Kitabı oku: «The Great Oakdale Mystery», sayfa 4

CHAPTER IX.
THE CAMP IN THE WOODS

Something over four miles from Oakdale Abel Hubbard reined his horse into an old road which led from the main highway into the depths of the woods. Fred and Roy, with their outfits, were in the wagon, and, the time being short ere darkness must come on, they urged Hubbard to make haste.

“Can’t hit any high places along this old road,” answered the fat little village constable. “If I tried it, I’d bounce ye both out in no time. ’Tain’t fur to the pond now, so what’s the use to be in such an all-fired rush? All I want to do is git back on to the main road before it sets in dark.”

“But we’ve got some things to do ourselves,” said Roy. “We’ve got to find the old raft and have it ready for use in the morning, besides cutting firewood and getting settled down for the night.”

“That hadn’t orter take ye long. I’ll git ye there as soon’s I can. It’s sort of an accommodation, anyhow. I wouldn’t think of making both trips for anybody else unless they paid me twice as much.”

“You’re not very busy these days, are you, Mr. Hubbard?” asked Fred, smiling a little. “It seems to me an easy way for you to pick up a dollar.”

“Oh, I could be busy,” returned the man, “if I wanted to work for Lem Hayden in his quarry or kilns, and I guess I could find a job in the mills; but, as a regular commissioned officer, it’s my duty to be unhampered and ready for anything that may turn up. If I was workin’ and Sheriff Pickle happened to need me, I’d have to knock off.”

Real work had never seemed to have much fascination for Abel Hubbard.

“Then there are plenty of jobs a man might get around Oakdale,” said Roy. “If a stranger should show up with references, he could find something to do, couldn’t he?”

“Reckon he could, such as it was. I don’t cal’late them Dagoes in the quarries bring many references.”

“You haven’t seen any stranger around town recently looking for work, have you?”

“No, don’t think I have.”

“I didn’t know,” said Roy. “Last Saturday, while gunning with Fred, I met a man who said he was in search of a job, and he asked me about the chances in town. I haven’t seen anything of him since.”

“I generally take special notice of everybody that comes inter Oakdale,” asserted Constable Hubbard. “I cal’late it’s good policy to do so. Ain’t nobody new showed up lately, so I guess your man didn’t stop around here.”

“I don’t believe he did,” said Roy.

Presently they reached the old camp, from which, through the trees, they could get a glimpse of the pond. It did not take them long to jump out and unload their belongings, which were carried into the camp, the door being fastened merely by a wooden peg thrust through a staple. Hubbard backed his wagon round, bade them good luck and drove off into the shadows which were gathering in the woods.

“Well, here we are, Roy,” said Fred.

“Yes, and it’s up to us to hustle. Let’s look for that raft while it’s light enough to find it. We can get together firewood later. Come on.”

Leaving their property in the camp, they hurried to the pond, and Hooker led the way along the marshy shore. The water-grass and rushes stood thick and rank at this end of the lake, and soon Hooker pointed out a mass of dead brush in the midst of the reeds some distance from the marshy shore.

“There’s the old blind,” he said. “You can see it is located so it commands the cove beyond, and that’s where the ducks coming in to feed usually ’light.”

“How does a fellow get out to the blind?”

“Wade. The water won’t come up to your knees. There’s a sort of little knoll or island out there, and the brush has been built up and woven into the branches of an old fallen tree that may have grown on that knoll before the water was so high. It’s a fine chance all right. But come on, we must dig that raft out.”

They went forward again, and suddenly, with a splash and a sound of throbbing wings, a small duck rose amid the rushes and went flying away over the bosom of the lake.

“Hang it all!” exclaimed Roy in vexation. “Just look at that! If we’d brought our guns, we might have knocked her down. That’s a young duck, or it would have flown before we got anywhere near. Young ones always hide if they can, until they get thoroughly used to the idea that their wings will serve them better. We’ll get some shooting here in the morning, mark what I say.”

The raft was found where Hooker expected to find it. It was a small affair and would support only one of the boys, but would be sufficient for their use in picking up such ducks as they might shoot. With the raft there was a long pole and a piece of board that had been roughly hewn into the shape of a paddle.

When the raft was floated Roy got on it and poled it around into the little cove near the blind, where he succeeded in concealing it quite effectively amid the grass and reeds. Then he waded ashore in his water-tight boots without sinking nearly as much as he had thought he would.

