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CHAPTER X
AT CAMP NO. 2
Professor Skeel might well have shrunk back at the sight which confronted him, for Jack stood poised, with raised weapon, as though he had it pointed at the former instructor. But Professor Skeel did not shrink back. He gazed at the boys, though there was evidence of surprise on his face.
“I – I beg your pardon,” said Jack, for he could not forget the time when the crabbed man had been in authority over him. “I – I – didn’t see you there,” Jack went on.
“Evidently not,” said the man, dryly. “You had better be careful what you do with a gun.”
“I am careful,” answered Jack, a trifle nettled at the words and manner of Mr. Skeel. “I wasn’t going to fire until I saw you.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Skeel.
“I – I didn’t mean just that,” Jack went on. “I meant I was going to see what it was before I shot.”
That was decidedly the better way of putting it.
“You – you are quite a ways from – from Elmwood Hall,” said Tom, changing from his first intention of saying “home,” for he recollected he did not know where Professor Skeel lived.
“Yes, I am up here on – business,” went on the unpopular man. “And I trust there aren’t any hills where you can roll down big snowballs,” he added significantly.
“You seem to forget that was an accident,” Tom said. He did not altogether like Professor Skeel’s tone.
“Well, I don’t want any accidents like that to happen up here,” went on the former teacher. “And now another matter. Are you boys following me? If you are, I warn you that I will not tolerate it. You must leave me alone. I have business to do up here, and – ”
“We most decidedly are not following you!” exclaimed Tom, with emphasis. “Besides, we are on private grounds, the use of which we were granted for this holiday season, and – ”
“Is that a polite request for me to – get off?” asked Mr. Skeel.
“Well, no, not exactly,” Tom answered. “We are not the owners, but we have the privilege of hunting here. It is possible that the caretaker may order you off. But you have no right to say that we are following you. We have a right here.”
“I didn’t say you were – I only asked if you were,” said Mr. Skeel, who seemed to “come down off his high horse a bit,” as Jack said afterward.
“Then I’ll say that you are entirely mistaken,” went on Tom. “We were out hunting, and we came upon you unexpectedly. We were as much surprised as you were, though we guessed you were in the neighborhood.”
“You did?” cried Professor Skeel, with sudden energy. He seemed both startled and angry. “Who told you?” he demanded.
“Sam Wilson, the man who drove you over from the depot to Hounson’s place,” replied Tom, who had no reason for concealment, and who also wanted to show that he knew the whereabouts of Mr. Skeel.
“I never told him my name!” declared the former instructor.
Tom did not care to state that they had guessed the identity of the man by the description of his injured ear. The member was in plain sight as Tom looked – a ragged, torn lobe, of angry-red color, and it did look, as Sam had said, as though it had been “chawed by some critter.”
“You seem to know considerable of my affairs,” went on Mr. Skeel. “But I want to warn you that I will tolerate no spying on my movements, and if you try any of your foolish schoolboy tricks, I shall inform the authorities.” He glared at Tom as he said this, as though challenging him to make a threat. Doubtless the professor knew that any charges which might lie against him in New Jersey would be ineffective in the Adirondacks. But Tom did not care to press that matter now.
“You need not fear that we will spy on you,” said the leader of the young hunters. “And as for playing tricks, we have something else to do, Mr. Skeel.”
“Very well; see that you keep to it.”
He turned as though to go away, and, as he did so the boys saw two other men advancing up a woodland path toward the professor.
Mr. Skeel made a quick motion toward the men, exactly, as Bert said afterward, as though he wanted to warn them back. But either they did not see, or understand, the warning gestures, or else they chose to ignore them, for they came up the inclined snowy path, until they stood in full view of the four boys. At the sight of one of the men, Tom uttered an exclamation, that was echoed by his chums.
“Whalen!” he murmured, recognizing the discharged employee, for whose dismissal he was, in a great measure, responsible, since he had made a report of the man’s cruelty to a young student at Elmwood Hall.
“We were looking – ” began Whalen, speaking to the professor, when he happened to recognize the four young hunters, whom he had evidently failed to notice, as they stood somewhat in the shadow of a big pine tree, and were well wrapped up from the cold.
