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Ralph finds the stolen guns.

FOREST AND STREAM SERIES.

SNAGGED AND SUNK;
OR, THE
ADVENTURES OF A CANVAS CANOE.

BY

HARRY CASTLEMON,

AUTHOR OF “GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN

SERIES,” “SPORTSMAN CLUB SERIES,” ETC.

PHILADELPHIA

HENRY T. COATES & CO.

FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.

GUNBOAT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 6 vols. 12mo.

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

FRANK NELSON SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

ROUGHING IT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

ROD AND GUN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

GO-AHEAD SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. l2mo. Cloth.

FOREST AND STREAM SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

WAR SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. 5 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

Other Volumes in Preparation.

Copyright, 1888, by Porter & Coates.

CONTENTS.

SNAGGED AND SUNK;

OR,

THE ADVENTURES OF A CANVAS CANOE.

CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH I BEGIN MY STORY.

“Beneath a hemlock grim and dark,

Where shrub and vine are intertwining,

Our shanty stands, well roofed with bark,

On which the cheerful blaze is shining.

The smoke ascends in spiral wreath;

With upward curve the sparks are trending;

The coffee kettle sings beneath

Where sparks and smoke with leaves are blending.”

Joe Wayring’s voice rang out loud and clear, and the words of his song were repeated by the echoes from a dozen different points among the hills by which the camp was surrounded on every side. Joe was putting the finishing touches to the roof of a bark shanty; Roy Sheldon, with the aid of a double-bladed camp ax, was cutting a supply of hard wood to cook the trout he had just cleaned; and Arthur Hastings was sitting close by picking browse for the beds. The scene of their camp was a spring-hole, located deep in the forest twelve miles from Indian Lake. Although it was a noted place for trout, it was seldom visited by the guests of the hotels for the simple reason that they did not know that there was such a spring-hole in existence, and the guides were much too sharp to tell them of it.

Hotel guides, as a class, are not fond of work, and neither will they take a guest very far beyond the sound of their employer’s dinner horn. The landlords hire them by the month and the guides get just so much money, no matter whether their services are called into requisition or not. If business is dull and the guests few in number, the guides loaf around the hotel in idleness, and of course the less they do the less they are inclined to do. If they are sent out with a guest, they take him over grounds that have been hunted and fished until there is neither fur, fin, nor feather left, cling closely to the water-ways, avoiding even the shortest “carries,” their sole object being to earn their wages with the least possible exertion. They don’t care whether the guest catches any fish or not. But our three friends, Joe Wayring, Roy Sheldon, and Arthur Hastings, were not dependent upon the hotel guides for sport during their summer outings. Being perfectly familiar with the country for miles around Indian Lake, they went wherever their fancy led them, and with no fear of getting lost.

“And on the stream a light canoe

Floats like a freshly fallen feather—

A fairy thing that will not do

For broader seas and stormy weather.

Her sides no thicker than the shell

Of Ole Bull’s Cremona fiddle;

The man who rides her will do well

To part his scalp-lock in the middle,”

sang Joe, backing off and looking approvingly at his work. “There, fellows, that roof is tight, and now it can rain as soon as it pleases. With two acres of trout right in front of the door, and a camp located so far from the lake that we are not likely to be disturbed by any interlopers—what more could three boys who want to be lazy ask for?”

“There’s one thing I would like to ask for,” replied Roy, “and that is the assurance that Tom Bigden and his cousins will go back to Mount Airy without trying to come any tricks on us. I wonder what brought them up here any way?”

“Why, they came after their rods, of course,” answered Arthur. “You know I sent them a despatch stating that their rods were in Mr. Hanson’s possession, and that they could get them by refunding the money that Hanson had paid Jake Coyle for them.”

“But they have been loafing around the lake for a whole week, doing nothing but holding stolen interviews with Matt Coyle and his boys,” said Roy. “I tell you I don’t like the way those worthies put their heads together. I believe they are in ca-hoots. If they are not, how does it come that Tom and his cousins can see Matt as often as they want to, while the guides and landlords, who are so very anxious to have him arrested, can not find him or obtain any satisfactory news of him?”

“That’s the very reason they can’t find him—because they want to have him arrested, and Matt knows it,” observed Joe. “But why Tom doesn’t reveal Matt’s hiding-place to the constable is more than I can understand. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps Matt has some sort of a hold on those boys, and that they are afraid to go against him?”

“I have thought of it,” replied Arthur. “I have never been able to get it out of my head that Tom acted suspiciously on the day your canvas canoe was stolen. He played his part pretty well, but I believed then, and I believe now, that he knew that canoe was gone before he came back to the beach.”

“I know Tom didn’t show much enthusiasm when we started after that bear, and that he did not go very far from the pond,” assented Joe. “It is possible that he saw Matt steal my canoe, and that he made no effort to stop him; but I think you are mistaken when you say that they are in ca-hoots. I don’t believe they have any thing in common. Tom is much too high-toned for that. I know that he has been seen in Matt’s company a time or two, but I am of the opinion that they met by accident and not by appointment.”

“But Tom knew the officers were looking for Matt, and what was the reason he didn’t tell them that he had seen him?” demanded Arthur.

“He probably would if he hadn’t thought that we were the ones that wanted him arrested,” replied Joe. “Tom and his cousins do not like us, and Matt Coyle might steal us poor, and they would never lift a hand or say a word to prevent it. But we are safe from them now. Even if they knew where to find us, Matt and his boys are much too lazy to walk twelve miles through the thick woods just to get into a fight with us.”

Perhaps they were, and perhaps they were not. Time will show.

If you have read the first volume of the “Forest and Stream Series,” you will recollect that the story it contained was told by “Old Durability,” Joe Wayring’s Fly-rod. In concluding his interesting narrative, Fly-rod said that he would step aside and give place to his “accommodating friend,” the Canvas Canoe, who, in the second volume of the series, would describe some of the incidents that came under his notice while he was a prisoner in the bands of the Indian Lake vagabonds, Matt Coyle and his two worthless boys, Jake and Sam. I am the Canvas Canoe, at your service, and I am now ready to redeem that promise.

You will remember that the last duty I performed for my master, Joe Wayring, was to take him and Fly-rod up to the “little perch hole,” leaving Arthur Hastings and Roy Sheldon in the pond to angle for black bass. Joe preferred to fish for perch, because he was afraid to trust his light tackle in a struggle with so gamey a foe as a bass; but, as luck would have it, he struck one the very first cast he made, and got into a fight that was enough to make any angler’s nerves thrill with excitement.

The battle lasted half an hour; and when it was over and the fish safely landed, Joe discovered that it was growing dark. While he was putting Fly-rod away in his case I happened to look up the creek, and what should I see there but the most disreputable looking scow I ever laid my eyes on? I had never seen him before, but I knew the crew he carried, for I had had considerable experience with them. They were the squatter and his boys, who, as you know, had sworn vengeance against Joe Wayring and his friends, because Joe’s father would not permit them to live on his land.

Matt and his young allies discovered Joe before the latter saw them, and made an effort to steal alongside and capture him before he knew that there was any danger near; but one of the impatient boys carelessly allowed his paddle to rub against the side of the scow, and the sound alarmed Joe, who at once took to the water and struck out for shore, leaving me to my fate. But I never blamed Joe for that, because I knew he could not have done any thing else. He had paid out a good deal of rope in order to place himself in the best position for casting, and he could not haul it in and raise the anchor before his enemies would be upon him.

“So that’s your game, is it?” shouted the squatter, when he saw Joe pulling for the shore with long lusty strokes. “Wal, it suits us I reckon. Never mind the boat, Jakey. She’s fast anchored and will stay there till we want her. Take after the ’ristocrat whose dad won’t let honest folks live onto his land less’n they’ve got a pocketful of money to pay him for it. Jest let me get a good whack at him with my paddle, an’ he’ll stop, I bet you.”

Now we know that Matt didn’t tell the truth when he said that Joe Wayring’s father would not let any one live on his land except those who had money to pay for the privilege. Mr. Wayring was one of the most liberal citizens in Mount Airy. Nearly all the men who were employed as guides and boatmen by the summer visitors lived in neat little cottages that he had built on purpose for them, and for which he never charged them a cent of rent; and when Matt Coyle and his family came into the lake with a punt load of goods, and took possession of one of his lots, and proceeded to erect a shanty upon it without asking his permission, Mr. Wayring did not utter one word of protest. It is true that he was not very favorably impressed with the appearance of the new-comers, but he thought he would give them an opportunity to show what they were before he ordered them off his grounds. If they proved to be honest, hard-working people they might stay and welcome, and he would treat them as well as he treated the other inhabitants of “Stumptown.”

But it turned out that Matt Coyle was neither honest nor hard-working. He had once been a hanger-on about the hotels at Indian Lake. He called himself an independent guide (neither of the hotels would have any thing to do with him), but, truth to tell, he did not do much guiding. He gained a precarious subsistence by hunting, trapping, fishing, and stealing. It was easier to steal a living than it was to earn it by hunting and trapping, and Matt’s depredations finally became so numerous and daring that the guides hunted him down as they would a bear or a wolf that had preyed upon their sheep-folds, and when they caught him ordered him out of the country. To make sure of his going they destroyed every article of his property that they could get their hands on, thus forcing him, as one of the guides remarked, to go off somewhere and steal a new outfit.

Where Matt and his enterprising family went after that no one knew. They disappeared, and for a few weeks were neither seen nor heard of; but in due time they rowed their punt into Mirror Lake, as I have recorded, and Matt and his boys at once sought employment as guides and boatmen. But here again they were doomed to disappointment. The managers of the different hotels saw at a glance that they were not proper persons to be trusted on the lake with a boatload of women and children, and told them very decidedly that their services were not needed. The truth was they drank more whisky than water, and guides of that sort were not wanted in Mount Airy.

