

E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rick Morris, Rod Crawford, Dave
Morgan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations.
      See 50792-h.htm or 50792-h.zip:
      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50792/50792-h/50792-h.htm)
      or
      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50792/50792-h.zip)


Transcriber’s note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals.





[Illustration:

  “POINT, ROY—POINT!” CALLED SAGE, SOFTLY.—Page 11.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------


THE GREAT OAKDALE MYSTERY

by

MORGAN SCOTT

Author of “Ben Stone at Oakdale,” “Boys of Oakdale
Academy,” “Rival Pitchers of Oakdale,”
“Oakdale Boys in Camp,” etc.







[Illustration]

New York
Hurst & Company
Publishers

Copyright, 1912,
By
Hurst & Company

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                CONTENTS


            CHAPTER                                      PAGE
                 I. THE HUNTERS                             5
                II. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER                17
               III. THE HOME OF THE SAGES                  28
                IV. A MAN “WANTED”                         40
                 V. BY THE LIGHT FROM THE WINDOW           54
                VI. CAPTAIN QUINN’S MONKEY                 68
               VII. ANNOYING ATTENTIONS                    79
              VIII. HOOKER HAS A PLAN                      89
                IX. THE CAMP IN THE WOODS                  99
                 X. A PERPLEXING QUESTION                 109
                XI. THE HIDDEN SPORTSMEN                  118
               XII. DISAPPOINTED DUCK HUNTERS             132
              XIII. THE TARDY QUARTERBACK                 141
               XIV. THE FIRST QUARTER                     151
                XV. THE PLAYER WHO BLUNDERED              159
               XVI. REMARKABLE BEHAVIOR OF SAGE           169
              XVII. WORK OF THE YOUNG DETECTIVE           176
             XVIII. SLEUTH’S ASTONISHING THEORY           187
               XIX. THE NIGHT ALARM                       197
                XX. IN THE BANK                           204
               XXI. WHAT SLEUTH LEARNED                   213
              XXII. FOLLOWING THE TRAIL                   222
             XXIII. THE CAPTURE                           235
              XXIV. SUSPICION                             245
               XXV. THE BOY WHO ACTED GUILTY              255
              XXVI. ANOTHER CAPTURE                       265
             XXVII. THE TWO PRISONERS                     271
            XXVIII. THE SHREDS OF HOPE                    279
              XXIX. A CONCESSION FROM SLEUTH              291
               XXX. THE TRUTH AT LAST                     301

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                             ILLUSTRATIONS

                             --------------


        “Point, Roy—point!” called Sage softly.   _Frontispiece_

                                                            PAGE

        Aaron Quinn hobbled back toward the hut,
        carrying the monkey.                                  74

        The fullback came charging across,
        forcing Rodney toward the side line.                 156

        “Here he is! Come on; we’ve got him!”                242

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                       The Great Oakdale Mystery.




                               CHAPTER I.

                              THE HUNTERS.


Two boys, each carrying a gun, came out of a strip of woods and paused.
They were followed by a short-haired pointer dog. One of the boys, whose
gun was a single-barreled repeater, bore a game-bag suspended from his
shoulder by a strap, and he spoke to the dog with an air of authority
that proclaimed him the animal’s master. He was a pleasant-faced,
blue-eyed chap, and his name was Fred Sage.

The gun of the other boy was a double-barreled hammerless. The boy had a
slightly undershot jaw, and his eyes were a trifle too small. This was
Roy Hooker. During the months of the past summer these two fellows had
become exceedingly friendly.

“There are the Hopkins woodcock covers down yonder, Fred,” said Roy,
pointing across the open strip of pasture land. “Old Hopkins doesn’t
like to have anyone gun there, but I’m for giving those covers a try, as
long as he will probably never know it.”

“Has he posted ‘No Trespass’ signs?” asked Sage.

“Guess not; I haven’t seen any. He doesn’t do any shooting himself, but
being a cranky old bear, he doesn’t like to have anyone else gun on his
property.”

“Well, as long as there are no warnings posted and he hasn’t personally
notified us to keep off, we’ll see if we can find any birds there. The
covers look attractive to me. Here, Spot; heel, sir.”

With the first indication that the boys intended to proceed, the eager
dog had started forward, but he turned at the command of his master and
once more fell in behind.

The forenoon of this clear, sunny autumn day was not far advanced, the
young hunters having set forth shortly after breakfast. Although the air
was clear and almost warm, there was a certain suggestion of crispness
in it, which, together with the flaming leaves of the deciduous trees,
plainly betokened that the early autumn frosts had been at work. The
stubble of the open pasture land was brown and dry. Behind the boys, in
the woods they had just left, squirrels were chattering and bluejays
screaming, but Fred and Roy were after bigger and more legitimate game.
Thus far their hunt had proved disappointing.

“If we don’t find anything down yonder,” said Hooker, “I’ll get mad and
shoot the next squirrel that barks at me. I was tempted to pop over one
big gray fellow that leered at me from a limb.”

“You don’t eat squirrels, do you?”

“Oh, no.”

“What would you do with them if you should shoot ’em?”

“Nothing; just throw them away.”

“Then don’t shoot them, Roy. It’s not good sport to kill practically
harmless creatures simply for the sake of killing something. I’d rather
never shoot anything at all than do that.”

“Oh, you’re deucedly finicky about some things, old fellow. You won’t
have many chances to gun this fall, for football is going to keep you
busy. When I proposed it last night I hardly thought I’d get you out
to-day.”

“And I came out with the understanding that we are to get back in time
for practice this afternoon. Next Saturday, a week from to-day, the team
plays its first game.”

“And will be beautifully beaten,” prophesied Hooker.

“What makes you think so?”

“Why shouldn’t I think so? The eleven is going to be weak this year.
With Roger Eliot for captain, it made an unexpected success last fall;
but Eliot is gone, and Stone, who was chosen to follow him as captain,
never can be such a crafty, far-sighted general. The team was weakened
fifty per cent by the loss of Eliot.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” admitted Sage; “but you seem to forget that we
ought to receive some strength from the development of new players. For
instance, there’s that fellow from Texas, Rodney Grant——”

“Oh, yes,” nodded Roy quickly, “I suppose he’ll help some, but it takes
time to make a football player, and Grant has had little experience at
the game. Stone realizes he’s going to be shy of material, and he’s
coaxing everybody to come out for practice. He’s been at me.”

“You’re going to come out, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. Never did care a great deal about football. You know it’s
my ambition to be a baseball pitcher, and a fellow can’t do everything.”

“Baseball is over now, and there’ll be no more until next spring. For
the good of the team you ought to take hold and do your best to become a
player and fill one of the weak spots.”

“And maybe get a broken leg or arm or collar-bone to set me back. A
baseball player is taking chances when he goes in for football.”

“But if none of our ball players went in for football,” reminded Sage,
“we’d have no eleven. Our school isn’t big enough for the two teams to
be made up of distinct and independent bodies of players. You’re quick,
active and strong, Roy, and, if you choose to take hold and work hard,
it seems to me you might become one of the valuable members of the
eleven.”

“Oh, possibly,” admitted Hooker, attempting to conceal the fact that he
was somewhat flattered. “I fancy I could do as well as some other
fellows, Piper, Cooper or Tuttle, for instance. In a way they are mere
makeshifts; none of them is a bang-up good football man.”

By this time they had crossed the pasture land and reached the edge of
the covers, the dog betraying a restless desire to get to work. Sage
permitted the animal to go forward, directing his movements now and then
by a word of command, and, with the guns held ready for quick use, the
young hunters advanced slowly, keeping their eyes on the pointer the
most of the time. They separated somewhat and went forward with the dog
at the apex of an imaginary triangle. Nearly all the time the boys could
see each other through the scrub growth, which made it unlikely that
either would place his friend in danger by careless shooting.

Moving hither and thither, sniffing, pausing, advancing, every hunting
instinct alert, the dog did his work beautifully. Suddenly, with one
foot uplifted, tail horizontal and rigid and muzzle thrust forward, the
pointer became a statue of stone. Directly ahead of him, a few feet
away, was a thick cluster of low bushes.

“Point, Roy—point!” called Sage softly, his repeater held in both hands
and half lifted, ready for a quick shot.

Immediately Hooker swerved toward the dog and advanced as swiftly and
noiselessly as possible, in order to obtain a position for a shot when
the bird should flush. Reaching a favorable spot, he placed himself in
position to shoot and waited for the rise.

The seconds passed slowly—so slowly that to the anxious boys they seemed
more like minutes. A chickadee flitted through the bushes, lighted on a
branch within five feet of Roy, performed some surprising horizontal bar
evolutions and applauded himself in a ludicrously hoarse voice.
Something rustled at a distance, like a creature running swiftly along
the ground. Far away, so far that it was but faintly heard, the gun of
some other hunter spoke.

With a sudden whirr of wings a woodcock rose straight up from the
further side of the cluster of bushes. The butt of Sage’s gun came to
his shoulder, his eye caught the sights, and he fired.

Hooker was a trifle slower, but ere Sage, realizing that he had shot too
quickly and therefore made a miss, could fire again, Roy’s weapon spoke.

Down came the bird into the midst of the thicket.

“Good work, old man,” cried Fred approvingly. “You got him. I shot
under; didn’t wait for him to make his full rise. Go fetch, Spot.”

The dog, released from the spell that had chained him motionless,
plunged forward, sniffing around in search of the bird. In a few moments
he brought the dead woodcock and placed it at his master’s feet.

“A plump fellow,” laughed Sage, holding the kill up for the other lad to
see. “That’s the first blood for you, Roy. Shall I put it in my bag?”

“Sure; I haven’t any. There’s likely more of them near by.”

There were more, and Sage evened things up by bringing down the next
one. After this both boys missed a shot, and, though they had tried to
“mark” their birds when they lighted, they beat back and forth for more
than half an hour without getting another flush.

“Come on,” said Roy at last; “I’m tired of this. There’s some good
partridge timber near by, and I’d rather shoot one partridge than half a
dozen woodcock.”

“Every fellow to his taste,” laughed Sage. “I prefer the sport of
woodcock shooting, and I certainly hate to leave without getting either
of those two birds up again.”

He yielded, however, to Hooker’s urging, and they left the low covers
for the adjacent timber, in which partridges might be found.

The partridges were there, too. Roy put one up almost beneath his feet,
but the timber was so thick at that point that he could not get even a
chance shot with the slightest hope of success. While he was grumbling
over this, Spot made a point and the partridge rose with a booming of
wings before Sage could give his companion warning.

Fred fired.

“Did you get her?” called Hooker.

“I think I hit her,” was the answer. “I saw her go down. Come, Spot, we
must dig that bird out.”

Hooker started to follow, but had not advanced thirty feet before still
another partridge rose and went sailing away in another direction. This
time Roy fired, but he did so under such a disadvantage and with so much
haste that he had little hope of bringing down the game.

“Confound it!” he muttered. “Are all these birds going to get away?”

For a full minute he stood still in his tracks, peering into the woods
on all sides and listening keenly. Then he removed the empty shell from
his gun and slipped a loaded one into place.

“I’m going to follow that old bird I banged at,” he decided. “I don’t
believe she went beyond the road that runs through these woods. If I can
get her without the assistance of the dog, it will be a trick worth
turning.”

Having hurried after the partridge until he fancied he had reached a
point where the bird might have alighted, he began creeping forward with
the utmost caution, pausing every few yards to listen and use his eyes.
Once an acorn, clipping down through the leaves and striking the ground,
gave him a start, but it seemed that the partridge had flown farther
than he thought, for presently, without again sighting the game, he
approached the road. A short distance from the highway he stopped in his
tracks and flung the gun to his shoulder, the barrel levelled toward
some roadside bushes, near which he had heard a slight noise.

Beyond the bushes a man rose into view from a stone on which he had been
seated, and found himself looking straight into the muzzle of Hooker’s
gun.




                              CHAPTER II.

                        THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.


Roy was tremendously startled. The gun had an easy pull, and his bent
finger was gently touching the trigger, yet so astonished was he by the
unexpected appearance of the man that for some moments he stood rigid
with the weapon leveled at the stranger’s head.

On the other hand, the man was no less dismayed. Not more than
twenty-six or seven years of age, he was somewhat roughly dressed and
decidedly in need of a shave. His eyes opened wide at sight of the
threatening weapon, and a wave of pallor swept over his bronzed face.
Not a word escaped his parted lips.

Presently, with a catch of his breath, Hooker lowered the gun.

“By Jove!” he cried, with a touch of resentment. “You came near getting
shot, bobbing up that fashion from behind those bushes.”

No longer menaced by the gun, the stranger seemed greatly relieved.
Gradually the color returned to his face, and, his eyes searching the
young hunter keenly, he gave a short, nervous laugh.

“It’s pretty serious,” he said, “when a chap can’t sit down by the
roadside to rest without being in danger of getting himself peppered
from a shotgun. You should make sure of the kind of game you’re banging
at, before you fire.”

“If I hadn’t done so,” returned Hooker, still feeling slightly
resentful, “I’d probably blown your head off. I was following a
partridge. Did you see one fly across the road a short time ago?”

“No, I didn’t; but I haven’t been here more than four or five
minutes—perhaps not that long.”

The man had a pleasant, agreeable face, and Hooker thought that, were he
shaved and better dressed, he would be a rather good-looking chap.
Apparently he had not wholly recovered from the start which the sight of
the armed boy had given him, for he was still a bit nervous and uneasy.

“Maybe,” said Roy, “it took me longer than I thought to follow that old
bird to this point. Perhaps she flew across the road before you came
along.”

“Are you alone?” asked the man.

“I’m with a friend. He’s back in the woods somewhere with his dog.”

“Of course you live near here?”

“Yes, in Oakdale.”

The man seemed interested. “Oakdale; that’s a small town near by, isn’t
it?”

“You must be a total stranger in these parts,” said Roy, as he stepped
out into the road. “Oakdale is not more than three or four miles from
here. It’s a country village.” He was wondering if the man could be a
tramp, but closer inspection made this seem quite improbable, despite
the stranger’s rough clothes and somewhat shabby appearance.

“No, I don’t belong around here,” said the man. “I’m looking for work.
Anything a fellow can do in Oakdale?”

“I don’t know about that, but I presume one could find some sort of work
if he wasn’t too particular. There are two mills and some lime quarries,
but the men who work in the quarries are mostly foreigners. What are
your special qualifications?”

“I haven’t any,” was the frank confession. “I’m ready to do any sort of
work to earn an honest living.”

“In that case, it shouldn’t be hard for you to find something.”

“It’s not as easy as you might think. You see, employers usually like to
know something about the workmen they engage, and they are apt to be
suspicious of a total stranger who looks a bit rough and down in his
luck.”

“Of course you’re ready to tell anyone about yourself and give
references?”

The young man shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t happen to have any
references,” he answered. “Of course I can answer questions about
myself, but who would know I wasn’t lying?”

“If you stated your last place of employment, it would be a simple
matter to investigate your story.”

Again that quick shrugging of the shoulders. “Yes, but supposing that,
for reasons of my own, I didn’t care to tell where I’ve been employed?”

