CHAPTER VI
JAKE WORKS HIS MINE.
"I ALLOWED you'd stop after you took time to think the matter over," chuckled Matt, when he saw the boy lift his paddle from the water and rest it across his knee. "I ain't forgot that you spoke kind words to me an' my family down there to Mount Airy when every body else was jawin' at us an' tryin' to kick us outen house an' home, an' I'd be glad to be friends with you," he added, in a more conciliatory tone. "But I ain't goin' to stand no airs of no sort. Now, come ashore so't I can talk to you."
"What do you want to say to me?" asked Tom, who could hardly refrain from yelling in the ecstasy of his rage. The man talked as though he had a perfect right to command him. "Speak out, if you have any thing on your mind. I can hear it from my canoe as well as I could ashore."
"Well, I shan't speak out, nuther," answered Matt, decidedly. "I ain't goin' to talk so't they can hear me clear up to Injun Lake. Come ashore."
Tom reluctantly obeyed; that is, he ran the bow of his canoe upon the beach, but that was as far as he would go.
"I am as near shore as I am going to get," said he, with a little show of spirit. "Now what have you to say to me? Be in a hurry, for my friends are waiting for me."
"Well, you needn't get huffy about it," replied Matt, backing toward his log and pulling his pipe from his pocket. "I can tell you in a few words what I want you to do for me, an' as for your friends, they can wait till their hurry's over. Say," added the squatter, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper, "you know I told you when I stole this here canvas canoe that I was comin' to Injun Lake to go into the business of independent guidin'. You remember that, don't you?"
"Well, what of it?" was the only response Tom deigned to make. "No matter what I remember. Go on with what you have to say to me."
"Don't get in a persp'ration," continued Matt, with the most exasperating deliberation. "Yes; that's one thing that made me take the canvas canoe—so't I could go into the business of guidin' on my own hook; but when I got here I found that the landlords wouldn't have nuthin' to do with me, an' the guests wouldn't, nuther. So I took to visitin' all the camps I could hear of, an' helpin' myself to what I could find in 'em in the way of grub, we'pons an' sich. I told you that was what I was goin' to do. You remember it, don't you?"
Tom made a gesture of impatience but said nothing.
"Yes; that's what I done, an' it wasn't long before I kicked up the biggest kind of a row up there to Injun Lake," said the squatter, pounding his knees with his clenched hands and shaking all over with suppressed merriment. "The women-folks dassent go into the woods for fear that they would run foul of me when they wasn't lookin' for it, an' some of the guests told Hanson—he's the new landlord, you know—that if he didn't have me took up an' put in jail they'd never come nigh him agin. Oh, I tell you I've done a heap since me an' you had that little talk up there to Sherwin's Pond, an' I'm goin' to do a heap more before the season's over. I said I'd bust up guidin' an' the hotels along with it, an' I'm goin' to keep my word. I'll l'arn them 'ristocrats that I'm jest as good as they ever dare be, even if I ain't got no good clothes to wear."
Tom Bigden was intensely disgusted. Matt talked to him as unreservedly as he might have talked to an accomplice. When he paused to light his pipe Tom managed to say—
"You hinted last summer that you intended to kidnap little children if you got a good chance. Have you tried it?"
"Not yet I ain't, but there's no tellin' what I may do if they don't quit crowdin' on me," replied Matt, with a grin. "That is one of the tricks I still hold in my hand. I must have money to buy grub an' things, an' since I ain't allowed to earn it honest, as I would like to do, I must get it any way I can. An' this brings me to what I want to say to you."
"I am very glad to hear it," answered Tom. "Now I hope you will hurry up. I am getting tired of listening to your senseless gabble. I am in no way interested in what you have done or what you intend to do. What do you want of me? That's all I care to know."
"Don't get in a persp'ration," said the squatter again. "Yes; I visited all the camps I could hear of, like I told you, an' among other things I took outen them camps were two scatter-guns an' a rifle. One of the scatter-guns I give up agin, an' I got ten dollars for doin' it, too."
"Well, what do I care about that?" said Tom, when Matt paused and looked at him. "I tell you I am not interested in these things. Come to the point at once."
"I'm comin' to it," answered the squatter. "I give up one of the scatter-guns, like I told you, but t'other one an' the rifle I've got yet. There's been a reward of a hundred dollars offered for them two guns—fifty dollars apiece—an' I want it."
"Then why don't you give up the guns and claim it?"
"Now, jest listen at the fule!" exclaimed Matt. "I dassent, 'cause there's been a reward of a hundred more dollars offered for the man that stole them guns. That's me. I can't go up to Injun Lake to take them guns back to the men that owns 'em, an' I'm afeared to send the boys, 'cause they would be took up the same as I would. See?"