Matt and his boys next tried fishing as a means of earning a livelihood; but no one could have made his salt at that, because the guests sojourning at the hotels and boarding houses, with the assistance of the regular guides, kept all the tables abundantly supplied. This second failure made the squatters angry, and they concluded that affairs about Mount Airy were not properly managed, and they would “run the town” to suit themselves. But they could not do that either, for they were promptly arrested and thrust into the calaboose.

After they had been put in there twice, the trustees concluded that they were of no use in Mount Airy, and that they had better go somewhere else. Accordingly Matt received a notice to pull down his shanty and clear out. The officer who was intrusted with the writ had considerable trouble in serving it, but he had more in compelling the squatter to vacate the lot of which he had taken unauthorized possession. Matt and his boys showed fight, while the old woman, who, to quote from Frank Noble, “proved to be the best man in the party,” threw hot water about in the most reckless fashion. After a spirited battle the representatives of law and order came off victoriously, and Matt and his belongings were tumbled unceremoniously into the punt and shoved out into the lake. This made them almost frantic; and before they pulled away they uttered the most direful threats against those who had been instrumental in driving them out of Mount Airy “because they were poor and didn’t have no good clothes to wear,” and they even went so far as to threaten to burn Mr. Wayring’s house. But you will remember that it was Tom Bigden, a boy who hated Joe for just nothing at all, who put that idea into Matt’s head.

Being once more adrift in the world, the squatter made the best of his way to Sherwin’s pond to carry out certain other plans that had been suggested to him by that same Tom Bigden, who never could be easy unless he was getting himself or somebody else into trouble. Between the lake and the pond there were twelve miles of rapids. Having run them scores of times under the skillful guidance of my master, I may be supposed to be tolerably familiar with them, and to this day I can not understand how Matt ever succeeded in getting his clumsy old punt to the bottom of them in safety. He must have had a hard time of it, for the bow of his craft was so badly battered by the rocks that it was a mystery how he ever took it across the pond and up the creek to the place where he made his temporary camp. With his usual caution he concealed his shanty in a grove of evergreens, and waited as patiently as he could for something to “turn up.” Tom Bigden had assured him that he could make plenty of money by simply keeping his eyes open, but Matt did not find it so.

“I don’t b’lieve that ’ristocrat knew what he was talkin’ about when he said that some of them sailboats up there in the lake would be sure to break loose, an’ that I could make money by ketchin’ ’em as they come through the rapids, an’ givin’ ’em up to their owners,” said the squatter one day, when his supply of corn meal and potatoes began to show signs of giving out. “There ain’t nary one of ’em broke loose yet, an’ if any one of them p’inters an’ hound dogs that we’ve heared givin’ tongue in the woods ever lost their bearin’s I don’ know it, fur they never come nigh me.”

“He said that if the things he was talkin’ about didn’t happen of theirselves, he’d make ’em happen,“ suggested Jake.

“What do you reckon he meant by that?”

“Why, it was a hint to you to go up to the lake some dark night, an’ turn the boats loose,” replied Jake. “Then they’d come down, an’ we could ketch ’em an’ hold fast to ’em till we was offered a reward fur givin’ ’em up. But, pap, since I’ve seed them rapids, I don’t b’lieve that no livin’ boat could ever come through ’em without smashin’ herself all to pieces, less’n there was somebody aboard of her to keep her off’n the rocks.”

“No more do I,” answered Matt, “an’ I shan’t bother with ’em, nuther. I ain’t forgot that they’ve got a calaboose up there to Mount Airy, an’ that they’d jest as soon shove a feller into it as not. But something has got to be done, or else we’ll go hungry for want of grub to eat.”

So saying, Matt shouldered his rifle, and set out to hunt up his dinner, and on the same day Joe Wayring and his two chums, accompanied by Tom Bigden, and his cousins, Ralph and Loren Farnsworth, ran the rapids into Sherwin’s Pond, to fish for bass. They caught a fine string, as every one did who went there, and were talking about going ashore to cook their breakfast, when they discovered a half-grown bear on the shore of the pond. Of course they made haste to start in pursuit of him—all except Tom Bigden. The latter told himself that the bear did not belong to him, that it was no concern of his whether he were killed or not, and sat down on a log and fought musquitoes while waiting for Joe and the rest to tire themselves out in the chase and come back.

Now Matt Coyle had his eye on that bear, and wanted to shoot him too, for, as I have said, his larder was nearly empty. He was ready to do something desperate when he saw Joe and his companions paddle ashore and frighten the game, but presently it occurred to him that he might profit by it. He knew that the boys would never have come so far from home without bringing a substantial lunch with them, and as they had left their canoes unguarded on the beach, what was there to hinder him from sneaking up through the bushes and stealing that lunch? Turn about was fair play. And, while he was about it, what was there to prevent him from taking his pick of the canoes? Then he would have something to work with. He could go up to Indian Lake and make another effort to establish himself there as independent guide; and, if he failed to accomplish his object, he could paddle about in his canoe, rob every unguarded camp he could find, and make the sportsmen who came there for recreation so sick of those woods that they would never visit them again. In that way he could ruin the hotels as well as the guides who were so hostile to him. It was a glorious plan, Matt told himself, and while he was turning it over in his mind he suddenly found himself face to face with Tom Bigden.

You know the conversation that passed between these two worthies, and remember how artfully Tom went to work to increase the unreasonable enmity which Matt Coyle cherished against Joe Wayring. After taking leave of Tom, the squatter plundered all the canoes that were drawn up beside me on the beach, first making sure of the baskets and bundles that contained the lunches, gave them all into my keeping, and shoved out into the pond with me. If I had possessed the power wouldn’t I have turned him overboard in short order? Matt was so clumsy and awkward that I was in hopes he would capsize me and spill himself out; but, although he could not make me ride on an even keel, he managed to keep me right side up, and, much to my disgust, I carried him safely across the pond and up the creek to his shanty.

As the squatter was impatient to begin the business of guiding so that he could make some money before the season was over, and anxious to get beyond reach of the officers of the law who would soon be on his track, he lost no time in breaking camp and setting out for Indian Lake. Before he went he burned his shanty and punt, so that the Mount Airy sportsmen could not find shelter in the one or use the other in fishing in the pond. He spent half an hour in trying to take me to pieces, so that he could carry me in his hand as if I were a valise, and finally giving it up as a task beyond his powers, he raised me to his shoulder and fell in behind his wife and boys, who led the way toward Indian Lake.

During the short time I remained in Matt Coyle’s possession I fared well enough, for I was too valuable an article to be maltreated; but I despised the company I was obliged to keep and the work I was expected to do. Matt’s first care was to lay in a supply of provisions for the use of his family; and as he had no money at his command and no immediate prospect of earning any, of course he expected to steal every thing he wanted. This was not a difficult task, for long experience had made him and his boys expert in the line of foraging. Nearly all the guides cultivated little patches of ground and raised a few pigs and chickens, and when their duties called them away from home there was no one left to guard their property except their wives and children. The latter could not stand watch day and night, and consequently it was no trouble at all for Matt and his hopeful sons to rob a hen-roost or a smokehouse as often as they felt like it. But, as it happened, the very first foraging expedition he sent out, after he made his new camp about two miles from Indian Lake, resulted most disastrously for Matt Coyle. He ordered Jake and me to forage on Mr. Swan, the genial, big-hearted guide of whom you may have heard something in “The Story of a Fly-rod;” or, rather, Jake was to do the stealing, and I was to bring back the plunder he secured.

The young scapegrace had no difficulty in getting hold of a side of bacon and filling a bag with potatoes, which he dug from the soil with his hands, but there his good fortune ended. While he was making his way up the creek toward home, he was discovered by Joe Wayring and his two friends, Roy and Arthur, who were going to Indian Lake for their usual summer’s outing. Of course they at once made a determined effort to recapture me, and Jake in his mad struggle to escape ran me upon a snag and sunk me, thus putting it out of his father’s power to go into the business of independent guiding. The fights that grew out of that night’s work were numerous and desperate, and Matt declared that he would “even up” with the boys if he had to wait ten years for a chance to do it.

It was the work of but a few moments for my master, with the aid of his friends, to bring me back to the surface of the water where I belonged. He took me home with him when his outing was over, and there I lived during the winter in comparative quiet, while Joe and his chums were made the victims of so many petty annoyances that it was a wonder to me how they kept their temper as well as they did. Matt Coyle and his boys could not do any thing to trouble them, because they were afraid to show themselves about the village; but Tom Bigden and his cousins were alert and active. They bothered Joe in every conceivable way. They made a lifelong enemy of Mars by sending him home through the streets with a tin can tied to his tail; they shot at Roy Sheldon’s tame pigeons as often as the birds ventured within range of their long bows; they overturned Joe’s sailboat after he had hauled it out on the beach and housed it for the winter; and one night I heard them talk seriously of setting fire to the boathouse. Loren and Ralph Farnsworth, however, were not willing to go as far as that, knowing, as they did, that arson was a State’s prison offense, but they agreed to Tom’s proposition to break into the boathouse and carry off “that old canvas canoe that Joe seemed to think so much of,” because they could do as much mischief of that sort as they pleased, and no blame would be attached to them. It would all be laid at Matt Coyle’s door.

If I had been able to speak to him I would have told Tom that he was mistaken when he said this, for Joe Wayring knew well enough whom he had to thank for every thing that happened to him that winter. Tom and his allies forgot that their foot prints in the snow and the marks of their skates on the ice were, as Roy expressed it, “a dead give away.”

Joe, however, did not say or do any thing to show that he suspected Tom, for he was a boy who liked to live in peace with every body; but when he came down to the boathouse the next morning and found that some one had been tampering with the fastenings of the door, he took me on his shoulder and carried me to his room, where I remained until the winter was passed and the boating season opened.

