much rainwashed, that led towards the slough, not away from it as the fresh trail did.
"Tell you what I believe, Paul," remarked Chip after studying the situation over. "When Murky first struck out he was trying to get clear off, probably east somewhere. He must 'a' come this way, tried to cross the run here and couldn't. He might 'a' fell off that log where you saw them stains.
"What would he do then? Why, strike for higher ground; git to some place where he could make a fire. That took him back to where he run against us. And if it hadn't 'a' been for Nels, I ain't sure but what he'd a got the best in that mix-up. What do you think?"
What Chip thought was indicated by his pointing finger, for he was ahead, following the trail, now growing more and more indistinct. Paul came up and looked at the faint outline of tracks now turning abruptly up the rocky ridge.
"Murky–if 'twas Murky–is goin' right back where he and us spent last night. Now what would he be doin' that for? There hain't but one reason that counts," affirmed Chip. "He's hid out that money somewhere–don't you reckon?"
All at once the significance of this appealed to both the boys. As with one accord they eagerly resumed their trail hunt, but it was with such scant success that Paul finally shook his head in discouragement. Chip, now on hands and knees, stooping, at times almost crawling, was inclined to give up too.
"You remember how we lost that trail before on this ridge and only found it when we separated, taking in the lowland on either side?"
"Yep! That's what we'll have to do now. Wish Nels was here. Wonder where he is now?" And Paul peered in the direction of the slough.
With one accord both lads waited a few minutes, but seeing no sign of the vanished Swede, it was agreed that Chip should take one side of the ridge and Paul the other, and at each mile of progress or thereabouts, should let each other know. If, meanwhile, one should strike the trail again he should call or go in search of the other.
Possibly Paul had gone a mile, when a rumbling, heavy voice halted him. No trail had he found, but–there was Anderson coming, having at last rounded the head of the slough.
"You find him yet?" meaning the vanished trail. "He bane go dis way?"
"No, we lost it on the ridge like we did before. Chip is looking for it on the other side of this slope. I hope he has better luck than us."
"Let's res' a leetle, Paul," and Nels slumped heavily down.
At this juncture came a faint call from the other side of the ridge. Paul jumped up again, saying:
"Come on, Mr. Anderson! That must be Chip. He's found something, for we agreed to let each other know, whichever came on anything first."
And Paul gave an answering shout, starting up the gentle rise of the rocky elevation, on top of which both trails had vanished.
"Alright–I bane coomin'," responded Nels as he wearily got up and tried to keep up with Paul's hasty steps, but soon gave that up. "I bane tired–all een–das w'at."
Young Slider had felt all along the keenest interest in the recovery of that stolen money. His dead father's participation therein probably kept him stimulated by a desire to show his new-found friends, the Auto Boys that he was worthy to be trusted.
After some futile search he was at length gratified to discover signs of the vanished trail. It came down from the higher ground where the rocks and gravel made it indistinguishable. Filled with new courage he followed on, pleased that it became more plain as the lower ground grew softer and more mushy. At this juncture he began calling to Paul, and perhaps it was indiscreet in view of what presently happened.
But Chip was not thinking of himself. Instead, as he gave his last shout and heard the faint echo of Paul's reply, he only thought that he was again on the track of Murky. Where was Murky now?
"I hope we'll soon know," he said to himself as he plodded on, on–eyes on the ground and seeing little of things around him. "I hope Paul hurries. He'd help a lot–"
"Blame me!" A savage growl struck on Chip's ears. "It's that durned little Slider cuss."
With a curdling chill Chip raised his eyes and was astounded by what he saw. Having gone farther than he thought, amid his eagerness to get on and his constant scrutiny of the trail, he saw around him the same rocks rising to his right that they had approached the night before. And right under the heavy ledge where he and Paul had been sheltered, prior to Murky's attack, stood Murky himself, mud-slimed, gaunt, fierce, and scowlingly savage.
"Ain't I never goin' to git rid of you?" he snapped, drawing menacingly near. "You'll not dodge me this time!"
With this Murky lurched forward, his claw-like hand reaching forth. Chip let out a yell of terror. He could not help it. The yell would come, and it rang far-reaching, striking on Anderson's ear as the Swede, having recovered, was crossing the ridge's backbone not so very far away. That yell smote upon Paul not unlike the effect of an unexpected thunder clap. But Paul recognized the voice. Chip was in trouble. He–Paul–was not with him. Gripping his courage, he rushed on, rounding a bulge of rock just in time to see Chip being dragged within that same recess whence both Murky and Nels had emerged the night before, one to attack, the other to rescue the two boys.
