Kitabı oku: «Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall», sayfa 14
CHAPTER XXVII
THE TRAIL THROUGH THE WOODS
In a minute the servant ushered in a farmer whom the boys recognized as Henry Morrison, a man who had a farm along the river-front, about a mile from Oak Hall.
“Good-morning, sir,” said the farmer, bowing to the doctor and then to the boys. “Excuse me for being in such a hurry, but I thought you would like to know.”
“I’ll be glad to hear what you have to say, Mr. Morrison,” replied the master of the school. “Sit down,” and he pointed to a handy chair.
“It’s about that wild man, Doctor Clay!” exclaimed the farmer, dropping into the seat and mopping his forehead with his handkerchief. “It’s something terribul, the way he carries on. He ’most scared my wife to death!”
“He has been to your place again?”
“Yes, sir, last night. He was in the barn, and he jumped out at my wife and said he was going to blow the fort to pieces! She got so scared she dropped her pailful of milk and ran to the house. I got mad and got my shotgun, but the fellow had skipped out before I could catch sight of him.”
“What time was this?”
“Just about six o’clock. But that ain’t all. This morning I started for town, intending to tell the constable and the justice about it, when all of a sudden, when I was passing the end of your property, I see the wild man down there, behind a tree.”
“Just now?” asked Dave, eagerly.
“Not more’n a quarter of an hour ago. That’s why I stepped in here. He’s a dangerous man, Doctor Clay, and I think he ought to be rounded up!” went on Henry Morrison, earnestly.
“You are right, he certainly ought to be put under restraint,” answered the master of Oak Hall. “I will see to this at once. Will you assist in the hunt, Mr. Morrison?”
“Of course – if I don’t have to go alone. I don’t think it is safe for anybody to tackle him alone, he’s that wild and dangerous.”
“Can we take part in the search?” asked Phil, eagerly. “Oh, do let us do it, Doctor Clay!” he pleaded.
“I suppose so, if you will promise to be careful. Mr. Morrison, can you point out the exact spot where you saw the man?”
“Of course I can.”
“Then we will at once make up a searching party.”
Doctor Clay could act quickly when the occasion demanded, and inside of ten minutes a searching party was made up, composed of Dave and his chums, Mr. Dale, Horsehair, and several men who chanced to be working around the grounds.
“Oh, I hope we catch him and are able to prove that he blew up the hotel dining-room,” said Phil to Dave.
“So do I, Phil.”
Henry Morrison led the way, and it was not long before the spot was gained where he had seen Wilbur Poole. From that point a path ran from the river back into the woods.
“Maybe he took that path,” suggested our hero, and several thought the same.
“I think we had better scatter,” suggested Mr. Dale, who had been placed in charge by the doctor. “By doing that we can cover a wide range of territory in a comparatively short space of time. And keep as quiet as possible, for should he hear us he will most likely start and run.”
“If he didn’t run when he saw Mr. Morrison,” murmured Buster. “He may be miles away already.”
The crowd separated into pairs, Dave and Phil going together and Roger going with Ben, and Buster with Horsehair. All had armed themselves with sticks, and Mr. Dale carried a pair of handcuffs, and one of the hired men had a rope.
Deeper and deeper into the woods went the party, spread out in a long line. They had examined the river-front and felt fairly certain that the wild man had not left by boat.
“Looks like a wild-goose chase,” remarked Phil, with a sigh, after a half an hour had passed.
“Oh, we don’t want to give up yet,” answered Dave. “Why, it isn’t much after ten o’clock. We can stay out till noon, at least.”
“I’d stay out all day, if I thought we could catch him,” returned the shipowner’s son, promptly.
Presently the boys espied a small stone house, standing beside a brook which flowed through the woods into the river. In the house lived an old man who made his living by making baskets and fancy articles of birch bark.
“Let us see if old Herick is around,” suggested Dave. “He may be able to tell us something.”
They found the old man hard at work on a fancy basket. He looked surprised when thus suddenly confronted by the students.
“Did I see a wild man?” he queried, in reply to their question. “I guess I did, – at least he acted queer enough. He danced up here, made a deep bow, and told me the army would be along in four minutes. Then he made another bow and walked off, as stiff as a drum-major.”
“When was this?” demanded Dave.
“About half an hour ago.”
“And which way did he go?” put in Phil, eagerly.
“That way,” and the old basket-maker pointed up the brook. “Walked right in the water, too. I was going to follow him at first but then I didn’t think it was any use.”
The boys waited to hear no more, but telling old Herick to watch for the other searchers and tell them about the wild man, they set off up the brook as fast as they could travel.