“Never mind now,” said Mr. Skeel, quickly, as though to keep the man silent. “I was just going back to you. It seems we are on private grounds.”
“Well, what of that?” jeered the other man, who had not yet spoken. He had a brutal, evil face.
“Lots of it, if you’re not careful,” snapped Tom, who did not like the fellow’s tone, or manner.
“Oh, is that so, young feller? Well, I’d have you know – ”
The man stopped suddenly, for Whalen had administered a quiet kick, and whispered something in his ear. What he said the boys could not hear, but they saw the warning and quieting chastisement.
“Oh,” and the other man, who had been addressed as Murker, seemed to swallow the rest of his words.
“Come on,” said Professor Skeel, and without a further look at the four chums he turned away, followed by the two men with evil faces.
“Whew! This is going some!” gasped Jack, when the trio was out of sight. “Who’d think of meeting Skeel and those two worthies up here in the wilderness?”
“Well, we practically knew Skeel was here,” said Bert, “though we aren’t any nearer than we were in guessing at what his object is. But it is a surprise to see Whalen and that other man, whoever he is. They must be trailing in with Skeel. What’s the game, Tom?”
Tom Fairfield did not answer for a moment. He was busy looking at some tracks in the snow.
“Yes, they are just the same,” he murmured, slowly.
“What is it? A bear?” asked George, eagerly.
“No, but look,” and Tom pointed to some footprints. In the middle of the sole of each one was a star made in hob nails.
“Why – why, that’s the same mark that was near our cabin,” cried Jack.
“Exactly,” Tom agreed coolly. “I thought it would prove so.”
“But what does it all mean?” asked Bert. “What are they doing up here, and around our cabin?”
“Give it up,” spoke Tom. “Maybe they’re hunting, as we are.”
“But they had no guns,” Jack said.
“No. Well, we’ll just have to wait and see what turns up,” Tom went on. “I think we gave ’em rather a surprise, though.”
“We sure did,” agreed George. “But that Whalen surprised me, too. I wonder how he got here?”
“Didn’t you say you told him where we were coming?” Tom asked.
“Yes, I did, after he pumped me with a lot of questions. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I say, Tom, I hope I haven’t done any harm!”
“Oh, no. There wasn’t any secret about where we were going to spend the Christmas holidays,” Tom said. “But it is rather odd to find those three so close after us. But maybe it will be all right. They know they are on private preserves – our private grounds – for the time being, and I guess they won’t trouble us.”
“Then it was those three, sneaking around the cabin?” asked Jack.
“Professor Skeel, at least,” Tom went on, “though it may have been only ordinary curiosity that took him there. We’ll take a little trip over to Hounson’s some day, and see what we can pick up there.”
It was getting late, so the young hunters made haste back to their cabin. They had supper, and then once more sat about the fire and talked through the long Winter evening. The next day they dressed their game and cooked it, finding it a welcome relief from the canned meats and bacon on which they had been living.
The rest of that week they remained in the vicinity of Cabin No. 1, having fair luck, but getting no big game. They saw one deer, but missed him. In this time they saw no more of Skeel or his cronies.
“What do you say we go over to Camp No. 2 for a change?” asked Tom, one night.
“We’re with you,” his chums agreed, and they made an early start, through the woods, locking up the place they left behind, for they might not be back for several days. They managed to bag several rabbits and squirrels on their march, but saw no signs of deer. Sam had told them they might not have much luck in this direction.
In due time, by following a copy of the blue print map they had made, they came to Camp No. 2. There had been a light fall of snow in the night, and as Tom approached the cabin, he cried out:
“Boys, they’ve been here ahead of us!” He pointed to footprints in the white blanket – footprints, one of which had a star in the middle of the sole.
CHAPTER XI
MORE PLOTTING
Impetuous George Abbot was about to rush forward when Tom, stretching out a hand, held him back.
“Hold on a minute,” he said, and there was some strange quality in Tom’s voice that made his chum obey.
“What’s up?” he asked, glancing from Tom to the cabin.
“Nothing yet, but there may be,” was the cool answer.
“You mean there may be someone in that cabin – Skeel or those other men?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Tom said.
“That’s right – best to be on the safe side,” put in Bert. “Those men, or Skeel, especially, have been here lately.”