In the meantime I made the acquaintance of Fly-rod, who has told you a portion of my history, and who was as green a specimen as I ever met; but what else could you expect of a fellow who had never seen any thing of the world or caught a fish! A few Saturdays spent at the spring-holes and along the banks of the trout streams proved him to be a strong, reliable rod, and by the time the summer vacation came Joe had learned to put a good deal of confidence in him. One of the most noteworthy exploits Fly-rod ever performed was capturing that big bass at the perch-hole. That was on the day that Matt Coyle and his boys came down the creek in their scow and made a captive of me and chased my master through the woods; and this brings me back to my story.

CHAPTER II.
CAPTURED AGAIN.

I need not assure you that I was deeply interested in the exciting scene that was enacted before me. I rode helplessly at my moorings and watched Joe Wayring as he swam down the stream with his sturdiest strokes to get clear of the lily-pads before attempting a landing, and then I turned my attention to Matt Coyle and his boys, who had come to grief in their efforts to force their way to the shore.

“Back out!” shouted Matt, when he found that his scow could neither ride over or break through the strong, tangled stems of the lily-pads. “Be in a hurry, or he’ll get sich a start on us that we can’t never ketch him.” And then he swung his heavy paddle around his head and threw it at Joe, just as the latter crawled out upon the bank.

Joe saw the missile coming toward him, and when it struck the ground he caught it up and threw it back. He didn’t hit Matt, as he meant to do, but he struck Jake such a stunning blow in the face that the boy could take no part in the pursuit that followed. It came pretty near knocking him overboard. I would have laughed if I could, but I did not feel so jubilant when I heard Matt say:

“Sam, you an’ Jakey get into the canoe an’ paddle down the pond so’s to cut him off when he tries to swim off to the skiff.”

In obedience to these instructions the two boys took possession of me, hauled up the anchor, and paddled swiftly down the creek, while Matt kept on after Joe, who was running through the woods like a frightened deer. When we came out into the pond I saw him standing on the bank beckoning to Arthur and Roy, who lost no time in bringing the skiff to his relief. I saw Joe run into the water and strike out to meet them, and I also heard him say:

“Boys, never mind me. I’ve got my second wind now and can swim for an hour. Go up there and capture my canoe, or else run over him and send him to the bottom. Don’t let those villains take him away from me again.”

But Arthur and Roy did not think it best to act upon this suggestion until they had taken care of Joe; and by the time they had got him into the skiff it was too late for them to do any thing for me; for Jake and his brother had put themselves out of harm’s way by pulling for the shore, where Matt was waiting for them. When they reached it they lifted me from the water and carried me so far into the bushes that they knew Joe and his friends would not dare follow them, and then each of them sheltered himself behind a tree. Matt and his boys were afraid of Roy Sheldon, who was a swift and accurate thrower, and when the latter rose to his feet to see what they had done with me they thought he was about to open fire on them with potatoes, as he had done once or twice before.

“I’m onto your little game,” shouted the squatter, peeping out from behind his tree and shaking his fist at the boys in the skiff. “You don’t fire no more taters at me if I know it. Your boat is here, an’ if you want it wusser’n we do, come an’ get it. ’Tain’t much account nohow. Now then,” added Matt, as he saw the boys turn their skiff about and pull back toward the other side of the pond, “ketch hold of this canoe, all of us, an’ we’ll tote him up to the creek.”

“Say, pap,” Sam interposed, “why don’t we foller ’em over there an’ gobble up their other boat an’ bust up their things?”

“That’s what I say,” groaned Jake, who wanted revenge for the stinging blow that Joe had given him with Matt’s paddle. “We’re better men than they ever dare be. I shan’t rest easy till I larrup that Joe Wayring.”

“Now jest listen at the two fules!” exclaimed the squatter, in a tone of disgust. “Have you forgot the peltin’ they give us with our own taters last summer? ’Pears to me that you hadn’t oughter forget it, Jakey, ’cause when you got that whack in the stummik you raised sich a hollerin’ that you could have been heared clear up to Injun Lake. Seems as though I could feel that bump yet,” added Matt, passing a brawny fist over his cheek where a potato, thrown by Arthur Hastings’ hand, had left a black and blue spot as large as a hen’s egg. “We’ll wait till they get camped for the night, an’ then we’ll go over there an’ steal ourselves rich.”

If Matt had taken another look at the boys instead of being in such haste to carry me up to the creek, he never would have thought seriously of making a night attack upon their camp. Joe and his friends had received a reinforcement in the person of Mr. Swan, a hotel guide whom Matt Coyle had good reason to remember. The guide had taken an active part in driving him and his vagabond crew out of the Indian Lake country, and he was looking for him when he met Joe and his chums. But Matt, believing that the boys had no one to depend on but themselves, was sure that by a stealthy approach and quick assault he could wipe out all old scores and enrich himself without incurring the smallest risk, and he and his allies grew enthusiastic while they talked about the great things they meant to do that night.

During the progress of their conversation I learned, for the first time, what had become of the rods and reels that Matt stole from Joe and his party in Sherwin’s pond. Jake, who acted as his father’s agent, had sold them to Mr. Hanson, the landlord of the Sportsman’s Home, for four dollars apiece—all except the one belonging to Arthur Hastings, which Jake affirmed had been broken by a black bass. For that he received two dollars. I learned, further, that Matt had failed again in his efforts to find employment as guide for the Indian Lake country. The hotels would not hire him, and neither would the guests to whom he offered his services. This left Matt but one resource, and that was to carry out his oft-repeated threat that if he couldn’t act as guide about that lake nobody should. He had already robbed three camps, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that by doing it he had created great consternation among the summer visitors. The ladies protested that they could never think of going into the woods again as long as that horrid man was about, and the sportsmen who had suffered at his hands told their landlords very plainly that they would not come near Indian Lake again until they were assured that Matt Coyle had been arrested and lodged in jail.

“They’re afeared of me, them folks up there to the lake be,” chuckled the squatter, who was highly elated over the success of the plan he had adopted for ruining the hotels and breaking up the business of guiding. “I would have worked hard an’ faithful for ’em if they had give me a chance to make an honest livin’; but they wouldn’t do it, ’cause I didn’t have no good clothes to wear, an’ now they see what they have gained by their meanness. I won’t be starved to death, an’ that’s jest all there is about it.”

“Say, pap, what be you goin’ to do with them two fine guns that’s hid up there in the bresh?” inquired Sam.

“I ain’t a-goin’ to do nothin’ with ’em,” was the reply.

“Then why can’t me an’ Jake have ’em?”

“Now jest listen at the blockhead!” Matt almost shouted. “Ain’t you got sense enough to know that if a guide should happen to ketch you runnin’ about the woods with one of them guns in your hands you would be ’rested an’ locked up for a thief? I didn’t take them guns ’cause I wanted ’em, but jest to drive them city sportsmen away from here. They ain’t goin’ to bring fine things into these woods when they know that they stand a chance of losin’ ’em. An’ if there ain’t no guests to come here, what’s the guides an’ landlords goin’ to do to make a livin’?”

“I’ve made a heap of money for you, pap, by sellin’ them fish-poles an’ takin’ back the scatter-gun you hooked outen one of them camps, an’ you ain’t never give me nothin’ for it,” said Jake. “I reckon it’s about time you was settlin’ up.”

“All right, I’ll settle up with you this very minute,” answered his father, cheerfully. “You can have this here canvas canoe for your own. Does that squar’ accounts betwixt us?”

It wouldn’t if I had had a voice in the matter, or possessed the power to protect myself; but I was helpless, and from that moment Jake claimed me as his property. He agreed, however, to lend me to his father as often as the latter thought it safe to go prospecting for unguarded camps. Half an hour later I was floating in the creek alongside the scow, and Matt and his boys were building a fire and preparing to regale themselves upon the big bass which Fly-rod had unwittingly caught for their supper. While they were thus engaged they talked over their plans for the night, and decided what they would do with the valuable things they expected to capture in Joe Wayring’s camp.

“This here is the great p’int, an’ it bothers me a heap, I tell you,” said Matt, flourishing the sharpened stick that he was using as a fork. “Joe an’ his friends are purty well known in this part of the country, an’ so’s their outfit; an’ if we steal all they’ve got, as I mean to do afore I am many hours older, about the only things we can use will be the grub.”

“Don’t you reckon they’ve got new fish-poles to take the place of them you hooked from ’em up in Sherwin’s pond?” inquired Sam.

“I know they have, ’cause they wouldn’t come here without nothing to fish with, would they? But ’twon’t be safe to try to sell ’em right away, ’cause if we do folks will suspicion something.”

“I’ll bet you I won’t take’em up to the lake to sell ’em,” said Jake very decidedly. “The folks up there know that you stole them fine guns we’ve got hid in the bresh, an’ they’d ’rest me for helpin’ of you. But there’s one thing I want, an’ I’m goin’ to have it too, when we get Joe’s property into our hands, an’ that’s some new clothes,” added Jake, pulling his coat-sleeve around so that he could have a fair view of the gaping rent in the elbow. “These duds I’ve got on ain’t fitten to go among white folks with.”

“I don’t see what’s to hender you gettin ’em, Jakey,” said his father, encouragingly. “If we get the skiff an’ everything what’s into it, in course we shall get the extry clothes they brung with ’em, an’ you an’ Sam can take your pick.”

“An’ I’m goin’ to give that Joe Wayring the best kind of a poundin’ to pay him for hittin’ me in the face with your paddle,” continued Jake.

“You can do that, too, an’ I won’t never say a word agin it. All them fellers need bringin’ down, an’ I’d like the best way to see you boys do it. Now there’s that skiff of their’n,” added Matt, reflectively. “She’s better’n the scow, ’cause she’s got oars instead of paddles, an’ can get around faster.”