“Reasons? What sort of reasons could you have, unless——”

“It might be the case, you know, that I had had trouble with my former
employer. Perhaps,” he went on hastily, “we quarreled over something for
which I was not at all to blame, and that quarrel led to my leaving
without giving due notice. You see, that would deprive me of references
and would make it impossible for me to hope for any benefit by stating
where and for whom I had worked.”

“Yes, I see,” nodded Hooker slowly. “That would put you in bad. In such
a case, unless someone was in great need of a man, I doubt if you could
find employment.”

The stranger made a quick gesture with one hand.

“There you are,” he said; “or rather, there I am. Until you get up
against it yourself, you’ll not be able to understand such a
predicament, and I hope you’ll never have the misfortune to face such a
situation.”

Now Hooker had been led to believe that the misfortunes which usually
befall a person, barring ill health, were almost always the result of
incompetence, carelessness or dishonesty, and the fact that this
stranger was wholly indisposed to make known his past history led the
boy to regard him with doubt and suspicion. Perhaps the man understood
something of what was passing in Roy’s mind, for suddenly he said:

“You can see how it is; even you would hesitate about giving me work.
That’s the way with everybody. They demand to know a person’s past; they
want to pry into his private affairs. But I tell you,” he added, a
trifle bitterly, “I feel that it’s none of their business, and I resent
their impertinence. The man who gives me a job at which I can earn an
honest living will find me ready to do my work, and do it well. Why
should he insist on probing private matters concerning me, any more than
I should demand to know about his personal history? In fact, in many
cases it would be to the advantage of the laborer if his employer were
compelled to lay bare such secrets. A great many would be shown up as
grinders of the poor, bloodsuckers living and growing fat upon the
life-toll of others, unfeeling despots paying their workmen a mere
pittance while they piled up riches by what those workmen produced. And
some would be branded as dishonest rascals from whom their neighbors
would shrink in abhorrence.”

“Jingoes!” exclaimed Hooker, fancying himself enlightened by the
vehement words of the stranger. “I guess I know what’s the matter with
you. You must be a Socialist.”

The man laughed. “That’s the usual term applied in these days to those
who have courage enough to question the honesty and fair dealing of a
certain greedy, selfish brand of employers. But I’m not claiming that
all employers are of that sort. If they were, conditions in this country
would be desperate indeed. But what’s the use in talking to you of such
things; you’re simply a boy, and at your age problems of that nature had
never troubled me for a moment. At your age,” he continued, something
like a dreamy look of sadness creeping into his blue eyes, “I was as
carefree and thoughtless as you are to-day. I’d give a great deal if it
were possible for me to go back to that time.”

This statement served to convince Hooker that the stranger was carrying
a secret locked in his heart, and that the secret was one which gave him
no small amount of regret and remorse. Otherwise, why should a man in
the very prime of his youth and vigor, a time to which Roy looked
forward with eager anticipation, desire to blot out a portion of his
life that he might return to the days of his boyhood?

The sad and dreamy look was gone in a moment, and the stranger asked:

“Have you lived long in Oakdale?”

“Brought up there,” answered Hooker.

“Then I presume you know nearly everyone in town?”

“Sure. In a little place like that everybody knows everybody else.”

The man’s next question gave the lad a start: “Do you know any people by
the name of Sage?”

“What? Sage? I should say so!”

“Ah!” breathed the man. “There is a family by that name in Oakdale?”

“Yes.”

“How long have they been there?”

“Let me see. About three years, I think.”

“Where did they come from? Do you know?”

“Not exactly, though I believe they came from somewhere in New York
State. Why, Fred Sage is my chum.”

“Oh, is he?” The stranger’s eyes were now bright with interest and his
manner eager.

“You bet he is,” nodded Roy. “He’s a fine chap, too. We’re gunning
together to-day. He’s the fellow I spoke of. I left him back yonder with
his dog. Do you know the Sages? If you do, perhaps they might give you a
recommendation that would help you get work.”

At this moment the report of a gun, only a short distance away, rang
through the woods.

“That’s Fred—that’s him now,” cried Hooker. “I’ll bet he bagged that old
biddy.” Then he lifted his voice and shouted: “Hey, Fred! Here I am, out
in the road. Did you get anything?”

“I didn’t miss that time,” came back the triumphant answer. “It’s a
partridge.”

“The one I was after, I reckon,” said Roy, with a touch of chagrin. “She
must have run on the ground so that I lost track of her. Here comes Fred
now.”

There was a sound of someone pushing through the underbrush, and Roy,
facing the woods, waited for his chum to appear. In a few moments,
followed by the dog, Sage came out of the woods, triumphantly holding
aloft a dead partridge.

“The other one fooled me and I lost her,” he said; “but I got a good
open chance at this old biddy. She didn’t get away.”

“She got away from me,” said Roy. “I’m sure that’s the one I chased, but
she gave me the slip all right. I was so hot after her that I came near
shooting——”

He stopped abruptly, his mouth open as he looked around for the
mysterious stranger. To his astonishment, the man had disappeared.




                              CHAPTER III.

                         THE HOME OF THE SAGES.


“Well, what do you know about that?” muttered Hooker wonderingly. “He’s
gone.”

“Who?” questioned Fred, reaching the road.

“The man—the man I was talking with. He was sitting right here on this
stone when I came sneaking down through the woods, and I almost shot his
head off. He rose up into view just in time. Where the dickens has he
gone?”

In both directions a strip of road lay in plain view, but, save
themselves, there was no human being to be seen upon it.

“When did he go?” questioned Sage.

“After you fired; while I was watching for you to come out of the woods.
He was right here within five feet of me. I can’t understand how he got
away so quickly without my knowing it. He must have put off into the
woods on the other side.”

“What made him do that?”

“You’ve got me. He was a stranger around these parts, and said he was
looking for work. There was something queer about him, too. He was a
good, healthy looking specimen, and he didn’t seem like a hobo, though
his clothes were rather rough. He talked like an educated man. Say,
Fred, he asked about you.”

“About _me_?” exclaimed Sage in surprise. “Why, how was that?”

“Don’t know. He asked if there was a family by the name of Sage in
Oakdale and how long they had been there. He must be someone who knows
you, Fred.”

“Describe him.”

Roy did so as well as he was able, but his friend did not seem at all
enlightened.

“I can’t imagine who he was,” said Fred. “The description doesn’t seem
to fit anyone I know. Did he give his name?”

“No; I forgot to ask it. He talked like a Socialist or an Anarchist,
although he didn’t look to be a very desperate character. And he seemed
nervous and troubled about something or other, but perhaps that was
because he fancied he had come so near getting himself shot. When he saw
me, with the gun leveled straight at him, he turned pale.”

“I don’t wonder,” said Fred, with a laugh. “It was enough to give anyone
a start. I don’t see what made him run away, and I wish he’d waited
until I could have taken a look at him.”

“Perhaps he was somebody who knew you before you came to Oakdale.”

Sage frowned a bit. “It doesn’t seem likely, and yet, of course, it may
be so. Well, we can’t fret ourselves about him. Let’s go on with the
hunt. Spot is getting restless.”

For some time the pointer had been running back and forth in the road,
turning at intervals to gaze inquiringly at his master and whine
beseechingly. Apparently the dog was wondering why the boys should
linger there, with the woods all about them and their success thus far
giving ample evidence that there was plenty of game to be had for the
hunting.

Absorbed once more in the search for birds, both lads seemingly
dismissed all thoughts of the stranger and his puzzling behavior; but,
had he possessed the faculty of reading his companion’s mind, Hooker
would have been surprised to discover that, far from dismissing such
thoughts, Sage was not a little troubled by them. Indeed, so deeply
plunged was he in mental speculations that he failed to note when the
dog next made a point, and he flushed the bird unexpectedly by the
careless manner in which he stumbled forward through the underbrush.
Taken thus unawares, he could not recover his self-possession in time to
shoot, and, Hooker being in no position to fire, the game got away
untouched, not a little to the disgust of Spot.

“What’s the matter with you, Fred?” called Roy sharply. “You almost
stepped on that one. Didn’t you see Spot point?”

“No,” was the regretful confession, “I didn’t notice it.”

“I started to call to you, but I thought you knew your business and were
ready to pepper away when the bird flushed.”

Later, when they ran into a covey of woodcock, Fred was astonishingly
slow about shooting, and Hooker brought down two birds to his one, which
seemed rather remarkable, as Sage was much the better wing shot. It was
Fred, too, who, seeming the first to tire of the sport, finally proposed
that they should go home.

“There’s time enough,” objected Roy. “Practice doesn’t begin until three
o’clock, and it’s not yet noon.”

“But I’ll need to rest up a bit after this tramp. I’ve got enough,
anyhow.”

On the way back to the village Sage suddenly asked Hooker once more to
describe the stranger, and when Roy had complied he again asserted that
he had not the least idea as to the man’s identity.

It was nearly one o’clock when Sage reached his home, a comfortable,
well-kept story-and-a-half house on the outskirts of the village, but he
found that his mother had kept dinner waiting for him, for which he
scolded her in a laughing fashion.

“No need to put yourself to so much trouble, mother,” he said. “I could
have done just as well with a cold lunch from the pantry.”

“It was no trouble, my boy,” she replied, affection in her tone and in
the glance she gave him. “We knew you would be home, for you said there
was to be football practice this afternoon, and it was your father who
suggested that we should wait for you.”

She was not an old woman, but her hair was snowy white, and there was
something in her face and the depths of her gentle eyes which indicated
that her life had not been wholly free from care and sorrow.

Fred’s father, who had been reading in the sitting-room, put aside his
newspaper and came into the dining-room, rubbing his hands together as
he peered at the boy over the gold-bowed spectacles that clung to his
nose.

“Well, what luck, young man?” he asked. “Did you find any shooting worth
while?”

“We got seven woodcock and three partridges,” answered Fred; “but Roy
shot the most of them, though he insisted on dividing them. I made him
take the odd partridge, though, keeping only one for mother, as she
doesn’t care for woodcock.”

“H’m!” nodded Andrew Sage slowly. “How did you happen to let him
outshoot you, Fred? With that new gun of yours, I thought you’d make a
record. Doesn’t it shoot as well as you expected?”

“Oh, the gun is all right. I suppose I was a bit off form.”

He was on the point of telling them of the unknown man who had
questioned Hooker about the Sages living in Oakdale and then run away in
such a perplexing manner on Fred’s approach, but something seemed to
caution him to remain silent, and he did so.

Like Roy Hooker, the people of Oakdale knew little about the Sages, save
that they had lived in the place for three years having moved there from
some distant state. Andrew Sage was a man nearly sixty years of age,
with the speech and bearing of a person of education and refinement. He
had purchased a tiny farm of some twenty acres, the buildings of which
were promptly repaired, remodelled within and thoroughly painted. The
grounds in the vicinity of the buildings were cleared and graded, with
the exception of a picket-fenced front yard, where an old-fashioned
flower garden had been choked out by weeds. Of course the fence was
straightened up, repaired and given several coats of paint, and the
flower garden was restored to its former state of blooming fragrance and
beauty; but this work was done at the direction of Mrs. Sage, who seemed
to find in that garden something to occupy her mind and give her many
hours of pleasure. Her knowledge of flowers and their proper care was
much superior to the knowledge displayed by her husband in the vegetable
garden, which he planted and attended. The neighbors often remarked that
it was plain enough that Andrew Sage had never turned his hand to such
labor before coming to Oakdale.

That the Sages possessed an income sufficient to support them modestly
was likewise evident, for they lived comfortably and paid their bills
promptly, although Mr. Sage worked upon his own property only, and, as
conducted, that brought in practically no revenue whatever.

The little household was held together by strong bands of understanding
and affection which would have been apparent enough to anyone who could
have watched them this day at their belated dinner. Into their pleasant
conversation there entered no jarring note, and their thoughtfulness and
consideration for one another was of the finest sort. The atmosphere of
that home was truly such as it should be, comfortable, homelike, fraught
with an indescribable something that always makes such a place the
best-loved spot on earth.

It was natural that Fred’s mother should speak of football and its
dangers and express her regret that he should care to take part in such
sport. And in supporting Fred’s arguments in favor of the game, it was
diplomatic of his father to seem, in a way, to favor both sides of the
question, while all the time he was cleverly reassuring the apprehensive
woman. Andrew Sage’s skill in this form of controversy not only made it
much easier for Fred, but checked, in a great measure, the worriment of
the boy’s mother.

When he reached the football field that afternoon Fred found Roy Hooker
telling a group of boys about the encounter with the mysterious
stranger. Of those boys Billy Piper, familiarly known as “Sleuth” on
account of his yearning desire to emulate the feats of detective heroes
of fiction, appeared to be the most deeply interested. The others showed
a disposition to treat the affair as something of minor importance or no
importance whatever.

“Through what I can gather from your statements, Hooker,” said Sleuth,
“I am led to infer that this unknown party may have been a red-handed
criminal fleeing from justice. Or, perchance, to look at the matter in
another light, he was a person deeply wronged, seeking to visit
retribution on the head of one who had injured him. I say, Sage,” he
called, catching sight of Fred, “have you any reason to suppose that you
or any of your immediate relatives may have a bitter and remorseless
enemy who seeks reprisal for some fancied injury in the dark and buried
years of the past?”

“As far as I know,” answered Fred, “we have not an enemy in the world.”

“And you haven’t a notion as to the identity of the mysterious stranger
who made inquiries about you and then ran away before you could get a
look at him?”

“Not the remotest idea.”

“Hah!” breathed Piper in deep satisfaction. “The plot thickens. I scent
a mystery of deep and terrible significance. The clues are faint indeed,
but they shall not baffle me. If this unknown stranger lingers in the
vicinity of Oakdale, I’ll yet lay bare his foul designs and foil him in
his fell purpose.”

“Oh, slush!” cried Phil Springer. “You’ve got another bad attack, Pipe.
You bub-better forget it. Here comes Stoney. Let’s start practice,
fellows.”

The group dissolved, leaving Piper, his arms folded, his eyes fixed upon
the ground, in profound meditation.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                            A MAN “WANTED.”


Captain Stone, who seemed to be amazingly conversant with the new
football rules, which of late he had studied faithfully during all his
spare moments, tried hard to impart an understanding of them to the
other boys, the most of whom were eager to learn, their willingness
keeping them at practice until the gathering darkness finally forced
them to stop.

Upon the occasion of his son leaving Oakdale Academy for the purpose of
taking a final college preparatory year in one of the leading prep
schools of the country, Urian Eliot had contributed five hundred dollars
for the purpose of carrying out a plan for certain improvements of the
Oakdale gymnasium. These improvements had been made, and now in one end
of the former bowling alley there were heated dressing rooms and a
number of shower baths. This made it possible for the boys to take their
showers after practice or games, and then rub down and dress in comfort.

Hurrying to the gym, Fred Sage lost no time in stripping off his soiled
and sweaty football clothes and making a dive for one of the shower
compartments. The rooms resounded with the voices of the boys, and from
some of the showers rose whoops and boos and strange gasps mingling with
the hissing rush and drip of water.

“Hey, there, Cooper!” called a voice. “What are you doing? Turn on the
cold. You’ll parboil yourself in a minute. Look, fellers—look a’ the
steam coming out of Chipper’s cell!”

“Aw, go on and mind your business,” came from the steaming compartment.
“I always start with it warm and turn off the hot gradually till it’s
cold enough to suit me.”