As the chums progressed they looked to the right and left, wondering if Wilbur Poole had kept to the tiny watercourse or taken to the woods, which were now exceedingly dense.
“I see his footprints!” cried Phil, as they passed a sandy stretch. “Anyway, those marks look fresh.”
“I fancy you are right, Phil, and if so, he can’t be very far ahead of us.”
They went on, following the windings of the stream until it became less than a foot wide. It came to an end at a number of springs among the rocks.
“Fine, cold water,” announced Dave. “Here is a chance for a good drink, Phil.”
Both were drinking their fill when a loud voice suddenly challenged them.
“Ha! What are you doing at my fountain?”
Both looked up hurriedly and saw the wild man standing on the highest of the rocks. He had his arms folded and was glaring at them sternly.
“Oh!” murmured Phil. “Say, Dave, there he is! What shall we do?”
“Let us try to make friends with him,” suggested Dave. “If we don’t, he may run away, and he can easily do that in these thick woods.”
“If we could only notify the others!”
“You can go back if you wish, while I talk to him.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Oh, I reckon I can take care of myself,” answered Dave.
“Do you not know I gave a million dollars for these fountains?” went on the wild man.
“Well, they are worth it,” answered Dave, calmly. “It is very good water. Why don’t you have it bottled, Mr. Poole?”
“Who calls me Poole? I am the King of Sumatra. My army is following me.”
“To blow up another fort, I suppose,” said Phil, as he commenced to back away.
“Yes.”
“Then I must go, for I don’t want to be blown up,” and, so speaking, Phil commenced to retreat.
“The fort is not here – it is in Oakdale, close to the other fort,” said the wild man, and now he came down from the big rock and stood quite close to Dave. There was a strange look of cunning in his eyes, and Dave had to shiver, although he did his best to keep calm.
“In Oakdale,” said Dave, slowly. “Say, you blew up that hotel fort in fine shape, didn’t you?”
“Ha! ha! so I did! But I was discovered, worse luck, I was discovered!” continued the wild man, with a sad shake of his head. “The enemy saw me!”
“Somebody saw you?” queried our hero, with interest.
“Yes, worse luck. But it shan’t happen again. Next time I shall go masked. I have my mask here.” And Wilbur Poole pulled from his pocket a mask made of a bit of blue cloth. “I will show you how I wear it.” And he fastened it over his face by means of a couple of strings.
“Fine! fine!” cried Dave, in pretended delight. He wished to humor the man until Phil returned with the others. “It couldn’t be better. You ought to patent that kind of a mask.”
“I will patent it soon, after the other fort is down.”
“You just said somebody saw you when you blew up the other,” continued our hero. “Who was it?”
“Ha! that is a state secret. Only the cabinet must know of it – the cabinet and the man who makes shoes.”
“I am sorry you won’t let me in on your secrets,” said Dave. “I want to help you. Won’t you hire me as a clerk?”
“How much do you want a week?” demanded the wild man, in a business-like tone.
“How much will you give?”
“To a good clerk forty dollars.”
“Then I’ll take the job.”
“Very good. Your name is Crusoe, isn’t it – Robinson Crusoe?”
“You’ve got it.”
“If I give you the job, you must have your hair shaved off,” continued the wild man, looking at Dave’s hair critically.
“All right, I’ll have that done when we reach a barber shop.”
“It isn’t necessary to wait!” cried Wilbur Poole. “I am a barber.”
“You?”
“To be sure – I have a certificate from the Emperor of Siam. See here!”
The wild man put his hand into an inner pocket and suddenly brought forth a pair of long shears.
“I can cut your hair and shave you,” he announced. “Just sit down on yonder throne and I’ll start to work.” And he pointed to a flat rock.
The sight of the sharp-pointed shears was not a pleasant one, and when the wild man invited him to sit down Dave felt very much like running away. The man evidently saw how he felt, and suddenly caught him by the arm.
“Sit down!” he thundered. “I won’t hurt you. I am an expert barber.”
“Let us talk about the job first,” said Dave, trying to keep his wits about him, although he was terribly disturbed. He wondered how long it would be before Phil would return.
“What do you want to know?”
“Will you cut my hair in the latest fashion?”
“I never cut hair in any other way.”
“And will you curl the ends? I like curls.”
“If you want them, although they make a man look girlish,” answered the wild man.
“And will you–” went on Dave, when Wilbur Poole suddenly grabbed him by both arms and forced him backwards on the flat rock.
“I’ll go to work at once!” cried the wild man. “Sit still!” And he flourished the shears before our hero’s face.
Dave felt a chill run down his backbone. But a moment later he felt a thrill of relief, as from the bushes behind the wild man stepped Phil, Mr. Dale, and several others.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE CAPTURE OF THE WILD MAN
“Now then, you may go to work,” said our hero, as he saw Mr. Dale come up close behind the wild man. “But sharpen the scissors first, please.”