“An’ she’s big enough to carry us an’ our plunder, an’ she’s got a tent, so’t we wouldn’t have to go ashore to camp when we wanted to stop for the night,” said Sam. “But we’d have to steer clear of the guides, ’cause they all know her,”

“We’ve got to steer clear of them anyhow, ain’t we?” demanded Matt. “I reckon we’d best take her for a house-boat, an’ use the canvas canoe to go a prospectin’ for camps.”

Matt and his boys continued to talk in this way until darkness came to conceal their movements, and then they stepped into the scow and paddled toward the pond, leaving me tied fast to a tree on the bank. I knew they were going on a fool’s errand. They seemed to forget that Joe and his friends never went into the woods without taking a body-guard and sentinel with them; and, knowing how vigilant Arthur Hastings’ little spaniel was in looking out for the safety of the camp, I did not think it would be possible for the squatter, cunning as he was, to steal a march upon the boys he intended to rob. If Jim aroused the camp there would be the liveliest kind of a fight, and I was as certain as I wanted to be that the attacking party would come off second best.

The squatter was gone so long that I began to grow impatient; but presently I heard loud and excited voices coming from the direction of the pond, mingled with cries of distress, the clashing of sticks, and other sounds to indicate that there was a battle going on out there. Although it seemed to be desperately contested, it did not last long, for in less than ten minutes afterwards I saw the scow coming into the creek. The very first words I heard convinced me that, although Matt and his boys had failed to surprise and rob Joe’s camp, they had inflicted considerable damage upon him and his companions. To my great satisfaction I also learned that my confidence in Jim, the spaniel, had not been misplaced.

“If I ever get the chance I’ll fill that little black fice of their’n so full of bullet holes that he won’t never be of no more use as a watchdog I bet you,” said Sam, in savage tones. “We could have done jest what we liked with that there camp, an’ every thing an’ every body what’s into it, if it hadn’t been for his yelpin’ an’ goin’ on.”

“Now, listen at you!” exclaimed his father, impatiently. “I’m right glad the dog was there an’ set up that yelpin’, ’cause if we’d went ashore, like we meant to do, we’d a had that man Swan onto us.”

“Well, what of it?” retorted Sam. “Ain’t you a bigger man than he is?”

“That ain’t nuther here nor there,” answered Matt, who knew that he could not have held his own in an encounter with the stalwart guide. “Fightin’ ain’t what we’re after. We want to do all the damage we can without bein’ ketched at it.”

“All I’ve made by this night’s work is a prod in the ribs that will stay with me for a month,” groaned Jake, who, as I afterwards learned, had received several sharp thrusts from the blade of Roy Sheldon’s oar. “Pap, you spiled our chances of gettin’ that skiff for a house-boat when you told us to run into her. She’s at the bottom of the pond by this time. Didn’t you hear the planks rippin’ and crackin’ when we struck her?”

“Wal, then, what did they put theirselves in our way for!” demanded Matt, angrily. “Didn’t you hear me tell ’em not to come nigh us, ’cause it would be wuss for’em if they did? I seen through their little game in a minute. They wanted to keep us there till Swan could come up an’ help ’em. What else could we do but run into ’em?”

This made it plain to me that the squatter had not acted entirely on the defensive—that he had made a desperate effort to send the skiff and her crew to the bottom of the pond; but, being better posted in natural philosophy than he was, I did not believe that he had succeeded in doing it. An unloaded skiff will not sink, even if her whole side is stove in, and I was positive that Matt Coyle would see more of that boat and of the boys who owned it before the doors of the penitentiary closed upon him.

In spite of Jake’s protest and Sam’s, Matt decided to camp on the bank of the creek that night, and go home in the morning. The boys were afraid that the guide might assume the offensive and attack them while they were asleep; but their father quieted their fears by assuring them that he would not attempt any thing of the sort, ’cause why, he couldn’t. The skiff was sunk, Swan’s canoe wasn’t large enough to carry more than one man at a load, and the guide, brave as he was supposed to be, would not think of coming up there alone. More than that, he did not know where to find them.

Knowing that Matt’s home was wherever he happened to be when night overtook him, I felt some curiosity to see the place he had chosen for his temporary abode. I was ushered into it early on the afternoon of the following day. It was located about twenty miles from the pond, and Matt reached it by turning the scow out of the creek, and forcing him through a little stream whose channel was so thickly filled with bushes and weeds that a stranger would not have suspected that there was any water-way there. The stream, which was not more than twenty feet long, ended in a little bay, and there the scow had to be left, because his crew could not take him any farther. He was too broad of beam to be carried through the thick woods, and besides he was too heavy.

I forgot to say that my new owner, Jake Coyle, navigated me up the creek. He was very awkward with the double paddle at first, but skill came with practice, and before we had gone half a dozen miles I was carrying him along as steadily and evenly as I ever carried Joe Wayring. When we reached the little bay of which I have spoken, Jake ran me upon the beach alongside the scow, and set to work to take me to pieces. Having more mechanical skill and patience than his father, he succeeded after awhile, and then he put me on his shoulder and carried me along the well-beaten path that led to the camp. But before this happened I was witness to a little proceeding on the part of Matt Coyle which showed what a cunning old fox he was. Catching up a long pole that had probably been used for the same purpose before, the squatter went back to the stream through which we had just passed, and carefully straightened up all the bushes that had been bent down by the weight of the scow.

“There!” said Matt, when he had finished his task, “Swan an’ some more of them guides will be along this way directly, but I bet they won’t see nothin’ from the creek to tell ’em that we are in here. Of course the bresh don’t stand up squar’, like it oughter, an’ the bark’s rubbed off in places; but mebbe Swan an’ the rest of ’em won’t take notice of that.”

I afterward learned, however, that Matt knew his enemies too well to trust any thing to luck. Some member of his family stood guard at the mouth of the stream day and night. The old woman was on watch when we came up the creek but I did not see her, for as soon as she discovered Matt’s scow approaching she hastened to camp to get dinner ready.

The camp was pleasantly located in a thicket of evergreens, and with a little care and attention might have been made a very cheerful and inviting spot; but it was just the reverse of that. Matt and his tribe were too lazy to keep their camps in order or to provide themselves with any comforts. I never knew them to have such a thing as a camp broom, which any of them could have made in ten minutes, and I doubt if their dishes ever received a thorough washing. They could not muster up energy enough to pick browse for their beds, but were content to sleep on the bare ground. All they cared for was a camp that was so effectually concealed that the Indian Lake guides would not be likely to stumble upon it, a lean-to that would keep off the thickest of the rain, and plenty to eat. Of course they would have been glad to have money in their pockets, but they did not want to put themselves to any trouble to earn it. Matt contended that he and his family had as good a right to live without work as some other folks had.

“So you got your canvas canoe back, did you, Jakey?” said the old woman, as her hopeful son came in at one side of the camp and went out at the other. “Where did you find him agin?”

“Up there to the pond,” replied Jake. “That Joe Wayring, he was fishin’, an’ we crep’ up clost to him afore he knew we was there, an’ then it would a made you laugh to see him take to the water an’ streak it through the woods with pap arter him. Don’t I wish he had ketched him, though? Do you see any thing onto my face?”

The old woman replied that one of his cheeks was slightly discolored.

“Joe Wayring done that with pap’s paddle,” continued Jake, “an’ I’m goin’ to larrup him for it the first good chance I get. I’ll l’arn him who he’s hittin’. Yes, this canoe is mine now, sure enough, for pap give him to me to keep. I’m goin’ to hide him out here in the bresh till I want to use him.”

This piece of strategy on the part of my new master made it impossible for me to take note of all that happened in and around the squatter’s camp during the next two days, for the evergreens partially concealed it from my view, and Matt and his allies talked in tones so low that I could not distinctly hear what they said; but on the afternoon of the third day I saw and heard a good deal. About three o’clock, while Sam Coyle was dozing on the bank of the creek and pretending to stand guard over the camp, he was suddenly aroused to a sense of his responsibility by seeing a light skiff come slowly around the bend below. Mr. Swan, the guide, handled the oars, and the man who sat in the stern was the owner of the Lefever hammerless that Matt Coyle had stolen and concealed in the bushes. They kept their eyes fastened upon the bank as they moved along, and Sam knew that they were looking for “signs.”

“An’ I’m powerful ’feared that they will find some when they get up here,” thought the young vagabond, trembling all over with excitement and apprehension, “’cause didn’t pap say that he couldn’t make the bresh stand up straight like it had oughter do, an’ that the bark was rubbed off in places? I reckon I’d best be a lumberin’.”

Sam turned upon his face and crawled off through the bushes, but not until he had seen Mr. Swan’s boat reinforced by four others, whose occupants were looking so closely at the shores as they advanced that it did not seem possible that a single bush, or even a twig on them, could escape their scrutiny. Sam lost no time in putting himself out of sight among the evergreens, and then he jumped to his feet and made for camp at the top of his speed. The pale face he brought with him told his father that he had a startling report to make.

“Be they comin’?” said Matt, in an anxious whisper.

“Yes,” replied Sam, “they’re comin’—a hul passel of boats, an’ two or three fellers into each one of ’em. The man you hooked that scatter-gun from is into Swan’s boat, an’ he looks like he was jest ready to b’ile over with madness.”

“Grab something an’ run with it,” exclaimed the squatter; and as he spoke he snatched up the frying-pan and dumped the half-cooked slices of bacon upon the ground.

For a few minutes there was a great commotion in the camp. Matt and his family caught up whatever came first to their hands, and presently emerged from the thicket, one after the other. They all carried bundles of something on their backs, and at once proceeded to “scatter like so many quails,” and scurry away in different directions. This was one of their favorite tricks—the one to which they invariably resorted when danger threatened them; but before they separated they always agreed upon a place of meeting, toward which they bent their steps as soon as they thought it safe to do so. It was no trouble at all for them to elude the officers of the law in this way, and even the guides, experienced as they were in woodcraft, could not always follow them.