"Yes, I see; but I don't know what you are going to do about it. You've got the guns, and if you are afraid to give them up you will have to keep them. I don't see any other way for you to do."
"I do," said Matt; and there was something in the tone of his voice that made Tom uneasy, "I don't want the guns, 'cause I can't use 'em; but I do want the money, an' that's what I am goin' to talk to you about. I want you to buy them guns—"
"Well, I shan't do it," exclaimed Tom, who was fairly staggered by this proposition. "I've got one gun, and that's all I need. Besides, I am not going to become a receiver of stolen property."
"I'll give 'em to you for twenty-five dollars apiece," continued Matt, paying no heed to the interruption, "an' you can take 'em up to Injun Lake an' claim the whole of the reward. You'll make fifty dollars by it."
"I tell you I won't do it," repeated Tom. "I'll not have any thing to do with it. I'm not going to get myself into trouble for the sake of putting money into your pocket."
"There ain't no need of your gettin' yourself into trouble less'n you want to. When you take the guns up to Hanson you can tell him that you found 'em in the bresh—that you didn't know who they belonged to, an' so you made up your decision that you had better take 'em to him. See? That'll be all fair an' squar', an' nobody will ever suspicion that I give 'em to you. Come to think on it, I won't give 'em to you," added Matt. "You hand me the twenty-five dollars apiece, an' I will tell you right where the guns is hid, an' you can go up there an' get 'em. Then when you tell Hanson that you found 'em in the bresh you will tell him nothing but the truth. What do you say?"
"I say I haven't got fifty dollars to spend in any such way," answered Tom. He wished from the bottom of his heart that he had pluck enough to defy the squatter, but he hadn't. It cut him to the quick to be obliged to sit there and hear himself addressed so familiarly by such a fellow as Matt Coyle, but he could not see any way of escape. The man had it in his power to make serious trouble for him.
"Ain't you got that much money about your good clothes?" asked Matt, incredulously.
"I haven't fifty cents to my name."
"You can't make me b'lieve that. You wouldn't come to Injun Lake without no money to pay your expenses. Don't stand to reason, that don't."
"My cousin Ralph carries the purse and foots all our bills; but he hasn't half that amount left. We are pretty near strapped and almost ready to go home."
"Well, I won't be hard on you," said Matt. "I am the accommodatin'est feller yon ever see. Go home, ask your pap for the money, an' come back an' hand it to me. That's fair, ain't it? Mount Airy is a hundred miles from Injun Lake. You oughter go an' come back in ten days. I'll give you that long. What do you say?"
"I'll think about it," replied Tom, whose sole object just then was to get out of hearing of Matt Coyle's voice. As he spoke he placed one blade of his paddle against the bottom and shoved his canoe out into deep water.
"That won't do, that won't," exclaimed Matt. "I want to know whether or not you are goin' to bring me that money."
"That depends upon whether I can get it or not."
"'Cause you needn't think you can get away from me by jest goin' up to Mount Airy," continued Matt. "There's constables up there same's there is at Injun Lake, an' a word dropped at the hatchery will reach 'em mighty easy. If you want me to be friends with you, you won't sleep sound till you bring me that fifty dollars."
"I wonder if any other living boy ever submitted so tamely to such an insult," soliloquized Tom, as he headed his canoe up the lake and paddled back toward the point. "That villain holds me completely in his power. He can disgrace me before the whole village of Mount Airy any time he sees fit to do so. The minute he is arrested and brought to trial, just that minute I am done for. If I give him fifty dollars for those guns, how much better off will I be? He will have a still firmer hold upon me. He'll rob other camps, compel me to buy his plunder by threats of exposure, and the first thing I know I shall be a professional 'fence'—receiver of stolen goods. By gracious!" exclaimed Tom, redoubling his efforts at the paddle as if he hoped to run away from the gloomy thoughts that pressed so thickly upon him. "What am I coming to? What have I come to?"
"There, now," I heard Matt mutter, as he stood with his hands on his hips, watching Tom Bigden's receding figure. "I've done two good strokes of business this morning, I've brought that feller down a peg or two, an' 1 have pervided for gettin' shet of them guns in a way I didn't look for. I thought for one spell that they wasn't goin' to be of no use to me, but now I shall make fifty dollars clean cash outen 'em. He'll bring it to me. for if he don't I'll tell on him sure, an' then he'll be in a pretty fix with all them people up there to Mount Airy knowin' to his meanness. It hurts these 'ristocrats to have a feller like me to talk to 'em as I talked to that Bigden boy; I can see that plain enough. Well, they ain't got no business to have so much money an' so many fine things, "While me an' my family is so poor that we don't know where our next pair of shoes is comin' from."