“I will,” was Wilbur Poole’s answer, and he opened up the shears and commenced to stroke them back and forth on a rock near by.
An instant later the wild man was jerked over backwards and the dangerous shears were snatched from his grasp. He commenced to struggle, but the whole crowd surrounded him, and before he could realize the situation his hands were made fast.
“It is treachery, base treachery!” he groaned. “My army has betrayed me!” And he commenced to weep.
“What a terrible state of mind to be in!” murmured Roger. “He is certainly as crazy as they make ’em!”
“I guess you are right,” answered Phil. “But I am glad we have got him.”
“He spoke about the blowing up of the hotel,” said Dave. “And he said somebody saw him do it.”
“Who was it?”
“He didn’t mention any names.”
“Maybe he was simply wandering in his mind,” suggested Ben.
“I don’t think so,” returned Dave. “I think, if he was questioned long enough, we could get the truth out of him. He doesn’t seem to be crazy all the time.”
“It’s a terrible thing for the Poole family – to have such a crazy man in it,” was Buster’s opinion; and the other lads agreed with him.
The prisoner was marched along the brook, past the home of old Herick, and then down the river-road. By this time all the searchers had come together, including Henry Morrison and some outsiders.
“I’m mighty glad you’ve got him,” said the farmer. “And I hope he don’t get away from you.”
“He won’t get away,” answered Mr. Dale.
“The women of this district have been afraid to go out alone,” went on Henry Morrison. “They’ll be glad to know he’s been captured.”
“We’ll have to let the Pooles know right away,” said Dave.
“I fancy Doctor Clay will send a telegram,” answered Mr. Dale. “And in the meanwhile we’ll have to take the prisoner to the Oakdale lockup.”
It was nearly noon when the crowd reached Oak Hall. The wild man had but little to say. His capture had evidently broken his spirit, and he was inclined to cry. But when Doctor Clay asked him if he would like to have something to eat, he brightened up wonderfully.
“It is a sad case,” said the master of the Hall. “But under proper treatment I think he can be cured.”
The news quickly circulated throughout the school that the wild man had been caught and that he was Wilbur Poole, an uncle to Nat, and all the boys were anxious to catch a sight of the strange individual. The teachers and servants were likewise curious, and looked at him as he ate his dinner in a corner of the dining-hall, surrounded by those who had captured him and who were watching, to see that he did not get away. He was not allowed to use a knife and fork, but his food was cut up for him and served with a spoon.
The only person at Oak Hall who did not come in to see the wild man was Job Haskers. When asked about this, the dictatorial teacher shrugged his shoulders.
“Some of the boys are wild enough for me,” he said. “I want nothing to do with the insane.”
“It is a sad case,” said the teacher who was addressing Job Haskers.
“There are many just as bad,” responded the other, coldly. “It is up to the Poole family to look after that man and see that he doesn’t break out again.”
It was decided to take the wild man down to Oakdale in the school carryall, to be driven by Horsehair. Mr. Dale was to go along, and so were Phil, Dave, Ben, Buster, and Doctor Clay.
The carryall was brought around to the side entrance of the school, and Wilbur Poole was told that he was about to take a ride through the country. He walked through the hallway willingly enough, but suddenly, on turning a corner, set up a shout.
“You! you! I have found you at last!” he cried, rushing forward. “You are the one who exposed me! Base soldier that you are! You have ruined the whole army!” And in a sudden fit of passion he ran up to Job Haskers and caught him by the throat.
“Le – let g-g-go!” gasped the teacher, and tried to shake the man off. Then the others ran up, and Wilbur Poole was dragged back and handcuffed.
“Do you know that man?” asked Dave, struck by a sudden idea.
“Yes! yes!” groaned the wild man. “He exposed me! The army is lost!”
“How did he expose you?”
“He saw me do it.”
“Do what?”
“Blow up the fort-hotel. Oh, what a base villain he was to look on!” groaned the wild man, and suddenly commenced to weep.
“What is – the – er – man talking about?” stammered Job Haskers, and all saw him turn pale.
“He says you saw him blow up Sparr’s place,” said Dave, pointedly.
“It is false, absurd!” said the teacher. “I – er – I never saw the rascal before.”
“He isn’t a rascal, Mr. Haskers. He is simply out of his mind,” remonstrated Mr. Dale. “He is not accountable for his actions.”
“Well, he ought not to say such things,” returned the dictatorial teacher.
“You saw me – you know you did!” cried Wilbur Poole. “You spoiled everything! I might have blown up many forts if it hadn’t been for you!” And he shook his head dolefully.