Jake Coyle was so heavily loaded down with other plunder that he could not carry me away with him. That was something upon which I congratulated myself, for I was sure that the guides and their companions would not leave until they had made a thorough examination of the woods surrounding the squatter’s camp; but in this I was disappointed.

They set fire to every thing that Matt had left behind in his hurried flight, and went back to the bay to find that the enemy had been operating in their rear. While they were waiting for the fire they had kindled to burn itself out, Matt and his family “circled around” to the bay in which they had left their scow, and went to work to pay Mr. Swan back in his own coin. Every thing that would sink was thrown into the water, and every thing that wouldn’t was sent whirling through the air toward the woods on the opposite side of the bay. That was the way my friend Fly-rod got crippled. He brought up against a tree with such force that his second joint was broken close to the ferrule. After doing all the damage they could without alarming the guides, Matt and his family took two of the best boats and made their escape in them.

I judged that Mr. Swan and his party were a pretty mad lot of men when they returned to the bay and saw what had been done there during their absence. They were so far away that I could not catch all they said, but I could hear Joe Wayring’s voice, and longed for the power to do something that would lead him to my place of concealment. I also heard the owner of the stolen Winchester say:

“We will give a hundred dollars apiece to the man who will find our weapons, capture the thief, and hold him so that we can come and testify against him. Or, we will give fifty dollars apiece for the guns without the thief and the same amount for the thief without the guns. Boys, you are included in that offer.”

I knew that the last words were addressed to Joe Wayring and his chums, for I heard Arthur thank him, and say that it would afford him and his friends great satisfaction if they could find and restore the stolen guns. I did not suppose that the boys would ever think of the matter again, having so many other things to occupy their minds; but subsequent events proved that I was mistaken.

CHAPTER III.
IN THE WATCHMAN’S CABIN.

Mr. Swan and his party started for Indian Lake at an early hour the next morning, and I was left alone in the bushes. I stayed there all that night and until noon the next day, and then Jake Coyle and his brother suddenly appeared in front of my hiding-place. They came up so silently that I did not know they were anywhere in the neighborhood until they were close upon me; but I was not much surprised at that, for I had become well enough acquainted with them during my previous captivity to know that that was their usual way of doing. They could not have taken more pains to conceal their movements if they had been hostile Indians on the hunt for scalps.

They always had the fear of the law before their eyes, and lived in a state of anxiety and apprehension that could hardly have been endured by any one else.

“Here he is, all right an’ tight,” said Jake, laying hold of the rope with which he had tied me together and hauling me out of the thicket. “Ole Swan didn’t go to pokin’ around through the bresh like I was afeared he would. Come out here. You’ve got to help me steal some more bacon an’ ’taters to-night.”

“Don’t you let Joe Wayring an’ the rest of them fellers sneak up an’ take him away from you, like they done the last time you went out with him to steal bacon an’ ’taters,” cautioned Sam. “Them boys ain’t gone home yet, an’ I shan’t rest easy till they do. As long as they stay snoopin’ around in these woods where they ain’t wanted they’re liable to drop down on us at any minute.”

“I don’t want ’em to go home till I get a chance to squar’ up with Joe for hittin’ me in the face with pap’s paddle,” said Jake, who seemed to think that a greater insult could not have been put upon him. “I shall allers remember that agin him. Now le’s go back to our ole camp an’ see what Swan an’ his crowd done there arter we left.”

So saying Jake led the way into the evergreens, carrying me on his shoulder. A single glance at the place where the camp had been was enough to show that the guides had done their work well. There was nothing left of the lean-to, the bedding, and the small supply of provisions that Matt and his family had abandoned, except a little pile of ashes.

“This is a purty way for them rich folks to treat poor chaps like us, ain’t it?” said Sam, bitterly. “What business did they have to go an’ do it? We’ve just as much right to be guides here as Swan has.”

“Well, I don’t reckon him an’ his crowd hurt us any wuss than we hurt them,” observed Jake. “Them fish-poles an’ other things that we flung into the bresh an’ sunk in the bay must have cost a good many dollars, an’ we’ve got two of their best boats besides.”

“But them boats won’t do us anymore good than the two guns we’ve got hid in the bresh,” answered Sam. “Le’s go an’ take a look at them guns an’ see if they are all right.”

The hollow log in which the stolen weapons had been stowed away for safe keeping was at least a quarter of a mile from the thicket that had furnished me with a hiding-place, but Jake and his brother went straight to it; and after removing a few bushes and chunks of wood that had been scattered carelessly around the end of the log to conceal the opening, the former put in his hand and pulled out a Victoria case which contained the Lefever hammerless. Passing it over to his brother, Jake again thrust his arm into the hollow and brought to light the stolen Winchester, wrapped in a tattered blanket. When their coverings were removed I took a good look at them. They were the handsomest things in the shape of guns I ever saw, and I did not wonder that their rightful owners were so anxious to get them back.

“If we had a few ca’tridges to fit ’em, we’d take a shot or two jest for luck,” said Sam, raising the double-barrel to his shoulder and running his eye along the clean brown tubes. “But they ain’t no more use to us than so many chunks of ole iron. We dassent sell ’em, an’ pap’ won’t let us have ’em for fear that we will be took up for thieves.”

“Didn’t you hear pap say that he didn’t hook the guns ’cause he wanted ’em, but jest to break up guidin’ an’ ruin them hotels up to the lake?” Jake inquired. “It’s the only way we’ve got to even up with the folks that are tryin’ to starve us out, ain’t it? I’ll go furder’n that, if I ever get a good chance. I’ll burn every camp I find, like Swan done with our’n.”

“I reckon that if me an’ you had the money these guns cost we could wear good clothes an’ live on good grub all the rest of the year, couldn’t we?” said Sam, as he returned the Lefever hammerless to his case and handed it to his brother. “They must have cost as much as forty or fifty dollars apiece, don’t you reckon?”

This showed that Sam had about as clear an idea of the price of fine guns as his father had of the value of split bamboo fishing-rods and German-silver reels. The Winchester was worth fifty dollars, but the list price of the Lefever hammerless was three hundred.

Having put the guns back into the log again, Jake once more raised me to his shoulder, and started off through the woods. But he and Sam moved with long, noiseless steps, stopping frequently to reconnoiter the ground before them, and if they conversed at all it was in low and guarded tones. At the end of half an hour they struck a “carry”—a dim path leading from the pond to another body of water that lay deeper in the forest—and here they became doubly cautious in their movements.

“Now you toddle on ahead,” said Jake to his brother, “an’ if you see one of them city chaps an’ his guide comin’ along the carry, fetch a little whistle so’t I can hide in the bresh afore they see me.”

But, as it happened, this precaution was unnecessary. The carry was deserted by all save themselves, and at the end of another half hour Jake took me through a little clearing and into a dilapidated log shanty, where we found the squatter and his wife waiting for us.

“Well, Jakey, you found your boat whar you left him, didn’t you?” said Matt Coyle, as the boy deposited me in a corner of the shanty near the wide fire-place. “I didn’t know but mebbe Swan an’ the rest of ’em had nosed him out an’ took him off.”

“Well, they didn’t,” answered Jake. “We found him all right, an’ the guns, too. We hauled ’em out an’ took a good look at ’em, me an’ Sam did. It’s a mean shame that we can’t keep ’em out an’ use ’em like they b’longed to us.”

The squatter made no reply, and I had leisure to look about me before any one spoke again. I was surprised to see how much furniture there was in the shanty, for I knew that Matt had lost the bulk of his property when the guides burned his camp. Of course, it was of the rudest description, but it would answer very well when nothing better could be had. I have seen many a well-appointed camp whose owners were not any better supplied with needful things than Matt Coyle was. There were two comfortable looking shake-downs on the floor; three-legged stools and chairs without any backs were abundant; the home-made table supported more dishes than Matt and his family were ever likely to fill with provender, and under it were piled a lot of miscellaneous articles, including a frying-pan, camp-kettle, and coffee-pot. To complete the picture, three of the stools and broken chairs were occupied by Matt Coyle, his wife, and a roughly dressed man whom I had never seen before. They were all smoking, and sat with their elbows resting on their knees. Taken as a group, they were the laziest looking lot I ever happened to meet. The stranger was the first to speak.

“What guns is them you’re talkin’ about?” said he, in a drawling tone.

“Oh, they’re some that I picked up while I was a roamin’ around,” replied Matt, with a knowing wink.

“An’ you got that there canvas canoe in the same way, I reckon,” continued the stranger, nodding toward the corner in which I lay, listening to the conversation.

“Well, p’raps I did,” answered Matt. “It’s jest like I told you, Rube. I would be willin’ to work hard an’ faithful if they would only give me a chance to be a guide, but they won’t do it, an’ me an’ the boys have set ourselves the job of bustin’ up the hul business. We’ve done right smart of damage already, but we ain’t through yet. I’ll bet you there won’t be as many guests up to them hotels at Injun Lake next summer as there was this.”

“I heared all about it, an’ about them guns, too,” drawled Rube. “Do you know that there’s been a big reward offered fur ’em? Well, there has. The man who ketches you an’ finds the guns will get two hundred dollars for it; an’ if he finds the guns without ketchin’ you he’ll get half as much.”

“That’s enough to turn every man in the woods agin me,” said Matt, anxiously.

“All except your friends,” Rube hastened to assure him. “They won’t go agin you for no money.”

“Well, I’ll bet you they don’t ketch me agin,” said the squatter, confidently. “They done it once, but I’m onto their little games now. They thought they had us all in their grip, Swan an’ his crowd did, when they burned our camp up there in the cove; but we knowed they was comin’ long afore they got there. I ain’t afeared of their ketchin’ me.”

“An’ I ain’t afeared of their findin’ the guns nuther,” chimed in Jake. “They’re hid where nobody wouldn’t never think of lookin’ for ’em.”