“And that’s abaout cold enough to bile aigs,” chuckled Sile Crane, a
lanky country boy who talked through his nose. “Hurry up there, Chipper,
and give a feller a chance. Tuttle’s treatin’ on peanuts, and you won’t
git none if you don’t git a move on.”

“Somebody can have my place,” said Sage, as he shot out of the
compartment, dripping icy water from every part of his shining body.
“Where’s my towel? I left it right here. Somebody has swiped my towel.”

In a moment he had found the towel and was using it vigorously. A
thorough scrubbing set his firm flesh aglow, and he jumped into his
clothes feeling as fresh and vigorous as if he had not tramped the
forenoon through, carrying a gun, and followed that up by an afternoon
of strenuous football practice. He was almost fully dressed when he
observed Sleuth Piper, still adorned in football togs, standing a short
distance away and regarding him through half closed lids. In some story
Sleuth had read that whenever he wished to concentrate his mind on any
perplexing problem the hero of the yarn always gazed fixedly at some
object through partly closed eyelids.

“Hi, there, Pipe!” called Fred sharply. “Going to sleep? Wake up. Going
to wear those rags the rest of the evening?”

“Hush!” said Piper, frowning and lifting a reproving hand. “Don’t
interrupt me that way when my mind is at work upon a problem.”

“Forget it,” advised Fred. “You’ll be late for supper. Cæsar’s ghost!
but _I’m_ as hungry as a bear.”

He was the first one to leave the gymnasium, and he strode away
whistling. In a few moments, however, he ceased to whistle and proceeded
with his head slightly bent and his hands sunk deep in his pockets.
Finally, with a shake of his shoulders, he tossed back his head,
muttering:

“Confound Sleuth, anyhow! He’s always trying to make a deep, dark
mystery out of any unusual occurrence. It was _queer_ that the man
should ask about the Sages and then run away when he knew I was coming,
but it isn’t likely he’ll ever be seen again by anyone around here, so
what’s the use for me to addle my brains over it?”

Truly, Fred seemed “hungry as a bear,” and the manner in which he swept
the food from the supper table made his mother gasp and caused his
father to chuckle.

“One thing about football,” said Mr. Sage, “boys who play the game
aren’t apt to be finicky about their food. How did you get along at the
field this afternoon, son?”

“First-rate, everything considered. Of course the new rules are going to
bother us a little, but Stone seems wise to them, and I fancy he’ll be
able to do pretty well with the team, though of course we’re going to
miss Eliot.”

“A fine boy, Roger Eliot,” nodded Andrew Sage.

“Sure thing,” agreed Fred instantly; “and his father comes pretty near
being the real thing, too. When we first came to Oakdale people were
saying that Urian Eliot was cold and close-fisted, but look what he did
for the school. We’ve got a new gym now, heated and lighted and fitted
out with shower baths, like a first-class place. I tell you, the fellows
take off their hats to Mr. Eliot these days.”

“Oakdale people are just beginning to realize that Eliot has done a
great deal for the town,” said Mr. Sage. “He’s one of our solid,
reliable citizens. Only for him, we’d still be without a bank.”

After supper Andrew Sage lighted his pipe, and Fred, feeling no desire
to go out, settled down to a book before the comfortable open fire in
the sitting-room.

An hour had not passed when there came a ring at the door-bell, and Fred
himself rose at once to answer. On the steps stood a dark figure with
coat collar upturned and cap pulled well down. Blinded a little by the
sudden change from light to darkness, the boy failed to recognize the
caller.

“Good evening,” he said.

“’St!” came back a sibilant hiss. “It’s me, Piper. Why don’t you ask a
feller in? Almost cold enough to freeze to-night.”

“Oh, come in, Sleuth,” was the invitation, and the visitor lost no time
in stepping out of the chilly wind that swept round the corner of the
house.

“What brings you up here at this hour?” questioned Fred.

“Hush! I’m doing my duty. I’m gathering up the scattered threads one by
one. The skein shall be untangled.”

Piper was known to Mr. and Mrs. Sage, who spoke to him pleasantly,
although both were somewhat surprised by this, his first, visit to their
home. Having removed his cap and jammed it into the side pocket of his
coat, Sleuth deported himself in his usual mysterious manner when
“investigating,” and suddenly the other boy began to fear that he would
speak of the stranger in the presence of the older people.

“I’m glad you dropped around, Pipe,” said Fred. “I suppose you want to
talk football? Come on up to my room; we can chin there as much as we
like.”

The caller was more than willing, and they mounted the stairs to Fred’s
room, which was large, comfortable and exceedingly well furnished. But
Piper, still bearing himself “professionally,” gave little heed to the
aspect of the room.

“I’ve come,” he announced, declining to sit down, “to propound a few
vital questions, which I trust you may see fit to answer without evasion
or subterfuge.”

“What’s this?” laughed Sage. “Is it a court of inquiry?”

“Not exactly. Of course there is no compulsion in the matter, but,
assuming that you have nothing to conceal, there should be no reason for
refusing the information I require.”

“Oh, say, Sleuth, don’t you ever get tired of it? It must be wearisome,
searching for these deep, dark mysteries in a quiet, uneventful country
town like Oakdale. Of course I know what you’re driving at, and in this
case I think you’re trying to make something out of nothing—and that’s
impossible.”

Piper shook his head. With his hands locked behind his back, he slowly
paced the floor.

“You are like the usual order of persons who lack the analytical mind,”
he retorted. “You fail to see the true significance of apparently
commonplace events. I am different. At this moment I feel assured that
we are face to face with one of the most perplexing mysteries on record.
I’ve interviewed Hooker this evening, and from him I obtained a certain
amount of information concerning the mysterious man he encountered in
the woods beyond Culver’s Bridge. According to his statement, that man
was about twenty-six years of age, and apparently something like five
feet and ten inches in height. Hooker judged that this person should
weigh in the neighborhood of one hundred and sixty pounds. His
complexion was medium, and he had hair slightly curly. His eyes were
blue, his teeth white and even, and his smile pleasant. His voice was
agreeable, but he showed traces of nervousness and anxiety. He spoke
with some bitterness of people who had wealth and employed laborers. Roy
states that, as far as he could see, the man bore no peculiarly
distinguishing mark, like a scar or deformity.”

“Well,” said Fred, lounging on the Morris chair, “why should the
appearance of such a stranger interest you so deeply?”

“Wait,” said Piper, halting in front of Sage’s chair. “This man made
inquiries concerning your family. He must have known you.”

“We’ve lived in Oakdale only three years. There are people outside of
this place who know us.”

“Quite true; but when he learned that you were near at hand, and when he
heard you approaching, the man disappeared in a most astounding,
inexplicable and unaccountable manner. He didn’t wait until you should
come forth to meet him face to face.”

“That was rather odd,” admitted Sage.

“And, furthermore, you have stated that you have no idea who the person
can be.”

“Not the slightest.”

“Is there anything connected with your past or that of your parents
which, for good and sufficient reasons, you wish to conceal?”

Fred sat up suddenly. “Why should you imagine anything of that sort?” he
retorted sharply. “Of course it’s nonsense.”

“H’m!” said Sleuth. “It’s a rare family closet that doesn’t contain a
skeleton.”

“Well, Piper, if you’ve come here to pry into private family affairs,
you may as well chase yourself at once.”

“Restrain your annoyance, Sage; check your angry resentment. If you
choose to unbosom yourself to me in my professional capacity, you may do
so with the assurance of my honorable intention to hold inviolate any
secret with which I may be entrusted.”

Fred’s face was flushed and he betrayed annoyance, which, however, he
endeavored to restrain.

“Cut out that fol-de-rol, Piper. There’s no reason why I should tell you
any family secrets, if we happen to have them. As you’ve just said,
doubtless there are few families who do not have some minor secrets they
choose to keep hidden; but, as a rule, such things concern no others
than those personally interested. Again, let me repeat that you are
trying to make something out of nothing, and it’s extremely ridiculous.”

“Perhaps so,” retorted Sleuth. “But tell me, did you ever hear of a man
by the name of James Wilson?”

“Never. What has he to do with the matter?”

The visitor drew a folded newspaper from an inner pocket of his coat.
“It’s my custom,” he said, “to take special note of the records of crime
and criminals as contained in the press of the day. I never overlook
anything of the sort. Here in this paper is the description of one James
Wilson, _alias_ ‘William Hunt,’ _alias_ ‘Philip Hastings,’ but known
among his pals as ‘Gentleman Jim.’ This man is described as twenty-six
years of age, five feet, ten inches in height, and weighing one hundred
and sixty pounds. While there are no distinguishing marks upon his
person, he has blue eyes; a medium complexion; hair slightly curly;
white, even teeth; a pleasant smile; an agreeable voice; and white,
shapely hands, which show evidence of recent arduous labor. This labor
was performed in prison, from which Jim Wilson has but lately been
released. He is a confidence man and safe-breaker, and it seems that his
prison experience has done little to cure him of his criminal
proclivities, for it is suspected that since his release he has been
concerned in certain unlawful operations. One week ago he was arrested
in Harpersville, which is just over the state line, and placed in jail
to await the arrival of officers who wanted him. But Mr. Wilson, _alias_
‘William Hunt,’ _alias_ ‘Philip Hastings,’ _alias_ ‘Gentleman Jim,’ is a
slippery customer, and he didn’t remain in that insecure jail. Instead
of doing so, he broke out of his cell, cracked the guard’s skull, and
made good his escape. The guard is not expected to live, and the
authorities have offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the
capture of the murderous scoundrel.”

“Well!” breathed Sage, who had listened with swiftly increasing
interest. “Do you think this James Wilson and the stranger Hooker talked
with this forenoon are one and the same?”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” declared Sleuth.




                               CHAPTER V.

                     BY THE LIGHT FROM THE WINDOW.


“But that,” said Fred, “is practically a matter of supposition with you;
you have no real proof.”

“Proof?” returned Piper reprovingly. “Why not? The circumstances are
significant, and it’s only the bigoted person who denies the value of
circumstantial evidence in criminal cases. The description of James
Wilson applies perfectly to the mysterious stranger with whom Hooker
conversed.”

“If you’ll think it over a bit, that description might apply to a great
many persons. Wilson seems fortunate in having practically no personal
characteristics by which he might readily be identified. It seems to me,
Piper, that, casting aside your professed caution and acuteness, you
have jumped at a conclusion. Simply because you happen to read about an
ex-convict who has recently broken jail in a neighboring state, and the
description of this convict, although in a way indefinite and
unsatisfactory, apparently applies to a stranger in these parts, you
immediately decide that the convict and the stranger are one and the
same. I’m surprised at you, Sleuth.”

“Wait a moment,” said Piper, holding up his finger. “Let me ask you a
question. Since you came to Oakdale, how often have you seen strangers
in these parts who looked like tramps, talked like educated men, and
deported themselves in a manner which, without the least stretch of
fancy, could be called mysterious?”

“Seldom,” admitted Sage.

“Never before,” asserted Piper.

“And, because this happens to be the first instance of the sort, you
feel confident in your hasty conclusion. I’m afraid you’ll never make a
great detective, Sleuth, for in stories, at least, they never jump at
conclusions, and they always make sure they’re right before forming a
definite opinion.”

Piper was not pleased by these words. He frowned heavily and shook his
head.

“You can’t deny,” he retorted, “that it was most strange that the man
should inquire for your family and then take flight when he learned that
you were about to appear before him.”

“That, I admit, was odd indeed. Nevertheless, I do not think it
justifies you in seeking to connect us with the ex-convict, James
Wilson. It’s scarcely necessary for me to tell you that we have never
known such a man.”

“It gives me no small amount of satisfaction,” said Sleuth, “to hear
that statement from your lips, even though it may, in a measure, make my
work more difficult.”

“Your work? What do you propose to do?”

“I hope to lay this safe-cracker by the heels. I hope to enmesh him in
the toils and turn him over to the stern hand of justice.”

“In which case it seems to me that your proper course would be to notify
the officers. Why don’t you go to Deputy Sheriff Pickle?”

“Haw!” cried Sleuth, contemptuously snapping his fingers. “That would be
the height of folly. These rural officers are blockheads in ninety-nine
cases out of a hundred, and William Pickle is no exception. For
instance, recall the bungling mess he made of it when he arrested your
friend, Benjamin Stone. Only for me, Stone might have been convicted of
a crime he never committed.”

“You helped get Ben out of an unpleasant predicament,” admitted Sage;
“but in that case Pickle did his duty, according to instructions. If you
are so positive that you’re not bungling in this case, you’ll require
the assistance of Mr. Pickle, for you can’t expect to capture James
Wilson unaided.”

“And so you would advise me to apply to Pickle? You would advise me to
tell him my deductions, through which he would be enabled, perhaps, to
capture this jail-breaker and get the reward of five hundred dollars?
That’s what would happen if he made the capture; he’d claim the reward,
and get it. Oh, I know Bill Pickle!”

“If you gave the information on which the man was arrested, doubtless
you could claim and obtain a portion of the reward money.”

“Perhaps so, and perhaps not. I tell you I know Bill Pickle. He’d get it
all if he could.”

“But, having talked with Roy Hooker of this matter, how do you expect to
keep it secret long enough to do anything yourself?”

“I didn’t tell Hooker about James Wilson. I simply questioned him
regarding the stranger, and learned enough to satisfy me that he and
Wilson must be the same man.”

“Well, how did you happen to tell _me_ so much?”

Sleuth hesitated. “You see, I—I thought it might be—well, different in
your case,” he stumbled. “I fancied there might be reasons why you
wouldn’t care to say anything about it.”

Sage rose to his feet. “You make me tired, Piper,” he said, with a touch
of angry reproof. “It’s evident that you _did_ think my family was
somehow connected with this criminal, whom we might be inclined to
shield. Just to show you what a bungler you really are, I think I’ll
tell Pickle myself.”

In a moment the visitor was thrown into the utmost consternation.
Seizing Fred by the arm, he cried:

“Don’t do that—don’t! Why, if you did, and Pickle should happen to catch
the man and he turned out to be the right one, you’d get part of the
reward! That wouldn’t be fair to me, Fred, and you know it. Give a chap
a square deal, old man.”

“If you’re right in your suspicions, Piper, it’s a bad thing to have
this jail-breaker prowling around Oakdale, and it’s your duty to notify
the local officers.”

“But supposing,” protested Sleuth, “that, by some unusual chance, I
should be mistaken? You can see what that would mean. I might get the
wrong man arrested and make an awful mess of it. I might become the
laughing stock of the village. My professional reputation might be
blasted.”

“Oh, then you’re not nearly as confident as you pretended to be? It
seems to me like a huge joke, Piper, and if you’ll take my advice,
you’ll stop cramming your head with foolish detective yarns and abandon
the idea that you possess any special talents in the way of detecting
criminals or fathoming mysteries. The last I heard about you, you were
trying to write stories, and, by the way of amusement, I advise you to
rely upon that occupation. Not that I imagine you’ll ever write anything
printable, but it might serve to keep you from the rather obnoxious
habit of poking your nose into affairs which don’t concern you.”

Thus reproved, Sleuth found it difficult to restrain his indignation and
resentment.

“You’re like everybody else around here,” he cried. “But you should
remember the old saying that a prophet is never without honor save in
his own country. Some day I’ll show these people a thing or two, see if
I don’t. I’ll make them sit up and take notice. They may think Billy
Piper’s a fool, but I’ll show them. Say, Sage, give me a little time on
this case; don’t run straight to Pickle with what I’ve told you. Promise
me you won’t do that.”

