CHAPTER XXV.
A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT.
During the days that followed the behavior of Piper was even moreinexplicable and annoying; for each day, refusing to let anyoneaccompany him, he set forth alone in his boat, sometimes leaving thecamp before noon, and usually remaining away until near nightfall. Norwould he offer any explanation, compelling his perplexed and offendedfriends to remain as content as possible with his promise that he would“reveal all in due time.”
“I’d give tut-ten dollars to know what he’s up to,” said Springer.
“So’d I—if I had ten dollars,” declared Crane.
Once Phil and Sile attempted to follow Piper with the canoe, but when hedetected them he promptly turned about and rowed straight back toPleasant Point.
“Think yeou’re smart, don’t ye?” sneered Crane, when he and Phil hadalso returned. “Yeou make me sick at the stomach.”
“It’s plain,” retorted Piper grimly, “that you need another lesson tocure you of your overweening curiosity.”
After that they ceased their efforts, Sile and Phil treating Piper withthe utmost disdain, although Grant appeared to be more or less amused;and, in his quiet way, Stone accepted it all as an entertaining joke.
One day the boys saw Piper come swiftly forth from the tent and make forhis boat, bearing the shotgun. Immediately Sile shouted:
“Hey, there! Yeou leave that gun! Yeou’ve got a crust, takin’ it withoutaskin’ leave. Drop it!”
But Sleuth hurried on, placed the gun in the boat and pushed off, payingnot the slightest heed to Crane’s commands. They watched him rowingsteadily away across the lake, heading somewhat to the south of SpiritIsland, and finally he passed from view beyond a wooded point of thefarther shore.
Keeping close to the shore after rounding the point, Sleuth plied hisoars in a gentle way, as if trying to make as little noise as possible.Presently he ran into the narrow mouth of a sluggish, boggy brook andmade a landing amid some overhanging bushes, where were to be seen markswhich seemed to indicate that this was not the first time a boat hadtouched there. Stepping ashore, he pulled the little boat up until itwas well hidden by the bushes, after which he took the gun and turnedaway. His manner, as he stole cautiously through the woods with the gunin his hands, was that of one bent upon a stealthy and dangerousmanœuvre. No scout or trapper of colonial days had ever attempted topreserve more caution in a region possibly infested by redskins.
For something like a quarter of a mile the boy made his way through thethickets, maintaining that air of extreme caution. Indeed, if possible,he became even more careful, and finally he took to creeping forward onall fours, ending with a snake-like squirm flat upon his stomach, whichbrought him to a thick cluster of bushes on the edge of a small clearingnear the lake shore. Parting the bushes gently, he thrust his head intothem and looked forth through a filmy veil of ferns into the clearing.
PARTING THE BUSHES GENTLY, HE THRUST HIS HEAD INTO THEM AND LOOKED FORTH INTO THE CLEARING. —Page 277.]
Near the shore, where there was a landing place, lay an overturnedcanoe, and from the landing a path ran up to the open door of a smalllog cabin. That there was someone within the cabin this open door seemedto denote, but from his place of concealment Piper could perceive noperson. Nevertheless, with amazing patience, Sleuth remained hiddenthere, watching and waiting, his chin upon his hands and the shotgunbeside him. Nearly an hour had passed in this manner when from the cabinthere came a spasmodic clicking sound, which caused the concealed youthto breathe a sigh of satisfaction.
“He’s there,” whispered Sleuth to himself. “I knew he must be, for thedoor is open and the canoe is in sight. He’s hammering at his oldtypewriter. It’s about time he did something else.”
But it seemed that Sleuth waited in vain for Charles Granger to doanything else. The dozy afternoon hours crept on. At times the sound ofthe typewriter would cease, only to be heard after an interval. Akingfisher, swooping along the shore, uttered a shriek and wentcareening away with a burst of mocking laughter. A chipmunk, scurryingthrough the underbrush, stopped suddenly within three feet of Piper andchallenged him with a sharp chatter. The lad remaining motionless, thelittle ground squirrel seemed both perplexed and offended, for hecontinued to squeak and chitter and flit his tail in a desperate effortto make the silent figure stir. Wearying of this at last, Sleuth turnedhis head a bit and gave a sharp hiss, whereupon, with a scream ofdelighted dismay, the squirrel fled.