“That’s done,” he said. “Now we’ll get back to the camp and chop our firewood while we can see to do it. There are no signs to indicate that anyone has shot from the blind this fall, and therefore the ducks ought to come up to it without fear.”

Soon the strokes of an axe were ringing through the gloomy woods as Sage worked at the trunk of a dry fallen tree. Hooker carried the wood into the camp and piled it beside the old stone fireplace. Sunset’s faint afterglow faded from the sky, and with gathering darkness the atmosphere took on a sharp, nipping chill, which, however, was little felt by the active boys. Sage continued chopping, while Hooker found time between armfuls to build a fire. Through the open door of the camp Fred saw the welcoming glow of the flames, and it gave him a feeling of buoyancy, of keen relish, of intense satisfaction in life and the pleasures thereof. It was good to be there with his chum in those dark and silent autumn woods, making ready to spend the night together in that old camp before the duck hunt that was to come in the crispness of gray dawn.

Hooker’s figure was silhouetted in the open doorway.

“I say, old man,” he called, as he came out, “there has been somebody in this camp lately.”

“That so? I thought you said you were sure no one had used the shooting blind.”

“I am; I’ll bet on it. I looked to see, and I could tell that no one had been there. They would have left tracks and marks and probably empty shells. Whoever it was that stopped in the camp, they did not try any shooting from the blind. And say, I’ll bet somebody was in that camp last night. I thought I caught a smell of tobacco smoke when we first opened the door, but it was so dusky inside that I didn’t notice anything else. There’s fresh-cut boughs in the bunk, and the ashes in the fireplace were hardly cold. I found crumbs on the floor, too, and part of a newspaper not quite two weeks old.”

“Then I reckon you’re right,” agreed Sage, “though I don’t quite see why anyone should stop in the old camp this time of year, unless he came here to shoot ducks. We’d have been in a scrape if we’d found someone here ahead of us to-night.”

They bore the last of the wood inside and threw it down on a heaping pile beside the now merrily blazing fire, which illumined the entire interior of the camp. Hooker had thoughtfully brought a can of water from a nearby spring, and, thus prepared, they were ready to settle down to the supper of sandwiches and doughnuts put up for them by their mothers.

Roy closed and fastened the door with the inside hasp.

“You can see,” he said, with a gesture toward the old bunk at one side of the room, “those boughs on top are fresh cut.”

“That’s right,” nodded Sage, after examining them. “Hacked off with a jackknife, I should say, and not two days old. Well, somebody was kind enough to help make us comfortable, for, with our blankets and a fire going, we ought to find that bunk all right to-night. I’m really much obliged to the unknown person or persons. I presume there may have been more than one.”

“Here’s that part of a newspaper,” said Roy, taking it from the small rough table that had been nailed against the wall opposite the bunk. “The date on it is enough to show that someone has been here lately.”

Fred took the paper and glanced at it carelessly. In a moment, however, a queer expression flashed across his face, his eyes opened wide, his lips puckered, and he gave a long, low whistle.

“What is it?” questioned the boy.

“By Jove!” muttered Sage wonderingly. And then, after a moment of silence, he repeated with greater emphasis: “By Jove!”

“What is it?” exclaimed Hooker.

“This paper,” answered Fred, staring at some headlines in bold-faced type. “It’s either a part of the same one or a duplicate of an issue I saw in the possession of Billy Piper last Saturday night.”

CHAPTER X.
A PERPLEXING QUESTION

The black headlines which had attracted Fred’s eye told of the five hundred dollar reward offered for the capture of Jim Wilson, who had escaped from the Harpersville jail after a murderous assault on the guard. The manner in which the paper had been folded indicated that this sensational article had been left outermost, and the blurred ink and wear in the creases of the folds bespoke the fact that the paper had been carried around in someone’s pocket.

“Piper?” muttered Hooker. “Why, it isn’t likely that he has been here.”

“It doesn’t seem at all likely,” agreed Sage; “but still – ”

“What was he doing with the paper, anyhow?”

Fred turned sidewise, so that the bright light from the open fire fell full on the page, and his finger indicated the news article which had held such deep interest for Sleuth.

“See that?”