“Take him away,” said the teacher, and turned his back on the wild man.
“Dave, I think the wild man speaks the truth!” whispered Phil to our hero.
“Possibly, Phil. I think the matter will bear investigation.”
“And if old Haskers saw the thing done, why didn’t he tell about it. Do you think that letter – ”
“It struck me that such might be the truth, Phil. But don’t say anything until you are sure.”
“He was down on us – ever since we mentioned that affair with the Widow Breen,” went on the shipowner’s son.
“I’d like to see that letter Jason Sparr got – saying we were guilty,” returned our hero. “Maybe Doctor Clay can get hold of it.”
All the way to Oakdale the boys spoke of the case in whispers. Phil was quite sure Job Haskers had seen Wilbur Poole blow up the hotel and equally sure that the dictatorial teacher had written the letter to the hotel-keeper stating he, Dave, and their chums were guilty.
“He thought we’d be locked up, or at least that we’d be sent away from the school and he would be rid of us,” said Phil. “He is growing afraid of us! Oh, if we can prove that he did it, I’ll make it hot for him!”
“If he did such a thing as that, he ought to be discharged from Oak Hall,” was Ben’s comment.
“I’ll get my father to sue him for damages,” put in Buster.
“Well, don’t be hasty,” advised Dave. “There may be some mistake – although I think not.”
At Oakdale, Wilbur Poole was turned over to the authorities, who placed him in a comfortable room attached to the lockup. As it was known that he was insane, he could not be counted a criminal, and the majority of the people pitied him and hoped that some day he would be restored to his right mind.
A telegram was sent to the Poole family, and the next day came a reply that some men would come to take Wilbur Poole away to a sanitarium. It was established beyond a doubt that he had used the dynamite to blow up the dining-room of Sparr’s hotel, and, consequently, our hero and his chums were cleared of that charge, much to their satisfaction.
“I wonder if Nat will come back?” said Shadow. “I should think he would hate to do it.”
“I don’t think he will,” said Luke.
“What will you do if he does come back, Phil?” asked Gus.
“I don’t know, Gus. Of course, I’ll let him know what I think of him for spoiling my plans for a spread. But I hate to be hard on him, because of this disgrace about his uncle.”
“Yes, that’s a terrible thing,” was Chip Macklin’s comment. “I’d hate to have a crazy man in my family.”
“Well, such things can’t be helped,” put in Polly Vane. “The Poole family will have to make the best of it.”
It was several days later when Nat Poole showed himself. Phil and Dave did not see him until later, and both were struck by the change in his appearance. He looked haggard and much older, and his arrogance was completely gone.
“Got back, eh?” said Phil, walking up to him.
“Yes,” returned the money-lender’s son, and his voice sounded hollow.
“What have they done with your uncle, Nat?” asked Dave, kindly.
“Put him in another sanitarium, where he will have the best of care and doctoring.”
“I hope he gets well.”
“We all hope that.” Nat swallowed a lump in his throat and then looked gloomily at Phil. “Well, you got the best of me,” he said, shortly.
“How the best of you?” demanded the shipowner’s son.
“I understand you found out about that spread.”
“I did.”
“Well, I’ll pay for the damage done – as soon as I get the money. I haven’t any now – Dad’s got too much to pay on Uncle Wilbur’s account.” Nat swallowed another lump in his throat. “I’m sorry I did it now, Phil, honest I am,” he went on, brokenly.
“Well, if that’s the case, let us drop the matter, Nat,” was the instant reply. “I don’t believe in hitting a fellow when he is down. You haven’t got to pay me anything. The whole thing is past and gone, – and that ends it.”
“Thank you.” Nat wanted to say something more, but his voice suddenly broke and he turned away to hide his emotion, and then walked away.
“He’s hit and hit hard,” said Roger, in a low voice.
“And you did well to drop that matter, Phil,” added Dave. “Maybe Nat has learned a lesson he won’t easily forget.”
Dave was right about the lesson Nat Poole had learned. He was deeply humiliated, both by the exposure concerning the feast and by what had been learned concerning his insane uncle, and for a long time was quite another boy.
It may be added here that at a new sanitarium, and under first-class medical treatment, a marked change came over Wilbur Poole, and in less than a year he was completely cured of his weakmindedness. With a nurse as a companion he went into the country to rest both body and mind, and later on came out into the world again as well as anybody. Strange to say, he remembered nothing of calling himself the King of Sumatra, nor of blowing up Jason Sparr’s hotel. But others did not forget about the blowing up, and the damage done had to be settled for by Mr. Aaron Poole, who was his brother’s guardian and manager of his estate for the time being.