In spite of himself, Fred laughed. “If I really thought there was one
chance in a hundred that you had guessed right, I might insist on
telling Pickle, providing you refused to do so. Not having the slightest
confidence in your so-called ‘deductions,’ I’m willing to keep still.”

“Thanks,” said Piper. “Some fellows I wouldn’t trust, even on their
promise; but I know you, and I’m sure you’ll do nothing without first
consulting me. I think I’ll be going.”

Sage descended and bade Piper good-night at the door, watching Sleuth
slouch away toward the distant lights of the village, a few of which
gleamed through the darkness. Andrew Sage glanced up as the boy returned
to the sitting-room.

“Well,” he said, “been discussing football, son?”

“Not exactly,” answered Fred. “Piper had something else on his mind.”

“Isn’t he a bit queer?” asked Mrs. Sage, who was employing herself with
some needlework in front of the open fire.

“Most persons think he is.”

“He behaves so oddly. Does he always act like that?”

“Oh, it’s Piper’s way. The fellows don’t pay much attention to it,
though they josh him sometimes.”

Fred attempted again to interest himself in his book, but in spite of
his efforts, his mind wandered from the story, and he repeatedly found
himself thinking of Sleuth and the matter they had discussed. There was,
of course, a remote possibility that Piper had not made a mistake in
fancying the stranger in Oakdale was James Wilson, for whose capture a
large reward had been offered; and only for his promise to remain silent
Fred might have told his parents. He was inclined to regret that
unconsidered pledge. Presently, his eyes drooping, he decided to go to
bed, and bade his father and mother good-night.

In his room he paced the floor, thinking it all over, his perplexity
increasing.

“I can’t understand why that man ran away after asking about us,” he
muttered. “That’s what gets me. If I hadn’t been afraid of giving mother
uneasiness, I’d have told about it when I first came home. Piper can’t
be right, for certainly we don’t know any convicts and jail-breakers.”

As if his final words had given him a shock, he stopped in his tracks,
his lips parted, his face paling somewhat, and for some moments he stood
thus, without moving. Presently he resumed his walk up and down the
room, his brows knitted, his manner absorbed. At last he stopped and
laughed shortly as he thought of Piper pacing the floor in almost
precisely that same way.

“Oh, he’s a joke. I’m going to bed.”

The strenuous diversions of the day had given him a healthy weariness
which he was now feeling, and it did not take him long to undress. He
had put out the light when he remembered that his window was still
closed, and he turned to open it.

With his hand on the sash he paused, an electric thrill shooting through
his body. Directly beneath his room the light from a lower window shone
forth into the darkness, falling upon the dimly seen figure of a man,
who, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, was standing where he could
look into the sitting-room.

For some seconds Fred remained rigid, watching the motionless man. In an
instant he had become convinced that it was the stranger with whom
Hooker had talked, but the baffling hat-brim prevented Fred from seeing
the fellow’s face.

Suddenly, as if becoming aware that someone was near who had no right to
be there, the dog barked in the room below. Immediately the man drew
hastily back from the border of light and retreated into the darkness.

In a twinkling Fred Sage was leaping into his clothes. The dog, quieted
by a word from Mr. Sage, did not bark again. The deep darkness beneath a
tree near the house had enfolded the man.

Fred did not strike a light. With his hastily donned clothes barely
clinging to him, he caught up a pair of rubber-soled “sneakers,” thrust
his feet into them, opened the door of his room quickly but quietly, and
crept down the stairs. He could hear his father and mother talking, but
they did not hear him as he turned the key in the lock of the door and
let himself out.

Quivering with excitement, the boy reached the corner of the house and
peered round it. He could see no one, although the tree beneath which
the man had vanished was only a short distance away.

“If I can find him, I’ll demand to know what business he has around
here,” thought Fred. “If mother knew, she’d be badly frightened.”

Summoning all his courage, he stepped out boldly and advanced toward the
tree, but when he reached it there was still no living creature to be
seen.

Twice Sage circled the buildings without result, and he became satisfied
that the unknown had lost no time in departing.

“But it’s mighty queer,” he muttered—“mighty queer. I don’t understand
it. Perhaps I ought to tell father, but if I do I know mother won’t
sleep to-night.”

Silently though he reentered the house, Spot barked again, and Fred’s
father opened the door into the hall.

“Just stepped outdoors for a minute,” said the boy. “It’s going to be a
good day to-morrow, I think.”

“Oh, is it you?” said Mr. Sage. “Spot barked, and your mother thought he
heard something. We had an idea you were abed.”

“I’m going now. Good-night. Good-night, mother.”

“Good-night, Fred,” called his mother in response, and Mr. Sage closed
the door.

For more than half an hour Fred watched from his unlighted window. He
heard his parents retire, and the light no longer shone forth from the
sitting-room. His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and he
could see certain objects in the vicinity of the house, but they were
all familiar objects, and amid them no strange shadow moved.

“I’ll have to tell father and mother to-morrow,” decided the boy, as he
finally got into bed.

Again and again during the night he dreamed of the mysterious stranger,
and once he awoke panting from a terrific hand-to-hand struggle with the
man. It brought him up to gaze once more from the window, through which
came the chill air of the autumn night.

“I’m a fool,” he whispered, his teeth chattering with the cold. “I’m
going to sleep now, and see if I can’t dodge those silly dreams.
Confound Sleuth Piper, anyhow! Still, I’d like to know what that man was
doing here.”




                              CHAPTER VI.

                        CAPTAIN QUINN’S MONKEY.


Fred’s parents were regular church attendants, and Fred himself rarely
failed to appear with them at morning service on the Sabbath day. It
must be regretfully confessed that church had little attraction for many
of the youths of Oakdale, and among those who seldom sat through a
sermon was Roy Hooker.

Roy, however, was waiting on the sidewalk in front of the church when
Fred came out. It was a mild, sunny day, and the outside world looked
most attractive. In response to a covert signal from Hooker, Sage joined
him.

“Come for a walk, old man,” invited Roy. “Gee! you must be dopey,
sitting in that dark old church and listening to a dry sermon.”

“I did get a bit sleepy,” Fred confessed. “You’re not going to walk far,
are you?”

“Oh, you can suit yourself about that. What time do you have dinner?”

“Around two o’clock.”

“That will give us a couple of hours. It’s mighty pokey loafing around
all day Sunday, with nothing for amusement. If you’d only go gunning——”

“Not on the Sabbath. Too many fellows do that around here.”

Fred’s parents had lingered to exchange a few words with some friends,
and as they finally came down the walk he told them he was going for a
short stroll with Roy.

“Be home to dinner, surely,” urged his mother.

He promised, and set off with Hooker, turning down the street. At the
square, in the center of the village, they turned on to Lake Street and
proceeded eastward, passing the new bank, a small, square building of
brick and stone.

“That makes a great improvement on this street,” commented Fred.

“Oh, yes,” nodded Hooker; “but it would have looked better had they been
able to purchase that little old hut and the land belonging to Aaron
Quinn. That shanty, squatting right there almost under the rear eaves of
the bank, is a regular eyesore, but I understand old Quinn refused to
sell at any price.”

The building in question was a tiny old house that stood some distance
from the street, partly hidden by two large oak trees and a straggling
growth of lilac bushes. It was sorely in need of repairs and paint, and
some of the broken windows had been patched or stuffed with rags.

Aaron Quinn, the owner of this disreputable little shanty, was a surly,
blustering old sea captain, who had given up his calling on account of
age and rheumatism and returned to spend the latter days of his life at
his birthplace in Oakdale. His irascible temper and general crabbedness
made him more or less unpopular among the villagers, and especially so
with the boys of the town, who seldom lost an opportunity to jibe or
annoy him.

As the two friends were passing beneath the spreading limbs of one of
the oaks, something struck Roy on the shoulder and bounded to the
sidewalk. It was an acorn, and Hooker might have thought that it had
fallen in a natural manner from the tree had it not been followed almost
immediately by another, which clipped the edge of his cap-visor.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, looking up. “Who’s throwing them? Oh, I see; it’s
that confounded monkey.”

Grinning down at the boys from one of the branches, a large monkey let
fly another acorn with surprising accuracy. The creature belonged to the
old sea captain, being, apparently, Quinn’s only congenial companion;
and, like his master, the monkey had learned to detest the village lads.

“Ah! ha! Mr. Jocko,” cried Hooker, as he quickly stepped off the
sidewalk and found a stone. “Two can play at that game.”

“Don’t,” said Fred.

But before he could interfere Roy had sent the stone whistling and
clipping through the branches of the tree, causing Jocko to utter a
chattering scream of mingled dismay and defiance as he quickly mounted
higher.

In a moment there came a roar from the hut beyond the lilac bushes, and
forth from the door, which had been standing ajar, issued Aaron Quinn
with his stout cane. At one time, although rather short of stature, he
had been a sturdy, husky man, who commanded the respect, if not the
liking, of his sailors. Now the bushy fringe of whiskers beneath his
chin seemed to bristle, his lips were drawn back from his teeth, and his
eyes glared with rage.

“You young lubber!” he shouted, as he came hobbling down the path,
flourishing the cane. “I’ll teach ye! I’ll larn ye to stone my monkey!
If I ketch ye, I’ll break your back!”

With a mocking shout of laughter and a taunt, Hooker took to his heels.

“Run, Fred!” he cried. “The old gink will swat you if you don’t!”

But Sage did not run. Instead, he remained calmly facing the wrathy old
sailor, who seemed bent on using the stout cane over the boy’s head.

“Why don’t you skedaddle?” snarled Captain Quinn. “Ain’t you got sense
enough to run?”

“I didn’t do anything, and I sha’n’t run,” was the quiet retort. “I
don’t believe you’ll hit me.”

The man paused with the cane uplifted, surprise written on his face.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said in a milder tone. “You’re about the only
brat around here who hasn’t tried his tricks on me. You seem to be
different from the rest of these unmanly cubs. No, I won’t crack ye, but
if ever I get my hands on that other rascal, he’ll have to take to his
bed.”

“Aw, you couldn’t catch a snail,” taunted Hooker. “Somebody will shoot
that monkey of yours some day.”

“If anybody hurts him, they’ll sartain wish they hadn’t,” retorted
Quinn. “He knows more than half the people in this town, and that ain’t
giving him a great deal of credit. Here, Jocko—here, come down.”

Chattering a little, the monkey slowly swung himself down to the lower
limbs and dropped to his master’s shoulder, where he perched in evident
assurance of security, making faces at the boys.

Fred laughed and rejoined Hooker, while, assisted by his cane, Aaron
Quinn hobbled back toward the hut, carrying the monkey.

“It would be a good thing if that old pirate would get out of town,”
said Roy. “He’s no benefit to the place.”

“He’s harmless enough if people will let him alone,” retorted Fred; “but
he’s been pestered so much that he seems to have it in for everybody. At
the most, it’s doubtful if he lives many years, and when he dies the
bank people will doubtless get his little place for what it’s really
worth.”

They proceeded on their way, the conversation soon drifting into other
channels, football for a time being the main topic, as, to Sage’s
surprise, Hooker betrayed considerable interest in the game.

“You’re right about old Stoney,” he said. “He knows the new rules. Why,
he must have studied them until he has every word by heart. Perhaps
he’ll make a fairly good captain, after all, though he never can come up
to Roger Eliot.”

[Illustration:

  AARON QUINN HOBBLED BACK TOWARD THE HUT, CARRYING THE MONKEY.—Page
    74.]

“Perhaps not,” admitted Sage. “Eliot certainly was a natural leader at
anything he undertook. I’m glad you came out yesterday.”

“Oh, it isn’t likely I’ll get a chance to play.”

“I’ll guarantee you will if you pitch in. Why, there’s Piper, the last
fellow one would ever suppose could make good at the game.”

“That’s right,” agreed Roy. “Say, he came round and interviewed me last
night. He’s got another bug in his bonnet. Asked me all sorts of
questions about the strange man I saw in the woods. What do you suppose
he thinks he’s up to?”

“He’s struck a trail,” laughed Fred. “He was up at my house to see me,
too.”

“Well, it would give me some satisfaction if he could find out who the
man was. Don’t suppose you were able to enlighten him any?”

“Not a bit. I told you yesterday that I hadn’t the remotest idea who the
stranger could be.”

“I know you did, but I thought you might have placed him since.”

Down the river on the road to Clearport they entered a grove and sat
chatting for some time on a fallen tree. Roy was anxious for another
gunning expedition, but Fred feared that school work and football
practice would give him little time for it. Finally they returned to the
village, and Roy walked up Main Street to accompany his friend part of
the way toward home.

On the sidewalk in front of Urian Eliot’s house they saw Mr. Eliot
talking with Lucius Timmick, the cashier of the bank. Timmick was a man
under thirty years of age, thin, smooth-faced, save for some high cut
“siders,” and a trifle sanctimonious in his manner. He was dressed
wholly in black and carried a Bible in his hand.

Mr. Eliot spoke pleasantly to the boys as they passed, and Timmick gave
them a grudging nod.

“That dried-up shrimp makes me tired,” muttered Hooker. “Just because
Urian Eliot took him into the bank and made him cashier, he thinks he’s
something. I know him; he always was a sneak. Why, he used to watch the
boys nights and blow on them every time they had a little fun. He caught
us hooking apples once, and made an awful fuss about it. Talked of
having some of us sent to the reform school. Now he teaches a class in
Sabbath School, and butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”

“It is evident,” smiled Fred, “that you don’t love Mr. Timmick much.”

“You wouldn’t think much of him either, if you’d lived long in Oakdale.
He has too much dignity now to sneak round nights trying to find out
what the fellows are doing, but he’s just as much a fox as he ever was.
If I was president of a bank, I’d never trust him to handle the cash.”

“Evidently Mr. Eliot trusts him thoroughly.”

“Oh, yes, he’s got Urian Eliot fooled. Well, guess I’ll hike for home,
as Rod Grant would say. Bye, bye, old man.”

Thus far Fred had found no good opportunity to tell his father privately
about the mysterious stranger and about what he had seen from his window
the night before, nor did he find such a chance that day. The following
morning he dismissed the matter from his mind, fancying it improbable
that the man would again be seen around Oakdale.




                              CHAPTER VII.

                          ANNOYING ATTENTIONS.


Sleuth Piper seemed to develop a sudden remarkable fondness for Fred
Sage, upon whom he persisted in thrusting himself whenever possible,
although he endeavored to make his actions seem natural and
unpremeditated. At the academy he hung around a great deal in Fred’s
vicinity, usually near enough to hear and understand anything Sage might
say. Time after time he engaged Fred in conversation, which he usually
brought about by speaking of school matters or sports in which the most
of the boys were interested.

Monday morning, as he was making his way to the academy, Fred had been a
bit surprised to encounter Sleuth in the vicinity of the Methodist
church, for Piper, if also bound for school, had come a considerable
distance out of his way. This action seemed to be explained, however,
when the queer fellow betrayed a certain amount of anxiety lest Sage had
broken his promise to maintain secrecy regarding the Saturday night
interview at Fred’s house.