“Yes,” said Roy, peering over his chum’s shoulder. “‘Five hundred dollars reward. Desperate character breaks jail after murderous assault on keeper.’ Oh, yes, that’s the sort of stuff that would interest old Sleuthy.”

“I’ve kept my promise to Piper to say nothing about his wild theory,” said Fred, “and, a full week having passed with no result, I don’t fancy it will do him any good for me to continue a clam. I was sure there was nothing in it, anyhow. You see, Piper had a crazy notion that this escaped criminal and the stranger you talked with last Saturday might be identical. It’s rather odd that the printed description of James Wilson, as given here, corresponds with your description of the man who talked with you and ran away at my approach. Here it is.”

His eyes puckered, his lips pursed a little, Hooker read the description of Gentleman Jim.

“Why, that’s right,” he said slowly. “It does sort of fit, and no mistake. But Pipe didn’t say anything about this to me. You know I told you how he came round and asked me a lot of questions, some of which I couldn’t answer, and the most of which seemed more or less foolish. He tried to find out everything I knew about you and your folks, seeming especially anxious to learn where you came from when you moved into Oakdale. Now what’s that got to do with this stuff in the newspaper?”

Fred laughed shortly. “You see,” he explained, with a touch of scorn, “Sleuth was trying to connect us somehow with the notorious and desperate Mr. Wilson.”

“How could he do that?”

“Have you forgotten that your stranger made inquiries concerning the Sages in Oakdale? Now you tumble; you’re on. If that man was Wilson, he would not make such inquiries without some knowledge of us, and, if he knew us, it was natural to suppose that we knew him. I informed Piper that I had never heard of such a man.”

“That should have ended it.”

“Not with Sleuth. Doubtless he reasoned that if we had ever known this criminal we would, most naturally, be sure to deny the fact.”

“But you never did know him?”

Sage shot his friend a quick, resentful glance. “Do you think I’d lie, even to Piper?”

“Of course not.”

“I never heard of this James Wilson, alias Gentleman Jim, until Sleuth told me about him. My denial, however, had little effect on Piper, who hinted at family skeletons hidden away in closets and then proceeded to watch me in true dime novel detective style. For a day or two I couldn’t shake him; he hung around me all the time. At last I got tired of it and gave him to understand flatly that he’d better let up.”

“By Jingoes!” laughed Roy. “He was watching you last night. After we fixed it up for this little expedition and you had started for home, Piper overtook me and casually did a little pumping. Reckon I was easy, for I told him all about it. Say, you don’t suppose – ” Roy paused, as if wondering over an idea that had flashed into his mind.

“What?”

“You don’t suppose he came here to this camp after that? Perhaps he dropped the paper himself.”

Following a moment’s thought, Sage shook his head. “It was after dark last night when he found out what we had arranged to do, Roy. Piper was at school to-day, and we left him starting out for practice with the rest of the team. While it’s not impossible, it’s most improbable that he visited this place after learning we were coming here, and got home in time to attend school. The signs of a recent fire in the fireplace and the fresh boughs on the bunk we may accept as positive assurance that someone spent last night here. Under any circumstances, Sleuth wouldn’t do that – alone.”

“Never,” agreed Hooker, with conviction. “This piece of newspaper must have been left here by someone else. It’s a mere coincidence that it happens to be the same issue shown you by Piper, and it isn’t worth bothering our brains over any further. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

“All right,” agreed Fred, putting the newspaper into his pocket.

Their lunch was opened up and placed on the table. Two old boxes served them as chairs. The warmth of the fire made the camp quite comfortable, and its light was sufficient for their needs. Sitting there and chatting after the manner of bosom chums, they thoroughly enjoyed their supper.

After supper there was much to talk over, things of mutual interest which kept them for a time wide awake and in excellent humor. As it was required, they placed fresh wood on the fire, reserving the heavier sticks for the long hours of the night, when they would need a slower blaze.

The guns were looked over and fondled affectionately, while they discussed their hunting experiences, laughing with relish over blunders and failures which had seemed most annoying at the time of their occurrence. They examined the decoys Hooker had borrowed, making sure they were properly “strung” and ready for setting. Football and school affairs also furnished topics for chatting and laughter and the expression of more or less dogmatic opinions. At times in the lulls of their talk they heard the night wind in the trees outside, and occasional puffs coming down the chimney blew a little smoke back into the camp, the odor of which did not, however, become strong enough to be offensive.