"Look here!" cried Paul, now more angry than ever, his fear of Murky quite gone for the time being. "You let that boy alone! Hear me?"
Apparently the tramp did not, for he disappeared through the elbowed recess still dragging the struggling Chip. Just then Paul stumbled and was nearly thrown down by hitting a smooth, round rock with his foot. Recovering, he picked up that rock and darted through the recess after Murky with his captive. His other hand also found that pistol with which he had clipped the robber's ear, and which Paul had hung onto, thinking he might have a use for it. No cartridges were in it of course, but still it was a weapon.
In one corner of that recess where the fire had been built Murky had young Slider down and apparently was choking the life out of the lad. Without a word Paul ran up, heaved the rock and, as luck would have it, struck the robber fairly right over the head.
A less hard-headed man would have toppled over. But Murky was hard-headed as well as hard-hearted. He reeled upon his knees and his clutch upon Chip relaxed sufficiently to enable that thoroughly frightened youngster to wriggle away on hands and knees while Murky was recovering.
The latter scrambled to his feet, his head smarting. Roaring, he lunged at Paul, who darted back, his only real weapon gone and wondering what to do next. More by instinct than anything he levelled the empty pistol at the robber, shouting at the same time:
"Keep off–keep off! I–I'll shoot–"
But by this time Murky had recovered his poise and his strength as well. For all he knew Paul might send bullets his way, but that did not now stop the ruffian. With a savage snort of anger he sprang upon the boy, wrenched from him the pistol and straightway began to beat Paul over the head. About this time Murky felt a clinging form jump upon his back, wind its thin arms and legs around his half reeling frame, as Paul struck at him with boyish impetuosity, though the blows were futile so far as doing the man any serious harm.
"Blame ye both!" he exploded. "I'll fix ye–blast ye!"
And fix them both he methodically proceeded to do. Seizing Paul by the scruff of his neck and twisting Chip somehow under his other arm, he then tried to bang their heads together. Luckily he did not succeed before there was a sudden interruption.
For the second time there came in Murky's rear a rumbling roar of anger. Nels Anderson, just arrived, breathless, exhausted, was yet ready to do what might be done by a tired man almost without the use of his arms.
At the sound close behind him Murky turned, his savage claws fastened in the half helpless boys' clothing. Pushing them before him, he rushed upon the Swede. The impact was too much for Nels.
Back he staggered, his heels tripping, and fell with the two youngsters on top of his prostrate bulk.
By the time the three got to their feet again Murky had vanished. But they heard him farther on, and in an instant Chip was off, crying:
"We mustn't lose him! He's back after that money! I just know it!"
Was Chip right? Only quick work might solve that riddle. In a trice Paul was at Chip's heels while Nels, puffing more than ever, yet still game, came on after. Arrived at the next turning, they saw Murky dragging at something in a dark corner or crevice of rock. Seeing his pursuers coming, Murky rushed blindly at them. Chip managed to dodge but Paul was overborne and, stumbling back, brought up against Nels, and again a rough-and-tumble struggle began. Meantime Chip, having dodged, saw what Murky, down on his knees, had been dragging at when again surprised. Intuition told him what it might be. Instead of going to the aid of his companions Chip stooped over, dragged out a wet, soiled package from a deeper crevice, ran off through another passage that seemed to wind among a number of converging boulders, and–a moment later returned empty-handed to where the fight was still going on.
Murky now had the big Swede down and was pummelling him over head and face with his fists. Anderson was rolling, twisting about, striving ineffectually to wriggle loose. From behind Paul Jones was doing his best to drag the robber back. Paul had him by the hair and collar. When Chip came back, he had managed to hit Paul with one right-handed fist and the boy was gasping.
All this went through Chip like a flash of lightning out of a clear sky. Seizing a good sized fragment of rock, he began pounding Murky about the head.
"Blame ye!" roared the thief. "Will ye quit? I–I'll–"
Further utterance was checked by Murky's turning and flinging himself full length upon young Slider. Bearing him to the ground, the lad was soon knocked into unconsciousness by Murky's powerful blows.
"Git outer my way!" he shouted, rising and making a break for the same place where Chip had seen him stooping not ten minutes before. "Blame me! I–I'll–where is it? What have ye done with it? Ye will, will ye?"
By this time, blinded by baffled rage, Murky proceeded–as Chip afterwards expressed it–"to wipe up the earth" with his opponents.