“But they haven’t any right in our cabin – at least the cabin your friends gave us the use of, Tom,” objected George.
“I know they haven’t, and that’s just where the trouble might come in. Those two men with Skeel look like ugly customers. If we cornered them in a cabin they had no right to enter, they might turn ugly. It’s best to go a bit slowly until we find out whether or not they are in there.”
“That’s what I say,” chimed in Jack. “Not that I’m afraid, but I don’t want to run into trouble so early on our vacation. Of course it’s possible,” he went on, “that someone else besides Skeel and his cronies may have been here, or may still be here, for boots, with nail-marks like those on the sole, can’t be so very rare. But I’m inclined to think Skeel wore those,” and he nodded toward the marks in the snow.
“I agree with you,” Tom said, “and we’ll soon find out. Let’s look about a bit before we rush up to the cabin,” he went on.
Slowly the boys circled about it, gradually coming closer, to give those within, if such unwarranted visitors there might be, a chance to either make their presence known in a friendly manner, or take their departure.
But there was no sign from the cabin of Camp No. 2, and, after waiting a little while, Tom and his chums moved forward. As they came nearer, they could see that some two or three persons had made a complete circle about the cabin, and had even advanced up on the rough steps that led to the front door. Whether they had entered or not was something that could not be stated with positiveness.
“Well, the door’s locked, anyhow,” Tom said, as he looked at the padlock. “But of course they might have a duplicate key.” He drew from his pocket the one Sam Wilson had given him, and a moment later Tom and his chums stood inside the cabin. They breathed a sigh of relief. No one opposed them.
Nor, as far as could be learned by a glance around the interior, had any uninvited guests been present. The place was in order, not as complete, perhaps as that of the first camp, but enough to show that it had been “slicked up,” after its last occupancy by the hunting party of gentlemen to whom Tom and his friends were indebted for the use of the camps.
“Skeel and his cronies may have been here all the same, looking for us,” said Jack, as he stood his gun in a corner.
“Why should they be looking for us?” inquired George.
“Now don’t start that list of questions,” objected Jack. “Ask Tom.”
George turned a gaze on his other chum.
“Of course Skeel may have been here,” admitted our hero. “We were never in this cabin before, and we don’t know how it looked, or how it was arranged. But if they were here, they don’t seem to have done much damage, and if they had a meal, they washed the dishes up after them.”
A look in the kitchen showed that it was in order. This cabin was built just the same as was No. 1, and the arrangements and furnishings were practically similar.
“Well, Skeel or no Skeel, I’m going to have something to eat!” cried Tom. “Come on, fellows, make yourselves at home.”
This they proceeded to do, making arrangements to get a meal, for there was plenty of wood for the stove as well as a pile of dry logs for the fireplace. A blaze was not unwelcome, for it was growing colder, and there were signs of a storm.
As our friends sat about the cozy, crackling blaze on the hearth they were unaware of three men, on the edge of the little clearing in which the cabin stood – three men who were gazing at the smoke curling up from the chimney.
“Yes, there they are!” grumbled the one known as Whalen. “There they are in their cabin, nice and warm, and with plenty to eat, and we’re out in the cold. I don’t like it, I say! I don’t like it!”
“Now, don’t get rash!” observed Professor Skeel, for he was of the trio. “What is a little discomfort now compared to the satisfaction we’ll have later?”
“I wouldn’t mind so much, if I was sure of that,” said Whalen sullenly. “But it ain’t noways sure.”
“I’ll make it sure,” said the hoarse voice of the other plotter.
“Have you decided on a way to get him into our hands?” asked the former teacher eagerly. “Have you a plan, Murker?”
“Yes, and a good one, too!” was the answer. “It’s come to me since we’ve been fiddling around here.”
“And can we get him – get Tom Fairfield – where we want him?” asked Professor Skeel eagerly. “That’s what I want to know.”
“Yes, I think we can,” answered Murker, an unpleasant grin spreading over his evil face. “I haven’t all the details worked out yet, but when I get through, I think we’ll have him just where we want him. Not that I want him particularly,” he went on. “I never knew him before you fellows got me into this,” and when he classed Professor Skeel as a “fellow,” the latter did not object.