“Whereabouts is that?” asked Rube, carelessly.

The boys grinned, while Matt and the old woman looked down at the floor and said nothing. They were perfectly willing that Rube should know how the guns came into their possession, but they were not so ready to tell him where the stolen weapons were concealed. How did they know but that Rube, tempted by the promise of so large a reward, would hunt up the guns, restore them to their lawful owners, and hold fast to all the money he received for it? Perhaps we shall see that that was just what Rube wanted to do. He was by no means as good a friend to the squatter as he pretended to be, and Matt suspected it all the while.

“What made you turn agin them folks up there to the lake?” said the latter, suddenly. “The last time I seen you, you told me that you had a good job at guidin’, an’ that you was gettin’ two an’ a half a day.”

“So I did, an’ it was the truth,” replied Rube. “But he didn’t stick to his bargain, Hanson didn’t. The last feller I went out with told him that I was a powerful lazy chap, an’ that I wouldn’t do nothin’ but jest roll around on the grass an’ leave him to pick the browse for the beds an’ cook his own bacon an’ slapjacks. He told him, furder, that I wouldn’t take him to the best troutin’ places, ’cause there was too many ‘carries’ in the way. Well, that was a fact,“ added Rube, reflectively. “He had so much duffle with him, my employer did, that I had to make two trips to tote it all over the carries, an’ two an’ a half a day is too little money for doin’ sich work as that. I hired myself out to the hotel for a guide, an’ not for a pack-horse. So Hanson, he allowed he didn’t want me no longer, an’ that made me down on him an’ all the rest, same as you are. If that ain’t a fact, an’ if I ain’t a friend of your’n, what made me tell you to come into my shanty an’ make yourselves to home, an’ use my things till you could get some furnitur’ of your own?”

So that was the way Matt came to be so well fixed, was it? The shanty and every thing in it belonged to Rube, and he had told Matt to step in and make himself at home there. I thought that looked like a friendly act on Rube’s part.

“It was mighty good-natur’d an’ free-hearted in you, an’ if it ever comes handy, you’ll see that I don’t forget sich things,” said Matt, after a little pause. “I’m free to say that I didn’t look fur no sich favors from you, for I thought you was down on me, like all the rest of the guides.”

“Well, you see that I ain’t, don’t you? I’ve been mistreated same as you have, an’ have jest as good a reason to be mad about it. Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do with you consarnin’ them guns that you’ve got hid in the bresh,” continued Rube. “You dassent sell ’em or give ’em back to the men you stole ’em from, ’cause if you try it you will be took up; but I can do it for you, an’ they won’t never suspicion any thing agin me. I can take ’em up to Hanson to-day an’ get the hunderd dollars cash money that has been promised for ’em. Say the word an’ I’ll do it, an’ go halves with you. Fifty dollars is better than leavin’ ’em out there in the woods to rust till they ain’t good for nothing.”

This seemed to be a fair offer, and I expected to hear Matt close with it at once; but instead of that he fastened his eyes on the floor once again, and drew his shaggy brows together as if he were thinking deeply. Even Jake went off into a brown study.

“If you want to make any thing out of them guns, I don’t see any other way for you to do it,” said Rube, knocking the ashes from his pipe and getting upon his feet. “I’ll make the same bargain with you consarnin’ them two boats you hooked from Swan an’ his crowd on the day they burned your camp. You can’t use them any more’n you can use the guns, an’ what’s the use of leavin’ ’em in the bresh to rot away to nothin’?”

“An’ what’s the use of my robbin’ camps if I’m goin’ to give back all the things I hook?” asked Matt, in reply.

“You needn’t give ’em all back—only jest them that you can get a reward for. Take time to study on it, an’ then tell me if you don’t think I have made you a good offer. Now I must step down to the hatchery an’ go on watch; an’ I warn you, fair an’ squar’, don’t none of you come prowlin’ round like you was waitin’ for a chance to set fire to the buildin’s or cut the nets, ’cause if you do I shall have to tell on you. I shouldn’t like to do that, bein’ as me an’ you is friends, an’ nuther do I want to lose my place as watchman at the hatchery, since I’ve been stopped from guidin’. I must have some way to make a livin’.”

So saying Rube put on his hat and left the shanty. Matt and his family remained silent and motionless for a few minutes, and then, in obedience to a sign from his father, Jake jumped up and followed Rube. After a brief absence he returned with the report:

“He ain’t hangin’ around the back of the shanty to listen to our talk, Rube ain’t. He’s gone on down the carry t’wards the hatchery. Be you goin’ to let him have them boats an’ guns, pap? Seems like it would be better to have the money than the things, ’cause we could use the money an’ we can’t use the boats an’ guns.”

“Now jest listen at the blockhead!” exclaimed Matt. “Do you reckon that if we give the things up to Rube we’d ever see a cent of the money? Do you think that ’cause he opened this shanty to us, an’ told us to use his dishes to cook our grub with, that it’s safe to trust him too fur? I don’t. Them boats an’ guns can stay where they be till they sp’ile afore I will let Rube or any body else make any money out of ’em. Nobody but me run any risk in hookin’ them guns, an’ I’m the one that oughter have the money for givin’ of ’em back.”

“I don’t b’lieve Rube’s goin’ agin us,” said the old woman. “If that is his idee, what’s the reason he don’t bring the constable here an’ have you took up? He could do it in a minute.”

“Now jest listen at you!” said Matt, again. “Of course he could have me took up if he wanted to, Rube could, but he would make only a hundred dollars by it, ’cause he wouldn’t have the guns. See? But if we give him the guns, then he’ll bring the constable here arter me, an’ he’ll get two hundred dollars fur it. Understand? I don’t b’lieve that every body up to the lake is down on him like they be on me. If he was stopped from guidin’, how does it come that he got to be watchman at the State hatchery? They wouldn’t have no lazy, good-for-nothing feller there, I bet you. There’s something mighty jubus about Rube, an’ you want to be careful what you say an’ do afore him, the hul on you. It won’t do to trust nobody ’ceptin’ ourselves. Now, Sam, you start up the fire, an’, ole woman, you put what’s left of them bacon an’ ’taters over. We’ll have more to-morrer, if Jakey has good luck to-night.”

While the preparations for supper were in progress, Matt filled his pipe for a fresh smoke, Sam sat on his stool and meditated, and Jake disappeared down the carry with his fish-pole on his shoulder. Rube’s proposition had suggested an idea to him and he, too, was thinking deeply. He went straight to the hatchery, and after watching the carry for a few minutes to make sure that he had not been followed by any member of the family Jake peeped around the corner of one of the buildings and saw Rube in conversation with the superintendent. The latter went away after a little while, and then Jake presented himself before the watchman.

“Didn’t I warn you, fair an’ squar’, that you mustn’t none of you come prowlin’ about here?” demanded Rube, angrily. “Now clear yourself or I’ll tell on you, sure.”

“You ain’t got nothing to tell, ’cause I ain’t done no damage of no sort,” answered Jake, with a grin.

“But I wouldn’t be afeared to bet that you’re goin’ to. I wouldn’t trust none of you as fur as I could sling a meetin’ house. No, I wouldn’t.”

“Well, pap said he wouldn’t trust you nuther, so I reckon we’re about even on that p’int,” said Jake with another grin.

“What for wouldn’t he trust me?” asked Rube, in an astonished tone.

“’Cause he says you think you are mighty smart, tryin’ to get them fine guns into your own hands so’t you can pocket the hul of the reward an’ never give us none of it. That’s what you’re up to, Rube, an’ we know it.”

“Tain’t nuther,” said the man, indignantly.

“Well, you can’t never make nothing by coaxin’ pap to give up them guns; I can tell you that much. Say,” added Jake, drawing a step or two nearer to Rube and speaking in low and confidential tones, “you won’t never tell nobody if I say something to you, will you?”

“No, I won’t,” replied Rube, lowering his own voice almost to a whisper.

“You won’t never tell pap nor mam nor Sam, nor none of ’em, honor bright an’ sure hope to die?”

“No, I won’t,” repeated Rube.

“Say honor bright; ’cause if you ever let on to Sam what I say to you, he’ll tell pap, an’ pap, he’ll wear a hickory out on me.”

“Honor bright I won’t tell,” said Rube.

“Say,” whispered Jake. “I’ve done a heap fur pap fust an’ last, an’ he ain’t never give me nothin’ fur it, ’ceptin’ that ole canvas canoe I brung home to-day. I sold them poles that he stole from Joe Wayring an’ his crowd down on Sherwin’s pond, an’ he never once said to me: ’Jakey, here’s a couple of dollars to buy you a pair of shoes agin winter comes.’ Now I say that was mighty stingy in pap. He says them guns may stay where they be till they sp’ile, afore you or any body ’ceptin’ himself shall make any money outen ’em.”

Jake could see by the way Rube hung his head that he was sorry to hear this. After a long pause he looked up and said:

“Well, what of it?”

“Well,” continued Jake, “I can’t see the use of them guns layin’ there doin’ nobody no good, when I might jest as well have the reward that’s been offered fur ’em.”

“No more do I,” assented Rube.

“Say,” Jake went on, in a still lower whisper, “I’ll tell you where the guns be if you will give me half the money an’ never let on to none of ’em that I told you.”

“It’s a bargain,” said Rube, extending his hand.

“An’ you’ll give me the fifty dollars, right into my own fingers, an’ keep still about it afterwards?”

“I will.”

“Say. ’Twouldn’t be safe fur me to show you where the guns is hid, ’cause the old man is like Joe Wayring an’ the rest of them fellers. He’s got a habit of snoopin’ around where he ain’t wanted, an’ jest as like’s not he’d see me while I was a showin’ you; so I’ll have to tell you. Say! You know where the creek is that leads—Wait a minute.”