Highly pleased with the result of his interview with Tom Bigden, Matt shoved the canvas canoe into the water and pulled slowly toward the outlet, once more passing directly over Jake's silver mine. Perhaps the sunken treasure had some occult influence upon him, for he straightway dismissed Tom from his mind, and thought about Jake and the robbers and the six thousand dollars.
"Don't stand to reason that Jakey would a told me that he hadn't seen them robbers less'n he had some excuse for it," said Matt, to himself. "He did see 'em, an' I know it. He took 'em across the lake, too. He didn't do it for nothing, so he's got money. I'll speak to him about it when I get home, an' then I'll make it my business to keep an eye on him."
Having come to this determination Matt dismissed Jake as well as Tom from his thoughts, and made all haste to reach the outlet, not forgetting as he paddled swiftly along to keep a close watch of the woods on shore. Mr. Swan and a large squad of guides and constables were in there somewhere, and Matt Coyle had a wholesome fear of them. When I ran upon the beach at the head of the outlet, I was not very much surprised to see Jake step out of the bushes and come forward to meet his father. The boy must have been in great suspense all the morning, and although he was almost bursting with impatience to know whether or not his father had discovered any thing during his absence he could not muster up courage enough to ask any questions. But Matt began the conversation himself.
"Jakey," said he, reproachfully. "I didn't think you would get so low down in the world as to go an' fool your pap the way you done this mornin'. You told me you hadn't seen hide nor hair of them robbers, an' that wasn't so. You did see 'em, an' you took 'em across the lake, too. But you didn't land 'em on this side; you dumped 'em out into the water. Now how much did you get for it?"
Jake was not so much taken aback as I thought he would be. He had been expecting something of this kind and was prepared for it. He knew that his father was an adept at reading "sign," and he was as well satisfied as he wanted to be that his five dollars ferry money would never do him any good. The question was: How much more had his father learned? Did he know any thing about the silver mine? Jake didn't believe he did, else he would have been more jubilant. A man who knew where he could put his hand on six thousand dollars at any moment would not look as sober as Matt Coyle did.
"I didn't get nothin' for dumpin' on 'em out, pap," replied Jake, after a little pause. "That was somethin' I couldn't help. The night was dark, an' I didn't see the snag till I was clost onto it."
"Well, what become of the six thousand dollars they had with 'em?" inquired Matt, looking sharply at the boy, who met his gaze without flinching. "Did you see any thing of it?"
"I seen a couple of grip-sacks into their hands, but I didn't ask 'em what was in 'em," answered Jake. He looked very innocent and truthful when he said it, but his father was not deceived. He had known Jake to tell lies before.
"What become of the grip-sacks when you run onto the snag an' spilled 'em out?" asked Matt.
"They hung fast to 'em an' took 'em ashore an' into the woods where I didn't see 'em no more."
"How much did you get for takin' the robbers over the lake?"
"Jest five dollars; an' there it is," said Jake, who knew that the money would have to be produced sooner or later.
"Now jest look at the fule!" shouted Matt, going off into a sudden paroxysm of rage. "Five dollars, an' them with six thousand stolen dollars into their grip-sacks! Jake, I've the best notion in the world to cut me a hickory an' wear it out over your back."
Jake began to look wild. When his father talked that way things were getting serious.
"Hold on a minute, pap," he protested, as Matt pulled his knife from his pocket and started toward the bushes. "How was I goin' to know that they had all that money an' that it was stole from the bank? If I had knowed it, I would a taxed 'em a hundred dollars, sure; but I thought they had clothes an' things in them grip-sacks."
Matt paused, reflected a moment, and then shut up his knife and put it into his pocket.
"Why didn't you tell me that you had made five dollars by takin' 'em over 'stead of sayin' that you hadn't never seed 'em?" he demanded.
"'Cause I wanted to keep the money to get me some shoes," answered Jake, telling the truth this time. "Winter's comin' on, an' I don't want to go around with my feet in the snow, like I done last year. I'll give you half, pap, an' then you can get some shoes for yourself."
To Jake's great amazement his father replied—
"No, sonny, you keep it. You earned it, fair and squar', an' I won't take it from you. I shall make fifty dollars hard cash outen them guns we've got hid in the bresh, an' that will be enough to run me for a little while. Now take your boat to pieces an' bring him up to the house."
So saying, Matt Coyle walked off, leaving Jake lost in wonder.
"Well, this beats me," said the boy, after he had taken a minute or two to collect his wits. "Pap wouldn't take half my five dollars, an' he's found a way to make fifty dollars outen them guns I I don't b'lieve it," added Jake, his face growing white with excitement and alarm. "He's found my silver mine; that's what's the matter of him."