Behind them the firelight flung their shadows, huge and wavering, against the camp wall, and, looking round once by chance, Sage was startled to observe those shadows hovering there like something silent and sinister and menacing. Although he did not refer again to the strange man Roy had encountered, he was wondering who that man could have been.

“Whoo!” cried an owl from the blackness of the woods.

Their chatter grew less; at last it ceased. They sat silently gazing at the fire, with its bed of glowing coals. Hooker moved, stretched and yawned.

“It’s me for the sleeps,” he announced drowsily, producing a dollar watch and beginning to wind it. “We’ve got to be up and in that blind ready for business before peep o’ day, you know.”

“I’m ready to turn in,” said Fred.

“Fellow who sleeps on the front side of the bunk will have to replenish the fire once in a while. We can change round in the night and take turns at it. How are you about waking up?”

“Pretty good. I’ll take my turn first.”

Some heavy logs were placed on the fire, and Roy rolled himself into his blanket, an example which Sage soon followed. In a few moments Hooker was sound asleep, as his breathing indicated, but for a long time Fred lay thinking and wondering. He could not rid himself of the conviction that the discovery in that old camp of the newspaper containing the account of Gentleman Jim’s jail-break bore a significance unexplained and uncomprehended. If that paper had not been left there by Piper, who had left it?

“Whoo!” again cried the owl.

CHAPTER XI.
THE HIDDEN SPORTSMEN

Taking turns, the boys rose several times during the night and replenished the fire. At best, the bough bed was none too comfortable, but toward morning both lads slept soundly for some time.

Awaking suddenly after this period of slumber, Sage lifted himself to his elbow and listened, impressed by the hazy conviction that he had been aroused by an unusual sound. The fire had sunk to a mass of coals and embers, from which emanated a faint glow that barely reached across the stone hearth of the fireplace. Beyond that dim gleam of light the interior of the camp was wrapped in dense darkness. The wind no longer roamed amid the treetops, and not even a breath came down the chimney to disturb the gray ashes in the fireplace.

Fred’s heart thumped annoyingly, while his ears were reaching out for a repetition of the sound that had awakened him; and, when he had begun to think it must have been a creation of his imagination or dreams, it came again.

It was like footsteps – stealthy, cautious footsteps, which, however, seemed to move a bit uncertainly in the darkness. It seemed like one or more persons walking in the woods a short distance from the camp and occasionally stumbling a bit, although moving slowly and with considerable caution. The sounds were receding.

“It must be some straying animal,” thought Fred.

Fainter and fainter grew the sounds. Once or twice there came a cracking, as of dead branches beneath a heavy foot, and at last the listening lad heard something that sent a shock through him. It was like the suppressed murmur of human voices, and was followed immediately by a low, soft, short whistle.

Sage grasped Hooker and gave him a shake.

“Hey? What is it?” mumbled Roy, awakened.

“Hush!” breathed Fred excitedly. “There’s someone prowling around this camp. Don’t make a noise. Listen.”

Breathless, they listened for a full minute, but now the woods seemed silent and lifeless, and not a thing could they hear.

“Guess you’re mistaken, Fred,” said Roy in a low tone. “You must have been dreaming.”

“I wasn’t dreaming,” asserted Sage positively; “I never was more wide awake in all my life. Keep still a little longer.”

For a long time they remained silent, gradually growing tired and cramped by the rigid tensity of their bodies.

“They’ve gone,” decided Sage at last.

“They?” questioned Roy. “Was there more than one?”

“Two, at least. I heard them talking.”

“Oh, say, Fred, you must be mistaken. Who would come prowling around in these black woods at this hour?”

“I haven’t an idea who it was, but I’ll stake my life on it that it was somebody. Nothing in the world could convince me that I was mistaken.”

“Oh, well, if you’re so positive – But it seems ridiculous, impossible, preposterous. It’s pitch dark, and no one would be wandering through these woods under such circumstances.”

Fred threw off his blanket and got up. “I don’t blame you for thinking so, and I would say the same if I had not heard them. What makes it all the more unaccountable is the fact that they were sneaking. They were using the utmost caution in their movements, Hooker, and when a person sneaks he’s up to something.”