It showed to what depths the really talented man had fallen. For Professor Skeel was a brilliant scholar, and would have made his mark in educational circles, had he chosen to be honest. But he took the easiest way, which ends by being the hardest.
“I don’t ask you to take any interest in Tom Fairfield, once you help me get him in my power,” went on the former instructor. “I’ll attend to the rest. But I want him alone. I don’t want to have to handle any of the others.”
“I should say not!” exclaimed Whalen. “We’ll have our hands full, if we try to take care of all four of ’em.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be afraid,” was the sneering comment of Murker. “I guess we could persuade ’em to be good,” and he leered at his companions.
“Four are too many to handle,” decided Professor Skeel. “I want Tom Fairfield alone.”
“And I’ll get him for you,” promised Murker. “But you’ve got to give me a share of the ransom money.”
“Oh, I’ll do that,” readily agreed the former teacher. “I’m doing this as much to square accounts with him as for anything else.”
“Well, I’m not working for love – or revenge,” chuckled Murker. “I want the cold cash.”
“So do I,” chimed in Whalen, “but I want revenge, too. It’s going to be a regular kidnapping, isn’t it?” and he looked at Professor Skeel.
“It will be if he can carry it out,” was the answer, with a nod at Murker.
“Oh, I’ll do my part,” was the assurance given.
“But won’t it be risky – dangerous?” asked Whalen. “I don’t want to get in trouble,” and he looked rather anxiously about him, as though already he feared officers of the law might be after him.
“There’s no more risk for you than for us,” spoke Professor Skeel.
“There won’t be any risk – not up in this lonesome place,” Murker said.
“But how are you going to make sure of getting Tom into our hands alone?” asked the rascally professor.
“Leave that to me,” was the chuckling answer. “I used to live in this region when I was a young fellow. Folks have forgotten me, but I haven’t forgotten them.”
“I say!” exclaimed Professor Skeel, “I hope you’re not going to bring any more into this. The more there are the more risk there is, and the money I expect to get from Mr. Fairfield, for giving Tom back to him, won’t go so far if we have to split it up – ”
“Oh, don’t worry! No one else but us three will be in it. I should have said I hadn’t forgotten the country up around here – not so much the people. I don’t care anything about them. But I know every cross-road and bridle-path through the woods, and it will be funny if I can’t get this lad where I want him. They’re strangers up here, and they have to depend on signposts, and what that guide tells them.”
“But they are smart fellows,” said Professor Skeel. “I know, for I taught them in school. If they have a signboard to go by, it will be as good to them as a printed book would be to most people.”
“That may all be very true,” chuckled Murker. “But tell me this. A wrong signboard isn’t much use to anyone, is it? Not even to a smart lad.”
“A wrong signboard? What do you mean?” asked the professor.
“I mean just what I said – ‘a wrong signboard’ – one that gives the wrong direction. It’s worse than none at all, isn’t it?”
“Well, I should say it was,” was the slow answer of the former teacher. “But are you going to get Tom Fairfield – ”
“Now, don’t ask too many questions,” was the advice of his evil-faced crony. “When you don’t know a thing, you can say so with a clear conscience in case the detectives get asking too many personal questions of you.”
“That’s so,” agreed Professor Skeel, readily understanding what was meant.
“Detectives!” exclaimed Whalen. “Did you say detectives?
“But – er – I – they – I don’t want to see any detectives,” stammered the former employee of Elmwood Hall.
“I don’t either,” chuckled Murker. “But it’s best to be on the safe side, and to prepare for emergencies. So what you and the professor don’t know, you can’t tell. Leave the details to me, and I’ll fix ’em. Now I think we’ve been here long enough. We know what we came over to this cabin to find out – that they hadn’t been here before until just now. And we’re pretty certain they’ll go next – to No. 3 Camp.”
“What makes you think so?” asked Whalen.
“Because boys are like deer at times – mighty curious. They won’t rest satisfied until they’ve tried all three camps. They’ll go over to the last one in a few days, and then, Skeel, we may have Tom Fairfield just where we want him!”
“I hope so!” was the fervent exclamation, as the three plotters made their way off through the dense woods.
CHAPTER XII
A LUCKY SHOT
“Well, we’re not going to stay in all the rest of the day, are we?” asked Jack Fitch, pushing back his chair from the table.
