CHAPTER IX.
THE CAMP IN THE WOODS.
Something over four miles from Oakdale Abel Hubbard reined his horseinto an old road which led from the main highway into the depths of thewoods. Fred and Roy, with their outfits, were in the wagon, and, thetime being short ere darkness must come on, they urged Hubbard to makehaste.
“Can’t hit any high places along this old road,” answered the fat littlevillage constable. “If I tried it, I’d bounce ye both out in no time.’Tain’t fur to the pond now, so what’s the use to be in such anall-fired rush? All I want to do is git back on to the main road beforeit sets in dark.”
“But we’ve got some things to do ourselves,” said Roy. “We’ve got tofind the old raft and have it ready for use in the morning, besidescutting firewood and getting settled down for the night.”
“That hadn’t orter take ye long. I’ll git ye there as soon’s I can. It’ssort of an accommodation, anyhow. I wouldn’t think of making both tripsfor anybody else unless they paid me twice as much.”
“You’re not very busy these days, are you, Mr. Hubbard?” asked Fred,smiling a little. “It seems to me an easy way for you to pick up adollar.”
“Oh, I could be busy,” returned the man, “if I wanted to work for LemHayden in his quarry or kilns, and I guess I could find a job in themills; but, as a regular commissioned officer, it’s my duty to beunhampered and ready for anything that may turn up. If I was workin’ andSheriff Pickle happened to need me, I’d have to knock off.”
Real work had never seemed to have much fascination for Abel Hubbard.
“Then there are plenty of jobs a man might get around Oakdale,” saidRoy. “If a stranger should show up with references, he could findsomething to do, couldn’t he?”
“Reckon he could, such as it was. I don’t cal’late them Dagoes in thequarries bring many references.”
“You haven’t seen any stranger around town recently looking for work,have you?”
“No, don’t think I have.”
“I didn’t know,” said Roy. “Last Saturday, while gunning with Fred, Imet a man who said he was in search of a job, and he asked me about thechances in town. I haven’t seen anything of him since.”
“I generally take special notice of everybody that comes inter Oakdale,”asserted Constable Hubbard. “I cal’late it’s good policy to do so. Ain’tnobody new showed up lately, so I guess your man didn’t stop aroundhere.”
“I don’t believe he did,” said Roy.
Presently they reached the old camp, from which, through the trees, theycould get a glimpse of the pond. It did not take them long to jump outand unload their belongings, which were carried into the camp, the doorbeing fastened merely by a wooden peg thrust through a staple. Hubbardbacked his wagon round, bade them good luck and drove off into theshadows which were gathering in the woods.
“Well, here we are, Roy,” said Fred.
“Yes, and it’s up to us to hustle. Let’s look for that raft while it’slight enough to find it. We can get together firewood later. Come on.”
Leaving their property in the camp, they hurried to the pond, and Hookerled the way along the marshy shore. The water-grass and rushes stoodthick and rank at this end of the lake, and soon Hooker pointed out amass of dead brush in the midst of the reeds some distance from themarshy shore.
“There’s the old blind,” he said. “You can see it is located so itcommands the cove beyond, and that’s where the ducks coming in to feedusually ’light.”
“How does a fellow get out to the blind?”
“Wade. The water won’t come up to your knees. There’s a sort of littleknoll or island out there, and the brush has been built up and woveninto the branches of an old fallen tree that may have grown on thatknoll before the water was so high. It’s a fine chance all right. Butcome on, we must dig that raft out.”
They went forward again, and suddenly, with a splash and a sound ofthrobbing wings, a small duck rose amid the rushes and went flying awayover the bosom of the lake.
“Hang it all!” exclaimed Roy in vexation. “Just look at that! If we’dbrought our guns, we might have knocked her down. That’s a young duck,or it would have flown before we got anywhere near. Young ones alwayshide if they can, until they get thoroughly used to the idea that theirwings will serve them better. We’ll get some shooting here in themorning, mark what I say.”