The afternoon was passing. In spite of himself, Piper’s eyelids drooped.Suddenly they snapped wide open, and there before him in the doorway,leaning indolently against the casing and smoking a corncob pipe, wasMr. Granger, minus coat, vest and hat, and wearing an old pair ofslippers upon his feet. For nearly ten minutes he lounged there, gazingdreamily toward the landing, and then he turned back into the cabin anddisappeared.
“Piffle!” whispered Sleuth. “He’s not going out. Another day wasted, butI’ll foil him yet.”
He was about to retreat when a faint, far-away sound caused him to prickup his ears and remain concealed in the bushes. Someone was whistling inthe distant woods, and gradually the sound drew nearer. It was arollicking jumble of popular tunes, and after a time the whistler, a boyabout Sleuth’s age—possibly a little younger—came out by a path that ledaway from the cabin. Straight to the door the boy advanced, and there hewas met by Granger, who, like Piper, had heard the whistling.
“Here’s something for you, Mr. Granger,” said the strange boy as he drewa sealed envelope from his pocket and handed it over to the man.
“Thanks, Jack,” said Granger. “How is everything?”
“First-rate,” was the cheerful reply. “I’ve got to hustle back. Solong.”
He was off as quickly as he had come, again making the woods ring withhis whistling.
With the sealed envelope in his hand, Granger retired into the cabin.
“Piffle!” said Sleuth once more. “A returned manuscript, I suppose. Iguess this story writing is poor business, all right. No use for me towatch any more today; I’m baffled again.”
Withdrawing from the bushes, he crept away until he could rise to hisfeet and retreat fully hidden in the thickets. He seemed to be not alittle disappointed and downcast, and while returning to the boat hefailed to maintain the caution that had marked his movements at anearlier hour.
Putting the gun back into the boat, he pushed off and was soon out uponthe lake. The sun was just touching the crest of the mountains, but itsfull light still fell upon the dark, pine-covered body of Spirit Island.Involuntarily Piper rowed toward the island.
“I’d just like to land there alone and look it over again,” he muttered.“Springer thinks I wouldn’t dare. Huh! I’ve got a loaded gun, and I’dlike to see a ghost that could make me run now. By smoke! I’ve half amind to do it!”
This temptation persisted even when he had rowed close to the island,for all of the fact that he could again feel more than a touch of theawesome, scarey sensation that he had experienced during his previousvisit to that haunted spot.
“I’ll do it!” he suddenly decided, choking down the unmanning fears witha strong hand. “I’ll just land and look around a few minutes before itgets dark.”
Selecting a landing place on the eastern shore of the island, he beachedthe boat and drew it up safely. Then, with the gun in his hands and aquiver in his veins, he sought for the path that led to the hermit’shut.
Despite the fact that the sun had not yet set, that path was amazinglygloomy and dark. Piper’s hands gripped the gun almost fiercely as, withparted lips, he followed the path.
Again he took note of the seeming utter absence of life and movementupon the island, and several times he paused to listen and to peer intothe shadows on either side.
At last, however, he reached the clearing and saw the old hut standinglurch-wise beneath the taller pines. And now the sunlight just touchedthe tops of those pines, tel
ling that the sun was dropping behind themountains. Twilight would follow in a few moments, and then darknesswould gather over Spirit Island.
Piper sprang the catch of the hammerless, set his teeth and advanced,his finger on the trigger. Up to the very door of the hut he went,halting there with one ear half turned and listening, although he kepthis slantwise gaze fixed on the dim interior. He could hear it again,faint, muffled, yet regular and distinct enough—the ticking of theunseen clock!
He had even thought of stepping, alone, inside that hut, but hisresolution had been drawn upon to the limit, and he found it impossibleto carry out the design. The shadows seemed to be thickening withamazing swiftness, and, shaken by the sudden dreadful thought of nightupon that awesome island, Sleuth beat a precipitate retreat.
“What’s the use?” he whispered huskily, as he retrod the path. “I can’tfind out anything this way, and I’ve done more than any other fellow ofour bunch has dared to do. If I tell them, they’ll think I’m lying.”
The sun was gone when he reached the shore, and, arriving at the spotwhere he had left his boat, he made the disconcerting discovery thatthat likewise was gone. In the sand he could see the marks he had madewhen he drew the boat up, but, to his horror, it was not there, norcould it be seen afloat anywhere upon the lake.