The contortions Jake went through when this unwelcome conviction forced itself upon him were wonderful. He strode along the beach, pulling his hair one minute and clapping his hands and jumping up and down in his tracks the next, and acting altogether as if he had taken leave of his senses. I had never before witnessed such a performance, having always been accustomed to the companionship of those who were able to control themselves, under any and all circumstances. After a little while he ceased his demonstrations, and picking me up bodily, carried me into the bushes and left me there.
"I won't take him to pieces, nuther," said Jake, aloud. "I'll leave him here so't I can get him without pap's bein' knowin' to it, an' when night comes I'll go up an' see after my silver mind. If pap has found it, he'll have to give me half of it, cash in hand, or I'll tell on him."
Although Jake really believed that his "claim" had been "jumped," he did not neglect to make preparations for working it in case he found his fears were groundless. He came back to me about the middle of the afternoon, and as he approached I saw him take a long, stout line out of his pocket. What he intended to do with it I could not tell; but I found out an hour or two afterward, for then I had a second visitor in the person of Matt Coyle, who came stealing through the bushes without causing a leaf to rustle. He stopped beside me and picked up the line.
"He didn't take the canoe to pieces an' carry him np to the house, like I told him to, an' he's stole his mam's clothes-line and brung it down here," said Matt to himself. "Now, what did he do that for? He's goin' to use 'em both to-night, Jakey is, an' what's he goin' to do with 'em? He's a mighty smart boy, but he'll find that he can't fool his pap."
The hours passed slowly away, and finally the woods were shrouded in almost impenetrable darkness. The time for action was drawing near. I waited for it impatiently, because I was sure that the temporary ownership of those six thousand dollars would be decided before morning, and I felt some curiosity to know who was going to get them. While I was thinking about it, Jake Coyle glided up and laid hold of me. In two minutes more I was in the water and making good time up the lake towards the sunken silver mine; but before I had left the woods at the head of the outlet very far behind I became aware that we were followed. I distinctly saw a light Indian Lake skiff put out from the shadow of the trees and follow silently in our wake. The boat was one of the two that had been stolen by Matt and his family on the day that Mr. Swan and his party burned their camp; and, although the night was dark, I was as certain as I could be that its solitary occupant was Matt Coyle himself. He held close in to the trees on the left hand side of the lake, and as often as Jake stopped and looked back the pursuer stopped also; and, as he took care to keep in the shadow, of course he could not be seen.
"Pap thinks he's smart," muttered Jake, after he had made a long halt and looked up and down the lake to satisfy himself that there was no one observing his movements, "an' p'raps he is, but not smart enough to get away with the whole of them six thousand. If I don't find them grip-sacks, I shall know sure enough that he's been here before me; an' if he don't hand over half of it the minute I get home I'll tell on him afore sun-up. Here I am, an' it wont take me long to see how the thing stands."
As Jake said this, he drew up alongside the snag and. dropped the anchor overboard. He must have been in a fearful state of suspense, for I could feel that he was trembling in every limb. When he came to divest himself of his clothes, preparatory to going down after the money, his hands shook so violently that he could scarcely find the few buttons that held them together. He didn't dive, for the splash could have been heard a long distance in the stillness of the night, and might have attracted somebody's attention. He made one end of the clothes-line fast to a brace, took the other in his hand, and, lowering himself gently over the stern of the canoe, drew in a long breath and sank out of sight. He was gone a full minute; but before he came to the surface I knew he had been successful in his search, for I could tell by the way the line sawed back and forth over the gunwale that he was tying it to something. An instant later his head bobbed up close alongside, and then Jake essayed the somewhat difficult task of clambering back into the canoe. Being a remarkably active young fellow, he accomplished it with much more ease than I expected; and no sooner had he gained his feet than he began hauling in on the line with almost frantic haste.
"I've got one of 'em I I've got one of 'em!" he kept on saying over and over again; and a second afterward one of the little valises was whipped out of the water and deposited on the bottom of the canoe. "Pap didn't find my silver mind, like I was afeard of, an' it's mine, all mine. I'm rich."
Forgetting where he was in the excess of his glee, Jake jumped up and knocked his heels together; but when he came down I wasn't there to meet him. He gave me a shove that sent me to one side, and Jake disappeared in the water. He was greatly alarmed by the noise he made, and during the next five minutes remained perfectly motionless. Supporting himself by holding fast to the anchor rope, he waited and listened. He was so quiet that he scarcely seemed to breathe; and all this while an equally motionless and silent figure sat in the skiff, not more than fifty yards away, taking note of every thing that happened in the vicinity of the snag.
The deep silence that brooded over the lake deceived Jake, and he made ready to go down after the rest of the money. He was not out of sight more than half a minute, and again the sawing of the line told me that he had found the object of his search. There was another short, frantic struggle to get into the canoe, a hasty pull at the rope, and the second valise was jerked out of the water and placed safely beside its companion. Jake Coyle had worked his silver mine to some purpose.