When Jake had said this much it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps his father was at that very moment “snoopin’ around” where he was not wanted, and he thought it best to satisfy himself on that point. He was pretty certain that he would see trouble if any member of his family caught him in close conversation with the watchman. It was well for Jake that he took this precaution, for when he looked cautiously around the corner of the building he discovered a familiar figure coming down the carry with long and rapid strides. It was plain that he was fearful of being seen and followed, for he stopped every few rods to look behind him.

“There comes that Sam of our’n,” said Jake, in an excited whisper. “Now, Rube, you watch an’ see which end of the buildin’ he’s p’inting fur, an’ I’ll slip around t’other end an’ make a break fur home through the bresh. Say, Rube, don’t let on, an’ I’ll see you some other day.”

Jake caught up his fish-pole, which he had leaned against the side of the hatchery, and stood ready to run in either direction, while Rube moved slowly along the bank of the outlet until he could see the carry.

“Now, then!” he exclaimed, as soon as Sam came within speaking distance, “you ain’t wanted here, nor none of your tribe. So toddle right back where you come from.” At the same time he made a quick motion with his hand, which Jake saw and understood. He darted around the upper end of the building and was out of sight in an instant.

“You heared me, I reckon,” continued Rube, seeing that Sam quickened his pace instead of turning about and retracing his steps.

“You can’t fish here, ’cause it’s agin the law, an’ you might as well understand it first as last. Want to speak to me? Hurry up, then, for I ain’t got no time to fool away.”

Imagine the watchman’s surprise when he learned that Sam had come there with the same proposition that his brother had made him a few minutes before. He gave the very same reasons for it, made the same stipulations regarding the division of the reward, and exacted the same promise of secrecy; but he did not tell Rube where the guns were concealed. Just as he got to that point a step sounded within the superintendent’s room, and a hand was laid upon the latch. Before the door opened Sam, who had reasons of his own for not wishing to meet the superintendent face to face, had vanished in the fast-gathering twilight.

CHAPTER IV.
A NIGHT ADVENTURE.

“I don’t see no trout to go with the bacon an’ ’taters that your ma is cookin’ fur supper,” observed Matt Coyle, who was sitting in the doorway of the shanty smoking his pipe. “You don’t often come back without something to show fur your time an’ trampin’.”

“No, ’cause I don’t often have a watchman to tell me that I shan’t fish where I please,” replied Jake, as he leaned his pole against one end of the cabin and disappeared through the door. “Rube’s down there to the hatchery, an’ he’s mighty pertic’lar fur a man who says he’s down on every body, same as we be.”

“Don’t you b’lieve a word of that story,” said Matt, earnestly. “’Cause if you do, you will get into trouble, sure’s you’re a foot high. There ain’t a word of truth in it.”

“Then what made him tell it?” asked Jake.

“I don’t know, less’n he’s been sent out by Hanson or some of the summer boarders to keep an eye on us,” answered Matt. “I b’lieve that if he could find them guns he’d have the hul kit an’ bilin’ of us ’rested before mornin’. See Sam anywhere?”

Jake replied that he had not.

“Well, he’s went up there too, I reckon, ’cause I saw him goin’ off with his pole onto his shoulder. He’ll come pokin’ back directly.”

“I know he went up to the hatchery,” said Jake, to himself. “An’ that’s what bothers me. He knows well enough that Rube wouldn’t let him drop a line into the water, so what did he go up there fur? I do think in my soul that Sam will bear a little watchin’.”

“There’s something mighty strange an’ curious ’bout them two boys of our’n goin’ up to the outlet to fish when they know’d that the watchman was there,” thought Matt. “’Tain’t like them at all, that way of doin’ ain’t, an’ it’s my opinion that they are up to something. Well, if they can get the start of their pap they’re smarter than I think they be.”

Up to this time Matt and his family had had perfect confidence in one another. What one knew the others knew. If their domestic life had not been altogether harmonious, they had at least managed to get on very well together, and had stood shoulder to shoulder against the common foe—the landlords and guides, who were determined to drive them out of the country. But Rube’s offer to return the stolen property Matt had in his possession and divide the reward had changed all that. The rogues had not yet fallen out with one another, but they were in a fair way to do so, and when that happened honest men were likely to get their dues. It was not long before a series of incidents occurred which brought about an open rupture.

By the time Sam made his appearance, supper was ready. The boys, who were usually talkative, had nothing to say while the meal was in progress, and that was enough to confirm Matt’s suspicions.

“They’ve got something on their minds, both of ’em, an’ I know it,” said he, to himself. “Jakey, have you made up your decision where you’re goin’ to get some grub fur us?” he added, aloud.

Jake replied that he had not given the matter a moment’s thought. He intended to do as he had always done—stop at the first house he came too, and if he found dogs there, or the smokehouse too strongly fastened, he would go on to the next.[next.]

“I don’t reckon I shall be back much afore mornin’,” said he. “We’re a mighty fur ways from where any guides live, an’ I may have to go cl’ar to Injun Lake afore I can get any grub.”

“Then you’ll get ketched sure,” said the old woman.

“Hadn’t you better take Sam along to help?” inquired Matt.

“No, I won’t,” answered Jake, promptly. “He’d be that skeared that he wouldn’t dare leave the boat; so what help would he be to me, I’d like to know. I don’t want him along.”

Jake had always refused to permit his brother to accompany him on his numerous foraging expeditions, and Matt had never thought any thing of it until this particular night; but now his refusal made him distrust Jake. He believed that the boy had private reasons for wishing to go on his dangerous errand alone, and told himself that it might be a good plan to follow him and see where he went and what he did while he was gone. So when Jake, after eating his share of the bacon and potatoes, hauled me out of the corner and left the cabin without saying a word to any body his father got upon his feet, paused long enough to fill his pipe, and also went out into the darkness. He did not follow Jake very far, however, because his inherent laziness proved stronger than his lack of confidence in the boy, and, besides, the latter did not do any thing out of the way. He held straight for Deer Lake outlet, but instead of following the trail he struck off through the woods, avoiding the hatchery and the watchman who kept guard over it. Then Matt turned about and went back to the shanty, while Jake launched the canvas canoe and boldly set out on his dangerous mission. I have often wondered at the nerve the young reprobate displayed in going off alone on these midnight plundering expeditions. He seemed to think no more of it than you would of going fishing. On this particular night Jake was not lonesome, for he had some very agreeable thoughts for company; and as he communed aloud with them I learned, somewhat to my surprise, that he had hopes and aspirations as well as some other boys of my acquaintance.

“I tell you I have lived this way about long enough,” soliloquized Jake, as he headed me across the outlet and paddled slowly along close to the shore and in the shadow of the overhanging trees. “If I’m ever goin’ to be any body an’ make any money, now’s my time to begin. So long as I stay with pap, jest so long will I be hounded an’ drove about from pillar to post by them guides an’ landlords, who won’t let me stay nowhere. I jest know that pap’s goin’ to see trouble all along of them guns that he’s got hid in the bresh, but I can’t see why I should be ’rested too. I didn’t hook the guns, an’ that’s what made me talk to Rube the way I did. If he will go halvers with me on the reward, I’ll get fifty dollars, an’ that will be enough so’t I can start out on my own hook. If Rube wants to earn the extra hundred by havin’ pap ’rested arterwards—why, that’s something I can’t help. I’ve got a good boat, one that I can tote anywhere through the woods, an’ what’s to hender me from strikin’ out fur myself this winter? I know where to go to find good trappin’ grounds, an’ I’ll bet that when spring comes I’ll have more money than I will if I stay hangin’ round here with pap. I ain’t goin’ to be shut up in jail for something I didn’t do, an’ that’s all there is about that.”

Jake continued to talk to himself in this way during the whole of the hour and a half that it took him to paddle from the mouth of the outlet to the landing in front of the first house above the hatchery. I could not see that there was any dwelling there, for the night was pitch dark; but Jake knew where he was, and I learned from some snatches of his soliloquy which I overheard that the guide to whom the premises belonged was a thrifty man and a good provider for his family. If he could only get into his smokehouse or effect an entrance into his cellar, Jake was sure that he could load his canoe without the least trouble. As the guide was neither a “cruster” nor a “skin-butcher,” he did not keep dogs, but he had a stalwart son who took care of the little farm during his father’s absence, and Jake knew that he would see fun if that boy heard him prowling around.

Jake did not make the painter fast to any thing, for he did not want to lose time in casting it off in case he were called upon to make a hasty retreat. He simply drew me part way out of the water, so that I would not float off with the current, and after that threw a couple of bags over his shoulder and disappeared in the bushes. Then began that series of incidents to which I referred a little while ago, and which not only brought about an open rupture in Matt Coyle’s family, but broke it up as completely as the guides and landlords could have wished. I heard all about them before I was stowed away in Joe Wayring’s bedroom to await the coming of the next boating season, and consequently I am able to describe them to you in the order in which they occurred.

Jake’s first care, when he reached the clearing, was to give the house a good looking over in order to make sure that all the inmates had gone to bed. He could not see a light in any of the windows, and neither could he hear any one moving about on the inside. He did not look for enemies outside the house, and consequently he did not see the two dark figures that sprang quickly behind a corner of the cellar the moment he came into view. But the figures were there, and they saw every thing Jake did.

Having satisfied himself that the family had all retired, Jake made his way to the cellar, which was not built under the house, but fifty yards in the rear of it. It was a square hole in the ground, walled up with logs instead of stone, and covered with a peaked roof to shed the rain. Four steps led down to the door, which Jake found to be fastened with a padlock. But he expected to find it so, and had come prepared for it. He drew from one of the bags a long iron strap, like those that sometimes are used for hanging heavy doors, thrust one end of it under the hasp and, with a sudden jerk, pulled out the nearest staple. This being done, the door swung open of its own accord, and Jake went into the cellar.