“What do you take me for, Piper?” exclaimed Fred, annoyed. “When I get
ready to tell about that, I’ll let you know in advance.”

“No offence, old fellow,” said Sleuth hastily. “You understand anyone
can let such things leak unintentionally.”

That night, after the shower in the gym following practice on the field,
Sleuth was waiting to join Fred and persisted in walking all the way
home with him, maintaining a confidential atmosphere, which seemed to
invite confidence and trust on the part of the other. This effort was so
palpably apparent that, although inwardly annoyed, Sage could not help
laughing over it when Sleuth finally set off for his own home.

“The chump!” he muttered. “He thinks he’s clever, but it’s easy enough
to see through him.”

But when, on the following morning, Sleuth again joined Fred on the way
to school, Sage could scarcely restrain his annoyance. Succeeding,
however, he tried the effect of joshing and banter.

“Say, Sleuth,” he laughed, “you’ve certainly taken a sudden pronounced
liking for my society. I never dreamed you entertained such deep
affection for me.”

“Oh,” returned Piper, with pretended carelessness, “I’ve always liked
you, Fred, ever since you came here from—from—. Let me see, where did
you come from? I’ve forgotten.”

“Perhaps you never knew.”

“That’s right, perhaps I didn’t. Seems to me, though, I’ve heard it was
somewhere in New York State. Is that right?”

“Let it go at that; it’s near enough.”

“Oh, if there’s any reason why you don’t care to tell, of course you’ve
a right to decline to answer.”

“Do you know, Sleuth, I always feel a natural disinclination to gratify
the unwarranted curiosity of people who try to pry into affairs that are
of no concern to them.”

“Oh, piffle, Fred! I’m not prying. What’s the matter with you? I was
just thinking that probably before coming here you attended a school of
more importance than Oakdale Academy. You knew as much about football as
any fellow in this town when you appeared here, and that’s how you
happened to get on the team as quarterback last year. Eliot said you
were the fellow best adapted for the position, and you proved that he
was right by the way you filled it.”

“Thanks for the taffy. Your generosity in handing it out has got me
going. What do you want to know next? Ask and ye shall _not_ receive.
Rubber and you’ll get it in the neck.”

“Oh, all right, if you’re going to take it that way,” muttered Piper
sourly. “Still, I don’t see why you should be so thundering suspicious.
That is, I don’t see unless——”

“Unless I’ve some dark and terrible secret to conceal. You’re still
making a jack of yourself trying to connect the Sages with your
desperate jailbird, Gentleman Jim. It doesn’t seem to me, my astute
detective friend, that you’re making much progress on your latest case.
Apparently that reward is keeping well beyond the reach of your grasping
fingers.”

“Even Sherlock Holmes required a certain amount of time to solve his
problems,” reminded Piper, causing his companion to laugh loudly.

“As an imitator of the great Sherlock, you’re a merry jest, Pipe. Go
ahead and amuse yourself playing your little farce, but don’t bother
me.”

It was difficult, however, to escape Piper, who again persisted in
hovering about in Fred’s vicinity throughout the day.

That night, shortly after four o’clock, Mrs. Sage, at work in her
kitchen, was surprised and a little startled when Billy Piper came
walking in through the door, which chanced to be standing open, as the
day had been unusually warm for the season.

“Good evening,” said the boy. “I just ran up to see Fred a minute. Is he
around?”

“No, indeed,” was the answer. “He never gets home now until after dark.
Football practice keeps him. Don’t you play on the team?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Pipe easily; “but I don’t have to practice all the
time. You see, I’m pretty well up on the game. If you don’t mind, I’ll
wait for Fred.”

“Of course I don’t mind, though it’s likely he’ll not be home for more
than an hour.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just make myself comfortable till he comes. Thought
perhaps he might have a book for me to read. I’m a great reader.”

“There are some magazines on the sitting-room table.”

“Thanks,” said Sleuth, entering the room indicated. “I reckon they will
do first-rate. Don’t mind about me, Mrs. Sage. Here’s a nice,
comfortable chair, and I’ll be all right.”

Although she wondered that he should have come there expecting to find
Fred at that time, Mrs. Sage attributed it to the boy’s eccentricity,
though occasionally she glanced into the sitting-room when passing the
open door. Sleuth seemed to be interested for a time in the magazines,
but presently she discovered him gazing around the room, although he
remained seated near the table. A few moments later she saw his face
brighten up as his eyes discovered an old-fashioned family photograph
album within reach of his hand. In a moment he was looking through the
album, apparently deeply engrossed in the pictures it contained, and for
some time he remained thus occupied. Mrs. Sage had almost forgotten the
visitor when he reappeared in the kitchen.

“I don’t believe I’ll wait for Fred after all,” said Sleuth. “I think
I’ll go home. Tell him when he comes that I was looking for a good book,
but I don’t believe he has anything of the kind that would suit me.”

It was verging on twilight when Sleuth departed, and something like half
an hour later Fred reached home. On being told by his mother of Piper’s
visit, the boy betrayed some surprise and a singular amount of
annoyance.

“Confound that fellow!” he exclaimed. “I’d like to know what he means.
Did he try to pump you, mother?”

“Pump me? Why, no, I don’t think——”

“Didn’t ask you a whole lot of foolish questions, did he?”

“I don’t think he asked me any questions at all.”

“Well, what did he do while he was here?”

“Entertained himself by looking at some magazines in the sitting-room.”

“He didn’t go prowling around over the house?”

“He went no further than that room.”

“Still, he had no business around here.”

“He said that he came for a book. He wanted something to read.”

“Bluff. He knows the stories I read wouldn’t interest him at all.
Furthermore, he knew when he came that I wasn’t here. He got excused
from practice to-night by saying that he had a cracking headache and
felt ill.”

“He didn’t mention anything of the sort to me, and I’m sure he did not
appear ill. I’m afraid there’s something wrong with that boy, Fred. You
admitted yourself that some people thought him queer.”

“I’ll queer him, if he doesn’t behave,” muttered Fred.

On Wednesday morning Piper was not waiting for Sage on the way to
school, but Fred found him with some other fellows at the academy.
Straightway Sleuth was called aside by the vexed youth.

“Look here, Piper,” said Fred grimly, “I want to know why you showed up
at my house last night and asked for me, when you knew I was at practice
on the field?”

“Why, didn’t your mother tell you I wanted to borrow a book?” asked
Sleuth innocently.

“Now don’t try any of that on me,” advised the other boy. “You knew I
wouldn’t have anything you’d care to read. Besides that, you pretended
that you expected to find me home.”

“Who said so?”

“My mother.”

“Oh, she misunderstood me.”

“But _I_ don’t misunderstand you, and I’ll tell you now to keep away
from me and my home in future. I mean it, too. This business of playing
the detective may be amusing and interesting to you, but it’s infernally
annoying to anyone you happen to pester. I’ve had enough of it, and I
won’t stand any more. Get that?”

“Of course I get it,” replied Sleuth sulkily. “I’m no fool.”

“Then don’t act like one. That’s all I have to say.” With which Fred
turned sharply and walked away.

“Those who have guilty secrets,” muttered Piper to himself, “are always
annoyed by too much attention.”




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                           HOOKER HAS A PLAN.


On Thursday afternoon the Oakdale football team put in the last
strenuous practice before the first real game of the season, which was
to be played Saturday on the home grounds, the contesting eleven coming
from Barville. As far as possible Captain Stone had drilled a knowledge
of the new rules into the heads of his followers, and although, like a
good captain, he was not wholly satisfied either with their advancement
or his own, he decided that stiff, strenuous practice work on Friday
would not be advisable, considering the possibility that someone might
get hurt, with insufficient time to recover before the Barville contest.
Therefore he simply notified his teammates to come out Friday for a
little brushing up in signals.

Encouraged by Sage, Hooker had practiced faithfully, and had made a
fairly good showing in the line of the scrub team when it played short
periods against the regulars. Fortunately, Roy’s “condition” had been
excellent when he began this, and therefore, save for a few minor
bruises and sprains, which caused temporary soreness or lameness, he
escaped injury. He was feeling somewhat elated over this when he left
the gymnasium in company with Fred.

“It doesn’t seem to be such a tough old game, after all,” said Roy. “Of
course a fellow gets pounded around a lot, but it doesn’t hurt him much
if he’s good and hard.”

“That’s the point generally overlooked by people who put up a holler
against the game,” said Fred. “Football isn’t for babies and weaklings,
and the fellow who goes into it should be in perfect health and hardened
by training that will enable him to stand up under pounding and jolts
which would put a feeble chap all to the bad in no time at all. Observe
how quickly fellows in fine condition recover from injuries on the field
which would seem sufficient to put them under the doctor’s care for
weeks or months. When some foolish chap who is soft as mush or has some
chronic weakness attempts to get into the game, notice how often it
happens that he’s the one seriously injured; and of course this gives
people who do not understand the circumstances and who are opposed to
the game a chance to raise a great to-do.”

“My folks have never wanted me to play.”

“Well, mine are not enthusiastically in favor of my playing, although my
mother is the chief objector. But she’s always worrying about me of
late, no matter what I do. It has been that way ever since——” He checked
himself suddenly.

“Ever since what?” asked Roy.

“Oh,” answered Fred evasively, “ever since I got old enough to go in for
such things. She doesn’t like to have me go gunning, and she actually
cried when father bought me my gun.”

“Oh, say,” exclaimed Hooker quickly, “that makes me think of something.
Why can’t we get in a little shooting Saturday morning? There ought to
be ducks over in Marsh Pond, and we could try ’em Saturday, and arrange
to get home by the middle of the forenoon--by half past ten or eleven,
at the latest. That would give us plenty of time to rest up before the
game.”

“But Marsh Pond is nearly five miles from here, and, in order to get
there early enough to pick up any ducks in the morning, we’d have to
turn out in the middle of the night and make a stiff tramp of it. I’m
afraid that would be a little too much, Hooker.”

“Now listen to me; I have a plan. I’m not in favor of rising at two or
three o’clock and hoofing it all that distance for half an hour’s
shooting after daybreak. You’re as wise to the signals as any fellow on
the team, aren’t you?”

“I think so,” nodded Fred modestly.

“Think so! Why, you’ve got them down pat. You can reel ’em off like hot
shot, and you know every time just what you’re firing at. A little
signal practice to-morrow wouldn’t do you any good, and, as I’m only a
scrub man, it isn’t worth my while bothering. I know where we can get a
good set of decoys to use on that duck hunt, and if you’ll go I’ll agree
to get ’em. We can start right after school to-morrow, and I’ll bet I
can hire Abe Hubbard to take us over to the pond with his old horse and
wagon. It won’t cost a great deal, for Hubbard isn’t doing much of
anything, and he’d be glad to pick up a dollar. It wouldn’t surprise me
if the sight of a whole dollar would hire him to tote us over there and
come for us any time we might set on Saturday. If I can fix it,” he
concluded eagerly, “will you go?”

They had paused in front of the post-office, and Fred meditated a moment
over the proposal. They were standing there as Sleuth Piper came up,
passed them and entered the building, turning to cast a swift glance in
their direction.

“It listens good, Hooker,” said Fred, tempted; “but where are we going
to stay all night? Have you thought of that?”

“You bet I have. Why, don’t you remember there’s an old camp over there,
which nobody ever uses nowadays? It has a stone fireplace, and if we
take an axe along to cut wood we can be as comfortable as you please.”

It was not remarkable that the temptation grew, for what real boy would
not be lured by the prospect of a night in an old camp in the woods?

“It listens good,” repeated Fred, smiling a bit; “but how about a boat?
Without a dog to do our retrieving, if we shoot anything we’ll certainly
need a boat. Spot is no water dog, and he’d be practically useless for
us.”

“There isn’t any boat,” admitted Roy; “but I know where there’s an old
raft on the shore within twenty rods of the shooting blind some hunters
made last fall. I know the raft ought to be there, for I used it when I
was over there fishing once this summer. I saw the blind and inspected
it, too, and it will be all right for us without doing a thing to it.
It’s close by the feeding grounds at the western end of the lake and
will serve us much better than a new one, as the ducks are thoroughly
accustomed to the sight of it by this time. You know how they shy
sometimes at a newly built blind they’ve never seen before. With that
raft near by for our use, we can pick up any ducks we knock down. Come
on, Fred, of course you’ll go.”

“I’ll speak to Stone about it in the morning.”

“That would be rather late, for you know I’ve got to see Hubbard and fix
it with him. Why not see Stone to-night? Give him a good game of talk.
Tell him you feel the need of something like this to brace you up. Hard
study, regular practice, monotony, anxiety about the game—you know the
sort of argument to put up. He’ll be a chump if he refuses. Why, if I
was on the team I’d simply see him and tell him I was going to go
anyhow.”

“And you’d put yourself in bad with old Stoney. He’s an easy-going
fellow in some things, but when it comes to football matters he believes
in discipline and enforces it, too.”

“Yes,” nodded Roy, “he’s a little too stiff to suit me; something of a
tyrant, it seems.”

“Not a tyrant; simply a captain who knows what is right and demands it
of his followers. If Stone says he doesn’t think I should go, of course
I won’t, that’s all.”

“But you will if he’ll agree?” cried Hooker exultantly. “Say, old man,
leave it to me; let me talk to Ben. I’ll tell him you want to go, but
don’t like to ask the privilege.”

“And that would be the truth.”

“Sure. No need to lie about it. Think perhaps he can put a substitute in
your place, same as he would have to do if you were hurt in a game, and
that will be a good thing, as it will brace the sub up on signaling.
Will you leave it to me, old chap?”

After a little hesitation, Sage agreed. “Go ahead; have your own way
about it. If Ben says it’s all right, I’ll go ducking with you.”

“I’ll let you know this very evening,” promised Hooker, as his friend
started up the street toward home.

Sage did not see Piper come quickly out of the post-office and hasten
after Roy. Having observed the two boys in earnest consultation,
Sleuth’s curiosity was at white heat.

Near eight o’clock that evening Hooker came to see Fred at the latter’s
home.

“It’s all right,” he announced in enthusiastic triumph. “I brought Stone
round nicely, and he says you may go. I’ve seen Hubbard, too, and fixed
it up with him. He’ll be ready to start right after school to-morrow,
and he’ll come for us at half past nine Saturday morning.”

Fred’s mother was listening with sudden interest. “What are you
planning, boys?” she asked.

Fred explained, observing that her face took on a shade of anxiety.

“Now don’t begin to worry, mother,” he begged. “You know Roy and I are
both careful with guns, and there isn’t a bit of danger. I don’t want to
fret you, but I hope you won’t object.”

She sighed a little. “I suppose it’s foolish, but I can’t help feeling
anxious about you when you go gunning. However, your father bought you
the gun, and, now that you have it, it wouldn’t seem reasonable for me
to seek to prevent you from getting some pleasure through the use of
it.”

“All boys love a gun,” smiled Andrew Sage, “and the right sort of a boy
rarely gets hurt with one.”

“Then it’s all fixed,” laughed Roy. “Get everything ready to start right
away after school, Fred. Take along a blanket, for you’ll need it in the
old camp. If we have any luck at all, we ought to bring home some
ducks.”

Roy had been gone some time when Fred’s mother came up quietly behind
his chair, bent over him and put her arms about his neck.

“Don’t think me foolish, my dear,” she said in a low tone. “You
understand why I can’t help worrying. You’re the only boy I have left,
now.”