“Perhaps,” said Roy, with an attempt at persiflage, “it was their design to murder and rob us for our vast wealth.”

“Whatever their design may have been,” said Sage, putting some small dry wood on the coals of the fire, “it was not honest and open. People do not creep around through the night like cut-throats unless they’re up to something that won’t bear inspection.”

“If I didn’t know you as well as I do,” said Roy, “I’d say you had a bad attack of nerves. What time is it, anyhow?”

A little flame leaped up from the dry wood, and by the light of this Sage looked at his watch. “It’s almost five o’clock,” he answered in surprise.

“Jingoes!” exclaimed the other boy, rising with a bound. “It’s time we were getting out. With sunrise an hour away, we’ve got to do some tall hustling.”

Fred agreed to this, and, although still disturbed and perplexed over what he had heard, he imitated Roy in losing no time about the preparations to set forth. They pulled on their boots, gray sweaters and coats, and gathered up the guns, ammunition and decoys. Then the door was opened, and they went out into the blackness of the last hour of night. The sky must have been overcast, for above the treetops there was no gray hint of light to suggest the coming dawn. The air was still and impregnated with the coldness that suggested Thanksgiving, turkey, plum pudding and skating.

“I know the best way,” said Hooker. “Follow me close.”

Even though Roy knew the way, as they proceeded toward the pond Sage was impressed by the conviction that they made at least double the noise that had been made by the unknown prowlers. Reaching the pond, they hurried forward toward the blind, but only for Hooker, they would have passed it. Ankle deep, they waded out through the swishing grass and reeds, and found the old raft where it had been left.

“Only one of us can work on the raft,” said Roy. “You take the guns into the blind, while I set the decoys.”

With no time to waste, Roy worked as swiftly as possible. From the blind Fred could see the dark figure of his chum, kneeling on the raft, as he spread the decoys out so that they would float upon the water in a natural manner and anchored them with the weights. As soon as this was done, Hooker poled the old raft back into the cover of the reeds and hurried to join Sage.

“Barely made it,” he chuckled. “There’s one thing we have to thank your prowling friends for; if we’d slept half an hour longer, it’s likely we would have gotten out here too late for the first flights. It’s getting light now in the east.”

It was true that far over the eastern end of the pond a dull, grayish light was beginning to make itself apparent low down upon the horizon, and as this slowly spread it was reflected on the glassy, unrippled surface of the water.

“Get ready for shooting,” said Hooker eagerly, as he broke his gun and thrust two shells into the barrels.

“I’m loaded up already,” stated Fred, settling down with his repeater in a position which would enable him to shoot toward the decoys as well as watch the open stretch of the pond, up which the birds were expected to come from the eastward.

Hooker knelt and tried aiming over the top of the blind, swinging his gun to follow the movements of some imaginary ducks.

“All right,” he laughed softly; “let ’em come.”

With each passing moment the grayness in the east continued to spread, until they could see the wooded outlines of the shores, bordered by deep shadows. Morning did not break with a blush, but seemed to awaken reluctantly and heavily, like a person aged and weary. Its chill bit their noses, and would have benumbed their fingers, only for the heavy protecting gloves they wore.

Suddenly Fred gave a low, electrifying hiss. “Birds!” he whispered, snatching the loose glove from his right hand. “Here they come!”

Their nerves atingle, they crouched low, peering forth from the blind. Against the eastern sky they could see some small, black, swiftly moving specks, which they knew were ducks coming up the pond and doubtless headed for the feeding grounds at the western end. The guns were held ready for quick use, while the boys watched those black specks coming nearer and nearer, skimming through the air slightly higher than the treetops on the shore.

“They’ll come in here sure!” breathed Hooker. “Be ready to nail them when they settle. Fire when they discover the decoys aren’t the real thing and start to rise again.”

But barely had he uttered the words when, from a mass of swamp bushes on a low point that thrust itself out into the pond a short distance away, two puffs of smoke leaped upward, followed by the reports of two guns, and, short-stopped in their flight, two of the ducks came tumbling downward to splash into the water. Immediately, with quacks of alarm, the others rose higher and whirled away. A third shot was fired from the point, but apparently it was a clean miss, as not one of the frightened and fleeing ducks betrayed a symptom of being hit.

Thunderstruck, Sage and Hooker stared dumbly toward the cover from which the unknown hunters had fired. After a time Roy savagely exclaimed:

“What do you think of that! Wouldn’t it kill you dead!”