Not a single ray of light came in at the door, and Jake, having neglected to bring with him a supply of matches, was obliged to grope about in the dark. He wasn’t searching for any thing in particular. He did not care what he found, so long as it was something that was good to eat, and with such articles the cellar appeared to be abundantly stocked. He found a generous piece of bacon, half a bushel of potatoes, as many turnips, a small crock of butter, and several jars of pickles, all of which he bundled into his bag without the least regard for order or neatness. His sole duty was to forage for provisions; it was no concern of his how the things looked when he got them home.

“I reckon I’ve got about all I can tote down to the boat at one load, an’ so I’ll quit,” said Jake, moving his hand along the hanging-shelf to make sure that he had found all the things that had been placed upon it. “If them folks of our’n want any more grub they can steal it theirselves, fur I am getting tired of the—Well, I do think in my soul. What’s that?”

As Jake shouldered his well-filled bags he turned toward the door, only to find it blocked by the two figures who had sought concealment behind the cellar. They had come down the steps so cautiously that Jake did not know there was any one near him. Of course he was greatly alarmed, and visions of the New London penitentiary rose up before him; for Jake knew very well that nocturnal house-breaking, with the intent to commit a felony, constitutes burglary, and burglary is a State’s prison offense. The light was so dim that he could not see the features of the men who blocked the doorway and cut off his escape, but beyond a doubt one of them must be the son of the guide he had robbed.

“I couldn’t help it, Ike, sure’s I live an’ breathe I couldn’t help it”[it”] stammered Jake, as soon as he could speak. “We ain’t got a bite to eat in the shanty, an’ no way to earn any, seein’ that the folks about here won’t let us be guides and make an honest livin’, like we want to do. I’ll give up every thing I’ve got into the bags if—”

“Keep your plunder, friend,” said a voice that Jake did not remember to have heard before. “We don’t own it, and neither are we officers. We don’t care how much you steal. Where’s your boat?”

“Down to the beach,” replied Jake, who thought this a little ahead of any thing he had ever heard of before.

“Well, do you want to earn five dollars?” asked the man, in hurried tones. “Then shoulder your bags again and come on. We want you to set us across the lake.”

Jake obeyed the order to “come on,” but he did it with fear and trembling. How did he know but this was a ruse on the part of the two men to get him out of the cellar so that they could both pounce upon him? He followed them up the steps because he was afraid to hang back; but when he got to the top he watched for an opportunity to throw down his bags and take to his heels. But first he took as good a look at the men as he could in the darkness. They both wore slouch hats and long dark-colored ulsters, and each carried a small traveling bag in his hand. In appearance, they were not unlike the sportsmen and tourists who patronized the Indian Lake hotels in summer. They tried to make Jake believe that that was what they were; but the boy was sharp enough to discover a flaw in their story at once.

“We’ve been spending a month up at the hotel hunting and fishing,” said the one who had thus far done all the talking. “This afternoon we received a telegram urging our immediate return to New London, and we are trying to get there now.”

“There ain’t no huntin’ up to Injun Lake this time of the year, ’cause it’s agin the law,” said Jake, to himself. “An’ this ain’t the best way to get to New London nuther, if they’re in sich a hurry as they make out. Why didn’t they hire a wagon to take ’em to the railroad? It’s a mighty fur ways through the woods,” he added, aloud, “an’ you won’t get there half so quick as the cars could take you.”

“It is too late to think about that now,” was the rather impatient reply. “We’ve got started, and we can’t waste time in going back. Can you set us across the lake?”

“I reckon,” answered Jake. “But I shall have to carry you one at a time, ’cause my boat is small, an’ won’t hold up three fellers at a load.”

While this conversation was going on Jake, who did not believe a word of the story to which he had listened, was watching for a chance to slip away in the darkness; but the men, as if divining his intention, walked one on each side of him, and even took hold of his arms to help him over the rough places. When they reached the woods one went on ahead and the other brought up the rear; so there was no opportunity for escape.

“There’s the boat.” said Jake, at length. “Now which one of you shall I take over first? An’ where’s that five dollars you promised me fur settin’ you across?”

The men did not reply immediately. They struck matches on the sleeves of their ulsters and examined me closely, all the while keeping up an animated conversation in tones so low that I did not think Jake could hear it; but subsequent events proved that he heard every word of it, and knew how to profit by the information he gained from it. The course of action he instantly marked out for himself, and which he successfully carried into execution, astonished me beyond measure.

“Say, Jim,” said one of the men, fumbling in his pocket for another match. “This is a cranky looking craft, and I am afraid to trust myself in her. We couldn’t swim ten feet to save our lives, and both these gripsacks have specie enough in them to sink them to the bottom, if she should happen to capsize with us. Say, friend, how wide is the lake at this point?”

“About a mile—mebbe more,” answered Jake.

“Is the water very deep?”

“Well, middlin’ deep. On the day pap ketched a salmon trout here he let out seventy foot of line an’ never teched bottom. I reckon that’s water enough to drown a feller, less’n he’s a tolerable fine swimmer.”

The men evidently thought so too. They held another consultation, and had almost made up their minds that the safest thing they could do would be to stay ashore and walk around the lake, when Jake broke in with—

“I’ll tell you what I’ve heard pap say more’n once. If you are afeared that a boat is too cranky fur you, an’ that she’ll spill you out, all you’ve got to do is to load her down most to the water’s edge, an’ then she’ll go along as stiddy as a rockin’ cheer. The water ain’t over your heads right here, an’ if you don’t like the look of things arter we all get in, why I can bring you back to shore mighty easy.”

One of the men protested that the plan wouldn’t work at all, but his more venturesome companion declared that it was worth trying, adding—

“We can’t manage the canoe, and the boy will have to go. If he takes us over one at a time, we shall lose valuable moments. Jump in, Jim. Where did you want to sit, boy? In the middle, I suppose?”

“I reckon,” replied Jake. “But afore we start, I want to see the color of them five dollars you promised me for takin’ you over.”

The man who had been called Jim uttered an exclamation of impatience and opened his traveling bag, while his companion struck another match. By the aid of the light it threw out Jake caught a glimpse of the contents of the valise. It was a very brief one, but the sight on which his gaze rested during the instant that the match blazed up and then went out almost took his breath away. The little bag was filled to the very top with glittering silver pieces. Never but once in his life before had Jake Coyle seen so much money, and that was in the front window of a New London broker’s office.

Jim caught up several of the coins, and as the light emitted by the match died away just then he counted out Jake’s five dollars in the dark. But the boy knew they were all there, for he felt them as they were dropped into his eager palm. He shut his fingers tightly upon them, and instead of putting them into his pocket he thrust them into the mouth of the sack that contained the bacon and potatoes he had stolen in the cellar.

“They might slip outen my pocket if we should happen to get capsized, but they’ll be safe there,” chuckled Jake. “T’other side of the lake is a mighty jubus place to land a canoe on a dark night like this one is, ’cause there’s so many snags there to pester a feller.”

“Now, then, what’s keeping you?” demanded Jim, impatiently. “We’ve wasted too much time already.”

“Well, why don’t you pile in?” asked Jake, in reply. “I’ll shove the canoe out till she floats, an’ then I’ll step in myself. I ain’t afeared of gettin’ my stockin’s wet.”

In accordance with these instructions Jim took possession of the bow, his companion seated himself in the stern, and Jake shoved me from the shore. When the water was a little more than knee-deep, he stepped aboard and took up his paddle. His added weight made me settle down until the water came within two or three inches of the top of my gunwale, and I expected that Jake would stop and ask his passengers how they “liked the look of things” now that they were afloat; but he did nothing of the kind, for it was not on his programme to take them back to shore after he had got fairly started with them. He dipped his paddle into the water and with a few quick, strong strokes left the trees on the bank out of sight. If I could have spoken to them I could have quieted the fears of Jake’s timid passengers in very few words. I did not believe that the three of them weighed much more than half my floating capacity, which was eight hundred pounds.

The lake wasn’t an inch over five hundred yards wide at this point, and neither was the water more than fifteen or twenty feet deep. Jake was not more than ten minutes in coming within sight of the opposite shore, and then he began twisting about, looking first one side of his bow passenger and then the other, as if he were searching for something. The beach was, as he had said, a bad place to make a landing on a dark night. In fact there was no beach there; nothing but a low, muddy shore, which was thickly lined with gnarled and twisted roots and sharp-pointed snags. It was a fine place for an accident, even in broad daylight; but Jake could have passed through in perfect safety if he had been so minded. Instead of that, he picked out the wickedest looking sawyer in the lot and headed me straight for it, with longer and stronger strokes. Jim, who was seated in the bow, could not see what he was doing, and the attention of the man who occupied the stern was so fully taken up with other matters (keeping his balance, for one) that he could not think of any thing else. While I was wondering what Jake was going to do, he ran my bow high and dry upon the leaning sawyer; and in less time than it takes to tell it I rolled completely over, and came right side up, turning Jake and his passengers out into the cold waters of the lake.

“Human natur’!” sputtered Jake, who was the first to rise to the surface. “What’s the matter with you feller in the bow? Why didn’t you tell me that the snag was there, so’t I could have kept cl’ar of it?”

I knew now what Jake Coyle’s plan was, and felt the keenest anxiety for the two men who had been so unexpectedly dumped over-board, for I had heard them say that they could not swim ten feet to save their lives. But fortunately they could swim a little. Their heads bobbed up almost as quick as Jake’s did, and as soon as they had taken in the situation, they struck out for the snag. They were greatly alarmed, although, as I afterward learned, there was not the slightest reason for it. If they had allowed their feet to sink toward the bottom, they would have found that the water at that place was not more than shoulder-deep.

“How could I be expected to act as lookout when I was sitting with my back to the front end of the boat?” demanded Jim, as soon as he could speak. “Where’s my grip-sack?”