                              CHAPTER IX.

                         THE CAMP IN THE WOODS.


Something over four miles from Oakdale Abel Hubbard reined his horse
into an old road which led from the main highway into the depths of the
woods. Fred and Roy, with their outfits, were in the wagon, and, the
time being short ere darkness must come on, they urged Hubbard to make
haste.

“Can’t hit any high places along this old road,” answered the fat little
village 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 an
all-fired rush? All I want to do is git back on to the main road before
it sets in dark.”

“But we’ve got some things to do ourselves,” said Roy. “We’ve got to
find the old raft and have it ready for use in the morning, besides
cutting 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’s
sort of an accommodation, anyhow. I wouldn’t think of making both trips
for 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 a
dollar.”

“Oh, I could be busy,” returned the man, “if I wanted to work for Lem
Hayden in his quarry or kilns, and I guess I could find a job in the
mills; but, as a regular commissioned officer, it’s my duty to be
unhampered and ready for anything that may turn up. If I was workin’ and
Sheriff 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,” said
Roy. “If a stranger should show up with references, he could find
something to do, couldn’t he?”

“Reckon he could, such as it was. I don’t cal’late them <DW55>s in the
quarries 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, I
met a man who said he was in search of a job, and he asked me about the
chances 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’t
nobody new showed up lately, so I guess your man didn’t stop around
here.”

“I don’t believe he did,” said Roy.

Presently they reached the old camp, from which, through the trees, they
could get a glimpse of the pond. It did not take them long to jump out
and unload their belongings, which were carried into the camp, the door
being fastened merely by a wooden peg thrust through a staple. Hubbard
backed his wagon round, bade them good luck and drove off into the
shadows 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’s
light enough to find it. We can get together firewood later. Come on.”

Leaving their property in the camp, they hurried to the pond, and Hooker
led the way along the marshy shore. The water-grass and rushes stood
thick and rank at this end of the lake, and soon Hooker pointed out a
mass of dead brush in the midst of the reeds some distance from the
marshy shore.

“There’s the old blind,” he said. “You can see it is located so it
commands the cove beyond, and that’s where the ducks coming in to feed
usually ’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 little
knoll or island out there, and the brush has been built up and woven
into the branches of an old fallen tree that may have grown on that
knoll before the water was so high. It’s a fine chance all right. But
come on, we must dig that raft out.”

They went forward again, and suddenly, with a splash and a sound of
throbbing wings, a small duck rose amid the rushes and went flying away
over the bosom of the lake.

“Hang it all!” exclaimed Roy in vexation. “Just look at that! If we’d
brought 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 always
hide if they can, until they get thoroughly used to the idea that their
wings will serve them better. We’ll get some shooting here in the
morning, mark what I say.”

The raft was found where Hooker expected to find it. It was a small
affair and would support only one of the boys, but would be sufficient
for their use in picking up such ducks as they might shoot. With the
raft there was a long pole and a piece of board that had been roughly
hewn into the shape of a paddle.

When the raft was floated Roy got on it and poled it around into the
little cove near the blind, where he succeeded in concealing it quite
effectively amid the grass and reeds. Then he waded ashore in his
water-tight boots without sinking nearly as much as he had thought he
would.

“That’s done,” he said. “Now we’ll get back to the camp and chop our
firewood while we can see to do it. There are no signs to indicate that
anyone has shot from the blind this fall, and therefore the ducks ought
to come up to it without fear.”

Soon the strokes of an axe were ringing through the gloomy woods as Sage
worked at the trunk of a dry fallen tree. Hooker carried the wood into
the camp and piled it beside the old stone fireplace. Sunset’s faint
afterglow faded from the sky, and with gathering darkness the atmosphere
took on a sharp, nipping chill, which, however, was little felt by the
active boys. Sage continued chopping, while Hooker found time between
armfuls to build a fire. Through the open door of the camp Fred saw the
welcoming glow of the flames, and it gave him a feeling of buoyancy, of
keen relish, of intense satisfaction in life and the pleasures thereof.
It was good to be there with his chum in those dark and silent autumn
woods, making ready to spend the night together in that old camp before
the 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 in
this camp lately.”

“That so? I thought you said you were sure no one had used the shooting
blind.”

“I am; I’ll bet on it. I looked to see, and I could tell that no one had
been there. They would have left tracks and marks and probably empty
shells. Whoever it was that stopped in the camp, they did not try any
shooting from the blind. And say, I’ll bet somebody was in that camp
last night. I thought I caught a smell of tobacco smoke when we first
opened the door, but it was so dusky inside that I didn’t notice
anything else. There’s fresh-cut boughs in the bunk, and the ashes in
the fireplace were hardly cold. I found crumbs on the floor, too, and
part of a newspaper not quite two weeks old.”

“Then I reckon you’re right,” agreed Sage, “though I don’t quite see why
anyone should stop in the old camp this time of year, unless he came
here to shoot ducks. We’d have been in a scrape if we’d found someone
here ahead of us to-night.”

They bore the last of the wood inside and threw it down on a heaping
pile beside the now merrily blazing fire, which illumined the entire
interior of the camp. Hooker had thoughtfully brought a can of water
from a nearby spring, and, thus prepared, they were ready to settle down
to the supper of sandwiches and doughnuts put up for them by their
mothers.

Roy closed and fastened the door with the inside hasp.

“You can see,” he said, with a gesture toward the old bunk at one side
of the room, “those boughs on top are fresh cut.”

“That’s right,” nodded Sage, after examining them. “Hacked off with a
jackknife, I should say, and not two days old. Well, somebody was kind
enough to help make us comfortable, for, with our blankets and a fire
going, we ought to find that bunk all right to-night. I’m really much
obliged to the unknown person or persons. I presume there may have been
more than one.”

“Here’s that part of a newspaper,” said Roy, taking it from the small
rough 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, his
lips puckered, and he gave a long, low whistle.

“What is it?” questioned the boy.

“By Jove!” muttered Sage wonderingly. And then, after a moment of
silence, he repeated with greater emphasis: “By Jove!”

“What is it?” exclaimed Hooker.

“This paper,” answered Fred, staring at some headlines in bold-faced
type. “It’s either a part of the same one or a duplicate of an issue I
saw in the possession of Billy Piper last Saturday night.”




                               CHAPTER X.

                         A PERPLEXING QUESTION.


The black headlines which had attracted Fred’s eye told of the five
hundred dollar reward offered for the capture of Jim Wilson, who had
escaped from the Harpersville jail after a murderous assault on the
guard. The manner in which the paper had been folded indicated that this
sensational article had been left outermost, and the blurred ink and
wear in the creases of the folds bespoke the fact that the paper had
been carried around in someone’s pocket.

“Piper?” muttered Hooker. “Why, it isn’t likely that he has been here.”

“It doesn’t seem at all likely,” agreed Sage; “but still——”

“What was he doing with the paper, anyhow?”

Fred turned sidewise, so that the bright light from the open fire fell
full on the page, and his finger indicated the news article which had
held such deep interest for Sleuth.

“See that?”

“Yes,” said Roy, peering over his chum’s shoulder. “‘Five hundred
dollars reward. Desperate character breaks jail after murderous assault
on keeper.’ Oh, yes, that’s the sort of stuff that would interest old
Sleuthy.”

“I’ve kept my promise to Piper to say nothing about his wild theory,”
said Fred, “and, a full week having passed with no result, I don’t fancy
it will do him any good for me to continue a clam. I was sure there was
nothing in it, anyhow. You see, Piper had a crazy notion that this
escaped criminal and the stranger you talked with last Saturday might be
identical. It’s rather odd that the printed description of James Wilson,
as given here, corresponds with your description of the man who talked
with you and ran away at my approach. Here it is.”

His eyes puckered, his lips pursed a little, Hooker read the description
of Gentleman Jim.

“Why, that’s right,” he said slowly. “It does sort of fit, and no
mistake. But Pipe didn’t say anything about this to me. You know I told
you how he came round and asked me a lot of questions, some of which I
couldn’t answer, and the most of which seemed more or less foolish. He
tried to find out everything I knew about you and your folks, seeming
especially anxious to learn where you came from when you moved into
Oakdale. Now what’s that got to do with this stuff in the newspaper?”

Fred laughed shortly. “You see,” he explained, with a touch of scorn,
“Sleuth was trying to connect us somehow with the notorious and
desperate Mr. Wilson.”

“How could he do that?”

“Have you forgotten that your stranger made inquiries concerning the
Sages in Oakdale? Now you tumble; you’re on. If that man was Wilson, he
would not make such inquiries without some knowledge of us, and, if he
knew us, it was natural to suppose that we knew him. I informed Piper
that I had never heard of such a man.”

“That should have ended it.”

“Not with Sleuth. Doubtless he reasoned that if we had ever known this
criminal we would, most naturally, be sure to deny the fact.”

“But you never did know him?”

Sage shot his friend a quick, resentful glance. “Do you think I’d lie,
even to Piper?”

“Of course not.”

“I never heard of this James Wilson, _alias_ Gentleman Jim, until Sleuth
told me about him. My denial, however, had little effect on Piper, who
hinted at family skeletons hidden away in closets and then proceeded to
watch me in true dime novel detective style. For a day or two I couldn’t
shake him; he hung around me all the time. At last I got tired of it and
gave him to understand flatly that he’d better let up.”

“By Jingoes!” laughed Roy. “He was watching you last night. After we
fixed it up for this little expedition and you had started for home,
Piper overtook me and casually did a little pumping. Reckon I was easy,
for I told him all about it. Say, you don’t suppose——” Roy paused, as if
wondering over an idea that had flashed into his mind.

“What?”

“You don’t suppose he came here to this camp after that? Perhaps he
dropped the paper himself.”

Following a moment’s thought, Sage shook his head. “It was after dark
last night when he found out what we had arranged to do, Roy. Piper was
at school to-day, and we left him starting out for practice with the
rest of the team. While it’s not impossible, it’s most improbable that
he visited this place after learning we were coming here, and got home
in time to attend school. The signs of a recent fire in the fireplace
and the fresh boughs on the bunk we may accept as positive assurance
that someone spent last night here. Under any circumstances, Sleuth
wouldn’t do that—alone.”

“Never,” agreed Hooker, with conviction. “This piece of newspaper must
have been left here by someone else. It’s a mere coincidence that it
happens to be the same issue shown you by Piper, and it isn’t worth
bothering our brains over any further. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

“All right,” agreed Fred, putting the newspaper into his pocket.

Their lunch was opened up and placed on the table. Two old boxes served
them as chairs. The warmth of the fire made the camp quite comfortable,
and its light was sufficient for their needs. Sitting there and chatting
after the manner of bosom chums, they thoroughly enjoyed their supper.

After supper there was much to talk over, things of mutual interest
which kept them for a time wide awake and in excellent humor. As it was
required, they placed fresh wood on the fire, reserving the heavier
sticks for the long hours of the night, when they would need a slower
blaze.

The guns were looked over and fondled affectionately, while they
discussed their hunting experiences, laughing with relish over blunders
and failures which had seemed most annoying at the time of their
occurrence. They examined the decoys Hooker had borrowed, making sure
they were properly “strung” and ready for setting. Football and school
affairs also furnished topics for chatting and laughter and the
expression of more or less dogmatic opinions. At times in the lulls of
their talk they heard the night wind in the trees outside, and
occasional puffs coming down the chimney blew a little smoke back into
the camp, the odor of which did not, however, become strong enough to be
offensive.

Behind them the firelight flung their shadows, huge and wavering,
against the camp wall, and, looking round once by chance, Sage was
startled to observe those shadows hovering there like something silent
and sinister and menacing. Although he did not refer again to the
strange man Roy had encountered, he was wondering who that man could
have been.

“Whoo!” cried an owl from the blackness of the woods.

Their chatter grew less; at last it ceased. They sat silently gazing at
the fire, with its bed of glowing coals. Hooker moved, stretched and
yawned.

“It’s me for the sleeps,” he announced drowsily, producing a dollar
watch and beginning to wind it. “We’ve got to be up and in that blind
ready for business before peep o’ day, you know.”

“I’m ready to turn in,” said Fred.

“Fellow who sleeps on the front side of the bunk will have to replenish
the fire once in a while. We can change round in the night and take
turns at it. How are you about waking up?”

“Pretty good. I’ll take my turn first.”

Some heavy logs were placed on the fire, and Roy rolled himself into his
blanket, an example which Sage soon followed. In a few moments Hooker
was sound asleep, as his breathing indicated, but for a long time Fred
lay thinking and wondering. He could not rid himself of the conviction
that the discovery in that old camp of the newspaper containing the
account of Gentleman Jim’s jail-break bore a significance unexplained
and uncomprehended. If that paper had not been left there by Piper, who
had left it?

“Whoo!” again cried the owl.




                              CHAPTER XI.

                         THE HIDDEN SPORTSMEN.


Taking turns, the boys rose several times during the night and
replenished the fire. At best, the bough bed was none too comfortable,
but toward morning both lads slept soundly for some time.

Awaking suddenly after this period of slumber, Sage lifted himself to
his elbow and listened, impressed by the hazy conviction that he had
been aroused by an unusual sound. The fire had sunk to a mass of coals
and embers, from which emanated a faint glow that barely reached across
the stone hearth of the fireplace. Beyond that dim gleam of light the
interior of the camp was wrapped in dense darkness. The wind no longer
roamed amid the treetops, and not even a breath came down the chimney to
disturb the gray ashes in the fireplace.

Fred’s heart thumped annoyingly, while his ears were reaching out for a
repetition of the sound that had awakened him; and, when he had begun to
think it must have been a creation of his imagination or dreams, it came
again.

It was like footsteps—stealthy, cautious footsteps, which, however,
seemed to move a bit uncertainly in the darkness. It seemed like one or
more persons walking in the woods a short distance from the camp and
occasionally stumbling a bit, although moving slowly and with
considerable caution. The sounds were receding.

“It must be some straying animal,” thought Fred.

Fainter and fainter grew the sounds. Once or twice there came a
cracking, as of dead branches beneath a heavy foot, and at last the
listening lad heard something that sent a shock through him. It was like
the suppressed murmur of human voices, and was followed immediately by a
low, soft, short whistle.

Sage grasped Hooker and gave him a shake.

“Hey? What is it?” mumbled Roy, awakened.

“Hush!” breathed Fred excitedly. “There’s someone prowling around this
camp. Don’t make a noise. Listen.”

Breathless, they listened for a full minute, but now the woods seemed
silent and lifeless, and not a thing could they hear.

“Guess you’re mistaken, Fred,” said Roy in a low tone. “You must have
been dreaming.”

“I wasn’t dreaming,” asserted Sage positively; “I never was more wide
awake in all my life. Keep still a little longer.”

For a long time they remained silent, gradually growing tired and
cramped by the rigid tensity of their bodies.

“They’ve gone,” decided Sage at last.

“They?” questioned Roy. “Was there more than one?”

“Two, at least. I heard them talking.”

“Oh, say, Fred, you must be mistaken. Who would come prowling around in
these black woods at this hour?”

“I haven’t an idea who it was, but I’ll stake my life on it that it was
somebody. Nothing in the world could convince me that I was mistaken.”

“Oh, well, if you’re so positive——But it seems ridiculous, impossible,
preposterous. It’s pitch dark, and no one would be wandering through
these woods under such circumstances.”