“It killed our chance at those birds,” returned Fred, as he regretfully watched them disappearing above the tree tops. “Who the dickens can it be?”

“We ought to find out pretty quick. They’ll have to pick up those two ducks.”

Eagerly and wrathfully they continued to watch, and after some moments they saw a small object moving out from the point toward the floating ducks.

“They’ve got a retriever,” growled Sage, with increased disgust. “They’re lying low and sending the dog to bring their game.”

“Confound their hides!” raged Hooker. “They’re going to spoil our fun, just as true as you live. I’d like to punch their heads!”

“It would be a great satisfaction,” said Sage bitterly.

“Look here, old man,” said Roy, smitten by a thought, “there are your sneaking prowlers. They are the gentlemen who woke you as they passed the camp. I’ll bet anything they had just come in by the old wood-road.”

“I’m inclined to think you’re right,” admitted Fred. “But why were they so careful about making a noise? Hook, they must have known there was someone in that camp.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if you had stated the reason for their caution. Furthermore, they must be wise to the way the ducks usually fly here, and they have the advantage of us by hiding on that point.”

One after another, the dog retrieved the dead birds and carried them to the point, finally disappearing from view.

“If some of the birds will only keep far enough from that point, we may get some shooting yet, old man,” said Roy hopefully.

In a short time another flock, larger than the first, was seen coming up the pond, and, to the great satisfaction of the boys, they were flying over the exact middle of the water, and would therefore pass beyond gun-shot of the unknown hunters, unless they should change their course.

“It’s our turn now,” exulted Roy. “I think that bunch will come in here. Something doing in a minute or two, old chap.”

There was – something tremendously provoking; for, as the flock came opposite the low point, both of the unseen sportsmen fired, although, with any reasonable amount of judgment, they must have realized that there was not one chance in a thousand that they could make a kill. Those shots, however, were sufficient to cause the flock to swerve, swing about in a half circle, and go speeding off into the distance.

Hooker said something violent, while Sage ground his strong teeth together.

“The chumps! The miserable, sneaking idiots!” raged Roy. “If they have a bit of sense in their bone-heads, they must have known they couldn’t start a feather at that distance. Why do you suppose they were foolish enough to try it?”

“I can’t imagine any reason, unless they were determined to spoil our chance,” answered Fred, who was now furious enough to fight. “If they keep that addle-pated business up, we won’t get a shot this morning.”

“Slim chance of it now, anyhow. It’s broad daylight, and we’ve lost our opportunity at two flocks. There may be other birds coming in, but those that have heard the firing will be likely to keep away from this end of the pond. It’s rotten, that’s what it is.”

“With good luck, we might have knocked down half a dozen out of that last big bunch. Whoever those chaps are, they’re poor sportsmen.”

“They’re nasty sneaks; that’s my opinion.”

In the course of ten minutes three ducks, evidently a remnant of a flock, came winging close to the point, and with four shots the hidden hunters tumbled the trio of birds into the water. One was wounded, for it flopped about after splashing into the pond, but soon another shot from the bushes finished it. Then the dog swam out and did the work of retrieving.

“It’s all off,” sighed Sage. “Our morning’s sport is ruined.”

“Hardly a doubt of it,” agreed his companion. “That is, as far as shooting ducks is concerned. I propose to have a look at the gentlemen who have tricked us in this brilliant and commendable manner. They aren’t going to get away before I see them and tell them a few things. Come on; we can gather up the decoys later.”

“You don’t think it’s any use to wait a little longer, Roy?” asked Fred, loath to release the skirts of hope.

“Not a bit. Besides, I’d rather face those chaps now than to kill one or two stray ducks.”

Leaving the blind, they hurried to the shore and turned their footsteps toward the point upon which the rival duck hunters were ensconced. Realizing it was wholly probable that their movements had been observed, they lost no time in plunging forward through the woods and thickets, fearing that the ones they sought might take alarm and depart.

Bursting forth from the bushes side by side, they halted as they reached the point, beholding two boys leaving the shelter in which they had been hidden, burdened by guns and the slain ducks and followed by a water-spaniel. These boys stopped as Sage and Hooker appeared before them.

One was Jack Nelson; the other Sleuth Piper.