The raft was found where Hooker expected to find it. It was a smallaffair and would support only one of the boys, but would be sufficientfor their use in picking up such ducks as they might shoot. With theraft there was a long pole and a piece of board that had been roughlyhewn into the shape of a paddle.
When the raft was floated Roy got on it and poled it around into thelittle cove near the blind, where he succeeded in concealing it quiteeffectively amid the grass and reeds. Then he waded ashore in hiswater-tight boots without sinking nearly as much as he had thought hewould.
“That’s done,” he said. “Now we’ll get back to the camp and chop ourfirewood while we can see to do it. There are no signs to indicate thatanyone has shot from the blind this fall, and therefore the ducks oughtto come up to it without fear.”
Soon the strokes of an axe were ringing through the gloomy woods as Sageworked at the trunk of a dry fallen tree. Hooker carried the wood intothe camp and piled it beside the old stone fireplace. Sunset’s faintafterglow faded from the sky, and with gathering darkness the atmospheretook on a sharp, nipping chill, which, however, was little felt by theactive boys. Sage continued chopping, while Hooker found time betweenarmfuls to build a fire. Through the open door of the camp Fred saw thewelcoming glow of the flames, and it gave him a feeling of buoyancy, ofkeen relish, of intense satisfaction in life and the pleasures thereof.It was good to be there with his chum in those dark and silent autumnwoods, making ready to spend the night together in that old camp beforethe duck hunt that was to come in the crispness of gray dawn.
Hooker’s figure was silhouetted in the open doorway.
“I say, old man,” he called, as he came out, “there has been somebody inthis camp lately.”
“That so? I thought you said you were sure no one had used the shootingblind.”
“I am; I’ll bet on it. I looked to see, and I could tell that no one hadbeen there. They would have left tracks and marks and probably emptyshells. Whoever it was that stopped in the camp, they did not try anyshooting from the blind. And say, I’ll bet somebody was in that camplast night. I thought I caught a smell of tobacco smoke when we firstopened the door, but it was so dusky inside that I didn’t noticeanything else. There’s fresh-cut boughs in the bunk, and the ashes inthe fireplace were hardly cold. I found crumbs on the floor, too, andpart of a newspaper not quite two weeks old.”
“Then I reckon you’re right,” agreed Sage, “though I don’t quite see whyanyone should stop in the old camp this time of year, unless he camehere to shoot ducks. We’d have been in a scrape if we’d found someonehere ahead of us to-night.”
They bore the last of the wood inside and threw it down on a heapingpile beside the now merrily blazing fire, which illumined the entireinterior of the camp. Hooker had thoughtfully brought a can of waterfrom a nearby spring, and, thus prepared, they were ready to settle downto the supper of sandwiches and doughnuts put up for them by theirmothers.
Roy closed and fastened the door with the inside hasp.
“You can see,” he said, with a gesture toward the old bunk at one sideof the room, “those boughs on top are fresh cut.”
“That’s right,” nodded Sage, after examining them. “Hacked off with ajackknife, I should say, and not two days old. Well, somebody was kindenough to help make us comfortable, for, with our blankets and a firegoing, we ought to find that bunk all right to-night. I’m really muchobliged to the unknown person or persons. I presume there may have beenmore than one.”
“Here’s that part of a newspaper,” said Roy, taking i
t from the smallrough table that had been nailed against the wall opposite the bunk.“The date on it is enough to show that someone has been here lately.”
Fred took the paper and glanced at it carelessly. In a moment, however,a queer expression flashed across his face, his eyes opened wide, hislips puckered, and he gave a long, low whistle.
“What is it?” questioned the boy.
“By Jove!” muttered Sage wonderingly. And then, after a moment ofsilence, he repeated with greater emphasis: “By Jove!”
“What is it?” exclaimed Hooker.
“This paper,” answered Fred, staring at some headlines in bold-facedtype. “It’s either a part of the same one or a duplicate of an issue Isaw in the possession of Billy Piper last Saturday night.”