Fred threw off his blanket and got up. “I don’t blame you for thinking
so, and I would say the same if I had not heard them. What makes it all
the more unaccountable is the fact that they were sneaking. They were
using the utmost caution in their movements, Hooker, and when a person
sneaks he’s up to something.”

“Perhaps,” said Roy, with an attempt at persiflage, “it was their design
to murder and rob us for our vast wealth.”

“Whatever their design may have been,” said Sage, putting some small dry
wood on the coals of the fire, “it was not honest and open. People do
not creep around through the night like cut-throats unless they’re up to
something that won’t bear inspection.”

“If I didn’t know you as well as I do,” said Roy, “I’d say you had a bad
attack of nerves. What time is it, anyhow?”

A little flame leaped up from the dry wood, and by the light of this
Sage looked at his watch. “It’s almost five o’clock,” he answered in
surprise.

“Jingoes!” exclaimed the other boy, rising with a bound. “It’s time we
were getting out. With sunrise an hour away, we’ve got to do some tall
hustling.”

Fred agreed to this, and, although still disturbed and perplexed over
what he had heard, he imitated Roy in losing no time about the
preparations to set forth. They pulled on their boots, gray sweaters and
coats, and gathered up the guns, ammunition and decoys. Then the door
was opened, and they went out into the blackness of the last hour of
night. The sky must have been overcast, for above the treetops there was
no gray hint of light to suggest the coming dawn. The air was still and
impregnated with the coldness that suggested Thanksgiving, turkey, plum
pudding and skating.

“I know the best way,” said Hooker. “Follow me close.”

Even though Roy knew the way, as they proceeded toward the pond Sage was
impressed by the conviction that they made at least double the noise
that had been made by the unknown prowlers. Reaching the pond, they
hurried forward toward the blind, but only for Hooker, they would have
passed it. Ankle deep, they waded out through the swishing grass and
reeds, and found the old raft where it had been left.

“Only one of us can work on the raft,” said Roy. “You take the guns into
the blind, while I set the decoys.”

With no time to waste, Roy worked as swiftly as possible. From the blind
Fred could see the dark figure of his chum, kneeling on the raft, as he
spread the decoys out so that they would float upon the water in a
natural manner and anchored them with the weights. As soon as this was
done, Hooker poled the old raft back into the cover of the reeds and
hurried to join Sage.

“Barely made it,” he chuckled. “There’s one thing we have to thank your
prowling friends for; if we’d slept half an hour longer, it’s likely we
would have gotten out here too late for the first flights. It’s getting
light now in the east.”

It was true that far over the eastern end of the pond a dull, grayish
light was beginning to make itself apparent low down upon the horizon,
and as this slowly spread it was reflected on the glassy, unrippled
surface of the water.

“Get ready for shooting,” said Hooker eagerly, as he broke his gun and
thrust two shells into the barrels.

“I’m loaded up already,” stated Fred, settling down with his repeater in
a position which would enable him to shoot toward the decoys as well as
watch the open stretch of the pond, up which the birds were expected to
come from the eastward.

Hooker knelt and tried aiming over the top of the blind, swinging his
gun to follow the movements of some imaginary ducks.

“All right,” he laughed softly; “let ’em come.”

With each passing moment the grayness in the east continued to spread,
until they could see the wooded outlines of the shores, bordered by deep
shadows. Morning did not break with a blush, but seemed to awaken
reluctantly and heavily, like a person aged and weary. Its chill bit
their noses, and would have benumbed their fingers, only for the heavy
protecting gloves they wore.

Suddenly Fred gave a low, electrifying hiss. “Birds!” he whispered,
snatching the loose glove from his right hand. “Here they come!”

Their nerves atingle, they crouched low, peering forth from the blind.
Against the eastern sky they could see some small, black, swiftly moving
specks, which they knew were ducks coming up the pond and doubtless
headed for the feeding grounds at the western end. The guns were held
ready for quick use, while the boys watched those black specks coming
nearer and nearer, skimming through the air slightly higher than the
treetops on the shore.

“They’ll come in here sure!” breathed Hooker. “Be ready to nail them
when they settle. Fire when they discover the decoys aren’t the real
thing and start to rise again.”

But barely had he uttered the words when, from a mass of swamp bushes on
a low point that thrust itself out into the pond a short distance away,
two puffs of smoke leaped upward, followed by the reports of two guns,
and, short-stopped in their flight, two of the ducks came tumbling
downward to splash into the water. Immediately, with quacks of alarm,
the others rose higher and whirled away. A third shot was fired from the
point, but apparently it was a clean miss, as not one of the frightened
and fleeing ducks betrayed a symptom of being hit.

Thunderstruck, Sage and Hooker stared dumbly toward the cover from which
the unknown hunters had fired. After a time Roy savagely exclaimed:

“What do you think of that! Wouldn’t it kill you dead!”

“It killed our chance at those birds,” returned Fred, as he regretfully
watched them disappearing above the tree tops. “Who the dickens can it
be?”

“We ought to find out pretty quick. They’ll have to pick up those two
ducks.”

Eagerly and wrathfully they continued to watch, and after some moments
they saw a small object moving out from the point toward the floating
ducks.

“They’ve got a retriever,” growled Sage, with increased disgust.
“They’re lying low and sending the dog to bring their game.”

“Confound their hides!” raged Hooker. “They’re going to spoil our fun,
just as true as you live. I’d like to punch their heads!”

“It would be a great satisfaction,” said Sage bitterly.

“Look here, old man,” said Roy, smitten by a thought, “there are your
sneaking prowlers. They are the gentlemen who woke you as they passed
the camp. I’ll bet anything they had just come in by the old wood-road.”

“I’m inclined to think you’re right,” admitted Fred. “But why were they
so careful about making a noise? Hook, they must have known there was
someone in that camp.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if you had stated the reason for their caution.
Furthermore, they must be wise to the way the ducks usually fly here,
and they have the advantage of us by hiding on that point.”

One after another, the dog retrieved the dead birds and carried them to
the point, finally disappearing from view.

“If some of the birds will only keep far enough from that point, we may
get some shooting yet, old man,” said Roy hopefully.

In a short time another flock, larger than the first, was seen coming up
the pond, and, to the great satisfaction of the boys, they were flying
over the exact middle of the water, and would therefore pass beyond
gun-shot of the unknown hunters, unless they should change their course.

“It’s our turn now,” exulted Roy. “I think that bunch will come in here.
Something doing in a minute or two, old chap.”

There was—something tremendously provoking; for, as the flock came
opposite the low point, both of the unseen sportsmen fired, although,
with any reasonable amount of judgment, they must have realized that
there was not one chance in a thousand that they could make a kill.
Those shots, however, were sufficient to cause the flock to swerve,
swing about in a half circle, and go speeding off into the distance.

Hooker said something violent, while Sage ground his strong teeth
together.

“The chumps! The miserable, sneaking idiots!” raged Roy. “If they have a
bit of sense in their bone-heads, they must have known they couldn’t
start a feather at that distance. Why do you suppose they were foolish
enough to try it?”

“I can’t imagine any reason, unless they were determined to spoil our
chance,” answered Fred, who was now furious enough to fight. “If they
keep that addle-pated business up, we won’t get a shot this morning.”

“Slim chance of it now, anyhow. It’s broad daylight, and we’ve lost our
opportunity at two flocks. There may be other birds coming in, but those
that have heard the firing will be likely to keep away from this end of
the pond. It’s rotten, that’s what it is.”

“With good luck, we might have knocked down half a dozen out of that
last big bunch. Whoever those chaps are, they’re poor sportsmen.”

“They’re nasty sneaks; that’s my opinion.”

In the course of ten minutes three ducks, evidently a remnant of a
flock, came winging close to the point, and with four shots the hidden
hunters tumbled the trio of birds into the water. One was wounded, for
it flopped about after splashing into the pond, but soon another shot
from the bushes finished it. Then the dog swam out and did the work of
retrieving.

“It’s all off,” sighed Sage. “Our morning’s sport is ruined.”

“Hardly a doubt of it,” agreed his companion. “That is, as far as
shooting ducks is concerned. I propose to have a look at the gentlemen
who have tricked us in this brilliant and commendable manner. They
aren’t going to get away before I see them and tell them a few things.
Come on; we can gather up the decoys later.”

“You don’t think it’s any use to wait a little longer, Roy?” asked Fred,
loath to release the skirts of hope.

“Not a bit. Besides, I’d rather face those chaps now than to kill one or
two stray ducks.”

Leaving the blind, they hurried to the shore and turned their footsteps
toward the point upon which the rival duck hunters were ensconced.
Realizing it was wholly probable that their movements had been observed,
they lost no time in plunging forward through the woods and thickets,
fearing that the ones they sought might take alarm and depart.

Bursting forth from the bushes side by side, they halted as they reached
the point, beholding two boys leaving the shelter in which they had been
hidden, burdened by guns and the slain ducks and followed by a
water-spaniel. These boys stopped as Sage and Hooker appeared before
them.

One was Jack Nelson; the other Sleuth Piper.




                              CHAPTER XII.

                       DISAPPOINTED DUCK HUNTERS.


“Well, I’ll be switched!” exclaimed Hooker, in mingled astonishment and
anger.

Nelson, whose dog had done the retrieving, beamed pleasantly on the
disappointed and wrathy young sportsmen. “Good morning,” he said.
“You’re out for a little shooting, I see. Had any luck?”

“Yes—rotten,” flung back Hooker. “Confound you fellows! you spoiled the
morning for us.”

“Really?” chirped Nelson, in pretended surprise, elevating his eyebrows.
“How was that?”

“You know how,” grated Sage hotly. “You did it purposely, too. But I
suppose it was that pestering, sly, conceited, cheap imitator of
Sherlock Holmes who is really responsible.”

Piper looked aggrieved. “If you’re referring to me,” he said, “permit me
to inform you that I’m not at all pleased by your insulting language.”

“I didn’t intend you should be,” Fred flung back; “and you’d be less
pleased if I could find appropriate words to express my opinion of you.
It was a miserable, low-down trick you fellows played on us this
morning, and you know it.”

“Now hold on,” Nelson commanded, his cheerful manner vanishing. “We
won’t stand for any of that. We’ve as much right to shoot ducks on this
pond as you have.”

“Of course we have,” Piper backed him up; “but Sage seems to have an
idea that he owns the earth—that’s what’s the matter with him.”

Fred levelled his finger at the speaker’s face. “You have annoyed me to
the limit recently,” he grated. “After getting a crazy notion into your
head, you’ve dogged me around constantly. You found out that Roy and I
were coming here to shoot ducks this morning, for, without suspecting
your design, he let you pump him. Straightway, in a highly commendable
manner, you arranged to sneak in here some time in the night, and you
planked yourself on this point, where you could bang away at the ducks
as they flew past, knowing perfectly well that every time you’d fire
into a flock you’d frighten them so that they would not come to our
decoys. A fine piece of work!”

“I say, Sage, you take it hard, don’t you?” laughed Nelson. “Even if we
knew you were coming to the lake, we had a right to do so ourselves. And
as long as you had not possession of this point, which is the only
place, besides the old blind, from which any successful shooting can be
done at this end of the pond, it surely was our privilege to grab it.
Come, come, don’t be a squealer. I’ve always considered you game, but
you’re showing another side.”

“Once,” said Fred, “you deliberately fired at a passing flock when you
must have known the birds were beyond gun-shot. If you did not do that
to frighten them from coming to our decoys, why did you do it?”

“Yes,” cried Hooker, “explain that.”

“We took a chance on bringing one down, that’s all,” said Nelson.

“Oh, don’t bother yourself to explain,” Piper put in quickly. “It’s no
use; they won’t believe you. We’ve got to get home. Let’s not stand here
chewing the rag.”

“A good punching is what you deserve,” snarled Hooker, “and I think we
could hand it to you, too.”

“Permit me to express doubts,” said Nelson. “If you want to try it,
you’ve a splendid opportunity.”

It was a tense moment, for both Fred and Roy had been striving hard to
hold themselves in check, and the insolent defiance of the other pair
was almost too much for them to swallow. It was Sage’s level head that
averted the clash. Knowing someone might be seriously hurt in a
hand-to-hand fight, and remembering that the first football game of the
season would take place that afternoon, he put forth a hand and grasped
Hooker’s sleeve.

“We won’t scrap with them,” he said in a low tone. “They have shown what
they are; let them get as much satisfaction out of it as they can.”

Piper, who had not really relished the prospect of a fist-fight, braced
up wonderfully, while Nelson laughed again.

“You’re showing a little sense now,” said the latter, “which, doubtless,
you’ll realize when you come to think it over. The joke is on you, and
you may as well accept it in that light. It’s too bad you didn’t get
even a shot at anything, but you can’t expect to go home loaded with
game every time you hunt. Some rather pretty birds we have got, eh?” He
held them up tantalizingly, which caused Hooker’s teeth to snap together
and his hands to clench.

“Come, Roy,” urged Sage, “let’s go back and gather up our decoys.”

Reluctantly Hooker permitted his chum to swing him about, and he
muttered under his breath:

“Sometime I’ll even it up with this pair. They’ll get what’s coming, all
right.”

As they were returning for the decoys they heard for a time the voices
of Piper and Nelson, who seemed to be in high spirits, for they burst
into frequent peals of laughter. Finally the irritating sounds died out
as the triumphant duck hunters receded into the distance, following the
old wood-road toward the main highway.

Grimly the disappointed lads gathered up the decoys and returned to the
old camp. Sage was the first to show signs of reviving good nature,
which symptoms at first caused Hooker more or less irritation.

“Perhaps you can take it that way, Fred,” said Roy; “but I can’t. It was
a dirty piece of business, although it may seem very shrewd and humorous
to Piper and Nelson.”

Their blankets being rolled up and everything made ready for the
appearance of Abel Hubbard, they still had some time to wait for the
village constable, and this time they spent discussing the affair.
Suddenly, as if struck by a thought, Fred clapped his hand to his pocket
and drew forth the remnant of a newspaper that had been found in the
camp.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed; “that’s queer. I wish I’d questioned Sleuth
about it.”

“What are you driving at now?” asked his companion.

“It just occurred to me that, after all, this paper may have been
dropped here by Piper, although I don’t quite understand how it could
have been. If so, he must have come here recently—as recently as
yesterday or the day before.”

“Nothing to it,” declared Hooker positively. “He was at school both
those days, and he has practiced regularly with the teams every night.
He had no time to come here.”

“Unless he did so in the night—night before last. But I don’t see why
he——”

“You couldn’t hire him to come here alone at night,” asserted Hooker;
“he’s too big a coward. A great detective should have plenty of courage,
but a rabbit is a lion compared with Sleuthy.”

“He may have had someone with him.”

“If so, it was some fellow we know, and we’ll find out about it. But I
don’t think there’s the remotest chance that it can be so, for he would
have announced the fact when we caught him face to face a short time
ago. It would have served as an excuse for his presence this morning.
Why, he could have claimed that he had come here ahead of us to look the
ground over and plan for a duck hunt. He could have accused us of being
encroachers. Forget it, Fred; Sleuth never dropped that paper in this
camp.”

“Which,” said Sage regretfully, “leaves us just where we were before, up
against a mystery. I’m not going to puzzle my head over it any more.”