“I should say not!” exclaimed Bert. “There’s plenty of time yet to go out and bag a deer or two.”
“Nothing small about you,” chuckled Tom, as he looked to his ammunition. “But I agree that there’s no use wasting time indoors. It does look like a storm, so we won’t go too far away from the cabin.”
“Are we going to stay here to-night?” asked George.
“Sure,” remarked Tom. “It’s too far to tramp back to No. 1 Camp. This is just as well stocked up, and as there are plenty of bedclothes here, and lots of wood, we don’t care how cold it gets outside.”
They had finished their meal, and it was now early in the afternoon. It would soon be dark, however, for in December the days are very short. But, as Jack had said, the few remaining hours of daylight need not be wasted, and as yet the boys had not bagged any big game.
“It’s too dark for photographs,” suggested George, as he saw Bert getting out his camera.
“Not if I make a few as soon as I get out,” was the answer. “I want to get some views around this camp.”
A close search through the cabin had not revealed that Skeel and his companions had entered. The boys felt sure it was those men who had made the tracks in the snow about the little building. But, if they had entered, nothing had been unduly disturbed.
“I wish I knew what their game was,” spoke Jack, as he shouldered his gun and followed Tom and the others outside.
“It is sort of a puzzle,” our hero agreed. “We’ll have to take a walk over to Hounson’s some day this week, and see what we can learn. If those fellows think they can trespass all over these camps it’s time we told Sam Wilson. He’ll send them flying, I’ll wager!”
“That’s right!” declared Bert.
The boys followed a trail through the woods. Their friend, the guide and caretaker of the camps, had told them about it, advising them to follow it, as they might see some game along it. This they were now hoping for, keeping a bright lookout in every direction.
As they tramped along, the sudden rattle of a dried bush on the right of Tom attracted his attention. He looked in time to see a white streak darting along.
“A rabbit!” he cried and fired on the instant.
“Missed!” yelled Bert, as the echoes of the shot died away.
“No, I didn’t!” cried Tom. “You’ll find him behind that stump.”
And, surely enough, when the other boys looked, there was the rabbit neatly bagged. He was needed for food, too, for they had no fresh meat at this camp, and already they were beginning to tire of the canned variety.
Except for the determination to each bring back a deer’s head, and the pelt of a bear, our four boy hunters had made up their minds not to be wanton shots. They wanted to get enough game for food, and the head and skin for relics, after using such of the meat as they needed of the bear and deer.
“Of course we four can’t eat all that meat in the short while we’ll be in the woods,” Tom said, “but we can give it to Sam, so it won’t be wasted.”
Tom and his chums had the right idea of hunting, and had no desire to slaughter for the mere savage joy of killing.
“Another rabbit and a few partridges and we’ll have enough to keep the kitchen going the rest of the week,” Bert said, as Tom put the bunny in his bag. “Then all we’ll have to look for will be a bear or a deer.”
But even small game was scarce, it seemed, and though several shots were tried at rabbits at a distance, and though some partridges were flushed, no further luck resulted.
It was growing dusk when Tom suggested that they had better return to camp, and they retraced their steps. However, the rabbit was a large one, and, made into either a stew or potpie, would provide the main dish for their next day’s dinner.
Early in the morning the boys were on the move again. They hunted around the cabin, planning to come back to it at noon for the hot rabbit dinner, and this they did.
The only luck they had was that Bert and George got some fine photographs. But not a rabbit nor a bird fell to their guns that day. Tom scared up a fox, and took several shots at it, hoping he might carry home the skin. But if Reynard were hit he showed no signs of it, and went bounding on through the woods.
“We’ll make a regular hunt of it to-morrow,” decided Tom, as they sat about the cheerful fire in the cabin that night. “We’ll get an early start, take our lunch, a pot to make some coffee over an open fire, and we won’t come back until dark.”
“That’s the talk!” cried Bert.
“This is the best hunting ground, according to what Sam said,” Tom went on, “and we want to put in our best licks here. So we’ll take a whole day to it, and go as far as we can, working north, I think, as the woods seem to be thicker there.”
This met with the approval of the others, and they started out the next morning, equipped for staying several hours in the open. They set out on a new trail, one they had not traveled before, but they had not gone far on it before Tom, who was in the lead, came to a sudden halt, and uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“What’s the matter?” called Jack, who was directly behind him. “See some bear tracks?”
“No, these are Skeel tracks, I should say. Those fellows must be just ahead of us, for the marks seem quite fresh.”
Tom pointed to some impressions in the snow. Among them were footprints showing that same star mark in hob nails.
“I wonder why they’re trailing and following us?” remarked Bert. “It can’t be just for fun.”
“Maybe they don’t know where to look for game, and are depending on us,” suggested George.
“That might be so,” agreed Tom. “But I wish they’d show their hands, and not keep us guessing all the while. It’s getting on my nerves.”
“Well, we’ll keep a lookout for ’em now,” suggested Bert, “and if we see ’em, we’ll give ’em a bit of our minds.”
“Yes, and I’m going to ask Sam Wilson to tell ’em to go,” added Tom. “They haven’t any right here. They may be scaring all the game away, and besides, it’s risky. They may get in the way of our guns, or we come too close to theirs, though I haven’t seen them with either a rifle or a shotgun yet.”
“No they don’t seem to be hunting, but if they aren’t, what in the world are they up here for?” asked Bert.
“That’s what gets me,” remarked Jack. “Well, come on. Time’s too valuable to waste in chinning.”
Once more they took up the trail. The footsteps of the three men, on their mysterious errand, crossed the path of our friends at an angle, and they did not think it wise to follow the marks of the hob nails.
Luck seemed to be better to-day, from the very start, for, before they had gone three miles, they had bagged two rabbits, three squirrels and Jack had a partridge to his credit.
“Enough to keep us from starving,” he said. “Now for bigger game – a deer, at least.”
“I’d like to get a good deer picture,” announced Bert, looking to see that his camera was in working order.
A little later the four boys stood in a small clearing in the woods, wondering which way to go next, for, so far, they had seen no signs of either bear or deer. They hoped it was not so late in the season that all the bears would be enjoying their winter sleep.
Suddenly there was a slight noise over in the underbrush to the left of the clearing.
“I’m going to see what that is!” cried Bert, starting forward with his camera.
“Probably nothing but a rabbit,” said Jack. “And we’ve got enough of the bunnies.”
“Then I’ll take a snapshot; that won’t hurt,” Bert responded.
The others, not much interested, watched him. Softly he went forward, hoping he might get a picture of a rabbit in its native woodland. The sun was just right for a picture.
But, as Bert looked, a deer suddenly came out of the brush, and stood on the edge of the clearing, seemingly unconscious of the presence of the boys. They had seen the beautiful creature, however, and for the moment none of them raised his rifle. Bert’s, indeed, was slung on his back out of the way while he used his camera.
Without speaking, Bert motioned to his chums not to shoot until he had a chance to make a picture. Tom and the others signified that they would hold their fire.
Bert crept up, the deer still unconscious of the presence of its enemies, and the youth soon had the animal in focus. It looked as though it would be a fine photograph.
Suddenly there was another crashing sound in the bushes, and as the boys, startled, turned, they saw a larger deer, with sharp, branching antlers, step from cover just behind Bert. The latter was so intent on getting the photograph that he did not turn to see how he was menaced from the rear.
The male deer, with a snort and a stamping of hoofs, and with lowered head, leaped toward Bert. The animal, evidently thinking its mate in danger, was going to her defense.
“Look out, Bert!” cried Jack, but the warning would have come too late. Bert did not even turn around, for he was on the point of pressing the shutter release of his camera. He had noticed a slight movement on the part of the female deer that indicated she was about to leap into the bushes.
“There, I’ve got you!” cried Bert, as he pressed the bulb.
The next instant he was startled by a snort behind him. He heard a rattle of hoofs, and the voices of his chums crying a warning.
Bert turned to run, but he would not have been in time, except for what happened. A lucky shot on the part of Tom probably saved his friend from severe injury, if not death.
With a sudden motion Tom threw his rifle to his shoulder, took quick aim, and fired.
The male deer went down in a heap, actually turning a somersault, so great was its speed. And it came to rest, breathing its last, almost at Bert’s feet.