“A sensible decision.” nodded Roy. “I’m inclined to fancy you’ve placed
too much importance on that particular scrap of a newspaper.”

Shortly before nine o’clock, as they were sitting on an old log in front
of the camp, they heard the creaking of Hubbard’s wagon, and directly
the constable appeared with the conveyance.

“Mornin’, boys,” he saluted. “What luck?”

“Nothing but bad luck,” answered Hooker. “Some other chaps spoiled our
shooting for us, and we didn’t get as much as a feather.”

“Sho! Now that’s too bad. I cal’late I seen them other chaps. Met ’em on
the road almost to town. They was Jack Nelson and Billy Piper, and they
had some birds. Seemed to feel purty nifty and chipper, too, for they
laughed when they spied me. Told me I’d better get a stouter wagon to
haul in my load, but I didn’t know just what they meant.”

“Those chaps have a perverted sense of humor,” rasped Roy. “They’ll get
it taken out of them some day. Come on, Fred, let’s throw our dunnage
aboard and set sail. I’m anxious to get home to rest up before that game
this afternoon.”




                             CHAPTER XIII.

                         THE TARDY QUARTERBACK.


The members of the Oakdale football team were gathering at the gymnasium
to dress and prepare for the game. Singly and in groups they came
hurrying in to open their lockers and drag forth suits, cleated shoes,
shin guards, head pieces, nose protectors and other paraphernalia. Some
were in high spirits, while others, as if impressed by the importance of
the approaching contest, appeared somewhat serious and grim. Chipper
Cooper, always volatile and lively, persisted in perpetrating some very
bad puns, being finally given a call-down by Sile Crane, who was wearing
an almost funereal face.

“Oh, cut it aout,” remonstrated Sile. “Yeou’ll make us all sick with
yeour senseless slop. If yeou’ve got an idee it’s goin’ to be any picnic
trouncin’ them Barville fellers this arternoon, yeou’re away off yeour
base.”

Chipper’s retort was particularly atrocious. “I would not _debase_
myself by such a thought,” he said.

Harry Hopper let fly a shoe, which Cooper deftly dodged. “You’ll be
murdered some day if you don’t quit it,” declared Harry.

“It wouldn’t be murder,” said Chub Tuttle, carelessly spilling peanuts
from his pocket as he flung his coat aside; “it would be a noble deed
for the general public good. No jury would ever convict a feller for
killing Coop in a frenzied moment, following one of his alleged
witticisms.”

“The assassin sure would escape on the plea of temporary insanity,”
laughed Rodney Grant.

“I tell yeou, fellers, we’ve got to play some if we trim Barville,” said
Crane. “I’ve got it straight from Len Roberts that they’re goin’ to chaw
us up.”

“In the name of a good old English poet, let them Chaucer,” snickered
Cooper, flinging himself into a defensive attitude. “Come on, you base
scoundrels; I defy you.”

“Roberts is a big wind-bag,” was the opinion of Jack Nelson. “He’s
always blowing about what Barville is going to do.”

“But they’ve got a coach,” said Crane. “Last year we had one, but this
season, without Roger Eliot to raise the spondulicks, we couldn’t git
one. They’ve got some new players, too, that are said to be rippers. I
tell yeou, boys, I’m worried.”

“It’s just as bad to worry as it is to be overconfident,” said Ben
Stone, the captain of the eleven, appearing among them. “It’s my opinion
they’ve been trying to get our goat by setting afloat a lot of hot air
about the strength of their team and their wonderful new players. If we
go onto the field feeling a bit shy of them, which is doubtless what
they want, they will try to get the jump on us at the start. But we’re
not going to let them work that trick. Has anyone seen Sage? I wonder
where he is.”

Fred Sage, who was usually one of the first to be on hand, had not
arrived, and when, a short time later, he still remained absent, the
captain’s wonderment took on a touch of anxiety.

“Here, Hooker,” he called to Roy, who, as a substitute, was getting into
his armor, “do you know anything about Sage? He isn’t around.”

“I’ve been wondering where he was,” confessed Hooker. “I haven’t seen
him since I left him in front of his house this forenoon.”

“Perhaps,” suggested Jack Nelson maliciously, “he’s suffering from an
attack of indigestion. Wild duck is pretty heavy food, you know.”

“Look out,” retorted Roy, “that you don’t have to eat crow yet.”

Another five minutes passing, and the quarterback failing to arrive,
Stone decided to send out for him.

“Here, Tommy,” he called to Tommy Shea, the mascot of the team, “you go
find Sage and tell him to get a move on. We must have our regular
warming up before the game, and I’ll guarantee Barville is on the field
now. I can’t see what’s happened to keep him away. Stir yourself,
Tommy.”

As the little fellow dusted out of the gymnasium there came through the
momentarily opened door the sound of a hearty Barville cheer, which,
doubtless, proclaimed the advent of the visitors on the adjacent field.

“They must have plenty of confidence in their team,” said Bob Collins,
“for they’ve certainly sent over a big bunch of rooters. People have
been coming from Barville in all sorts of turnouts for the past two
hours.”

“All the more gate money for us,” exulted the optimistic Cooper. “In
fancy I can hear the merry jingle of their quarters. They can give us as
many as they please, but we’ll give them no quarter to-day.
Nevertheless, without Sage we’d be a quarter short, and we’d feel it
before the end of the first half. Mercy! I surrender! Spare me!”

No one paid the slightest attention to him, however, which led him
disgustedly to mutter something about casting pearls before swine.

In a short time Tommy Shea returned, followed closely by Sage, whose
face was flushed and who betrayed some tokens of unusual excitement. At
least, this was what the watchful Piper thought, and he became, if
possible, more watchful than ever.

“Met him on the way, captain,” the mascot reported to Stone.

“You’re late, Fred,” said Ben sharply. “We’re ready to go out now, all
but you. Anything the matter?”

“No—no, nothing the matter,” was the somewhat faltering answer, as Sage
began ripping off his clothes, having given Tommy Shea the key to open
his locker. “I had—some things to do at home, and I didn’t—I didn’t
realize it was so late.”

“Lame excuse,” whispered Piper to himself. “Something has happened,
sure. He’s in a perfect stew.”

While Fred was hurriedly preparing for the field, Stone called the
others around him and talked to them earnestly, laying out a plan of
campaign for the first quarter. At first he addressed them all in a
general way, after which he singled out individual members of the eleven
and gave each one advice and instructions. Ere he had gone through the
list Sage was completely dressed for the game and apparently drinking in
the captain’s words, although to Piper it seemed that he listened with a
distinct effort which betrayed a tendency of his mind to wander.

“Just a word to you, Sage,” said Stone in conclusion. “Keep things
moving on the jump. Don’t waste any time over your signals when we’re on
the offensive. I have an idea that Barville will try to rush us off our
feet at the start, and we mustn’t let them do that. We’ll hammer them
hard as we can with straight football to begin with, and hold back our
trick plays for use in emergencies. Of course if we quickly get within
striking distance of their goal, and they hold us for a down that
doesn’t give us a proper gain, you may see fit to try a trick or to work
the forward pass. Now come on, everybody; let’s go out with a snap and
show that we’re alive.”

From the gymnasium to the players’ entrance of the field was only a
short distance, and Ben led his sturdy followers at a swift pace. The
visitors were practicing at one end of the field, watched and encouraged
by the surprisingly large gathering of Barville supporters who had
followed them to Oakdale. As the shocky-haired locals dashed out into
the open space they were given a lusty cheer by the majority of the
assembled spectators. At once two footballs were put into use by them,
and they went at the work of warming up with commendable method and
ginger.

It was a hazy autumn afternoon, the sky being overcast with a filmy
veil, through which the sun shone with a muffled orange glow. A tempered
southwest wind was blowing steadily, but not with sufficient vigor to
give much advantage to the defenders of the western goal. For the
spectators on the seats, light outer wraps were needed, even though the
air was not crisp enough to make first-class football weather.

With their coach watching them closely, the Barville lads were making an
impression by their snappy practice, in which short dashes, every man
starting fast and running low, seemed to be a particular feature.

Stone took this in at a glance, even while he did not appear to give the
rival team as much as momentary attention. It was a reminder, however,
that for the past week he had striven constantly to drill into the heads
of his teammates the necessity for rapidity in both assault and defence,
and the advantage of hitting the opposing line low and hard.

Among the followers of professional sports there can be no such genuine
loyalty and enthusiasm as that shown by the adherents of school and
college teams; for, as a class, the supporters of such teams are, like
the players, heart and soul in the game. In most cases the contestants
they are backing and on whom they pin their hopes are known to them
personally, which fact establishes between them such friendly personal
relations as seldom exist between masses of spectators and
professionals; and always a well-earned victory is a thing to be
rejoiced over by the satisfied supporter of the triumphant team, like a
piece of personal good fortune.

The referee for this game came from Clearport, and was equally
acceptable and satisfactory to both teams, having demonstrated in other
contests his absolute impartiality and fairness. At the proper moment he
walked briskly out upon the field and held a low-spoken consultation
with the two captains. A coin was tossed, and, Oakdale obtaining the
choice, Ben took the western goal.

The cheering of the spectators sank to a murmur, and was followed by a
few tense moments of silence as the youthful gladiators spread out over
the outlined chalk marks and made ready for the kick-off. Barville had
been given the ball, and the referee placed it carefully upon a little
soft mound of earth formed by his own hands at the exact center of the
field. A short distance away Copley, the fullback, who was to make the
kick, balanced and steadied himself, his eyes fastened on the huge
yellow egg. The referee retreated; the whistle sounded. With tensed
muscles, the players crouched a bit, ready for the dash.

Copley advanced, quickening his steps. With perfect judgment, he came
into position with the proper stride, swung his lusty right leg with
vigor, and, following the plunk of his foot against the ball, the
pigskin went sailing and soaring far into Oakdale’s territory.




                              CHAPTER XIV.

                           THE FIRST QUARTER.


Warren and Forest, the Barville ends, raced along in a desperate dash,
closing in as the ball began to fall. Rodney Grant was waiting for the
oncoming pigskin, balanced ready for action, his arms outstretched. He
made a clean, fair catch, and was off like a broncho of his native
state, quirt-stung and spur-jabbed. On one side Warren was blocked off,
but on the other Forest came in like a charging fury and flung himself
at the Texan. Down they went on the thirty-yard line, with the other
players converging toward that spot.

Remembering Stone’s admonition to hustle and line up without loss of a
moment, the Oakdale boys strained every nerve to get quickly into
position for the first scrimmage. This was their opportunity to show
Barville right off the reel what real snappy aggression meant.

“Lively! lively!” urged Stone; and, ere the line of the locals seemed
fully formed, Sage began barking the signal. He spat out the numbers
sharply, every one clear and distinct, and Oakdale went into Barville
like a whirlwind before the visitors were fully set for defence. The
result was a gain of eighteen yards, made in a style which seemed to
carry the Barville boys completely off their feet, with the exception of
the sturdy fullback, Copley, who yanked down the runner and prevented
what had promised to be a clean break through the defence, and what
might have given the man with the pigskin a running chance to score.

The home crowd went wild over this apparently demoralizing attack of the
Oakdale boys, and there were many who, forming a hasty judgment,
declared their conviction that the locals outclassed the visitors.

Sanger, who knew Stone as a rather slow and methodical chap, had not
imagined for a moment that the Oakdale captain would spur his team to a
point of such rapid aggression. The Barville leader, however, was not
slow to grasp the fact that he had made an error in judgment, and his
voice was heard calling sharply to his somewhat disorganized men as he
ordered them to get into position to stop the next charge. Copley came
up somewhat dazed by the shock of the collision with the runner; but the
latter was even more dazed, and was so long about finding his place in
the formation that Barville was given sufficient time to make ready for
defence.

Three stingy yards were all Oakdale could make on another line plunge;
and when, following this, a round-the-end run promised more satisfactory
results, the argus-eyed referee dismayed the shrieking adherents of the
team by penalizing the locals for holding.

Barville took heart at once and fought Oakdale tooth and nail, until the
latter team was compelled to kick rather than take the chance of losing
the ball on downs. Stone, who had a lusty leg, booted the pigskin into
the enemy’s territory, where Larry Groove, the left halfback, scooped it
on the jump, dodged Hopper, and came all the way back to the center line
before he was slammed to the turf. Of course this gave the Barville
crowd its chance to cheer madly, and their cries mingled with the
Oakdale plaudits for the tackler.

“Ginger up! ginger up!” Lee Sanger was calling, as he crouched behind
Bart Rock, the center. “Signal! signal!” Then he reeled off a few sharp
numbers, and the youthful contestants leaped at one another like tigers.

Again and again they crashed together, but Oakdale stubbornly held its
ground until an unexpected fluke—a bad pass and a muff—gave Sage a
splendid opportunity. The ball came bounding to his very feet, with
Rollins and Tuttle blocking off two of the enemy, the only ones who
seemed to realize just what had happened, and Fred had time to scoop the
ball up and a fine chance to get away with it for a run.

Instead of doing so, Sage stared for a moment at the pigskin, as if he
did not realize what it was. And when he awoke from this brief spell of
numbness and started into life and action, it was Nelson who flung
himself on the oval, to be pinned down by Hope, who had finally bucked
Tuttle aside.

In this manner, through the faltering of Sage, Barville, although she
lost the ball, stopped what might have been a gain of ground by the
locals.

Piper, who seemed to see everything, saw this, although he was too far
away at the time of the fumble to get his hands on the pigskin. Sleuth
glared at Sage.

“Something wrong,” he panted to himself. “First time he ever did a thing
like that.”

“Wake up! wake up!” Stone was calling sharply. “Positions! Get ready!
Come on, Sage, give us the signal.”

“Signal!” said Sage, and then he paused, as if collecting his thoughts.
“Signal!” he repeated. “5-11-16-24.”

It was the former line-bucking play, which, through experience thus
quickly obtained, Barville was ready to meet. Instead of a gain, the
result was a loss of two yards, the visitors actually bearing the line
of the home team back.

As the tangled mass of men untwined, following the blast of the whistle,
Sage heard Stone calling in his ear:

“Vary it, Fred. Something else; something else, quick!”

The quarterback gave himself a shake. The men were hopping into the
line-up, and the Barvilleites, now equally alert and ready, were
planting themselves for defence. Straight old-fashioned line-bucking,
with no varying plays, had already become ineffective, and Sage gave the
signal for the double pass and the criss-cross. The ball went to Nelson,
who shot toward the right, Grant closing in as if to support him, but
passing across his very heels and taking the pigskin as he passed.
Cooper blocked the right end off. Piper put his body into the right
tackle and bore him in the opposite direction. A hole was opened at
precisely the proper moment, and through it went the Texan at full
speed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Illustration:

  THE FULLBACK CAME CHARGING ACROSS, FORCING RODNEY
  TOWARD THE SIDE LINE.—Page 156.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The main body of the enemy’s back field had been led into starting in
the wrong direction. The right halfback, who was one of these, saw
through the play a moment too late to reach Grant. The fullback,
however, came charging across, forcing Rodney out toward the side line.
It seemed that the Texan would be run out of bounds, but ten feet from
the border of the field he deceived the charging fullback by a sudden
half-pivoting swerve, and the would-be tackler’s fingers barely scraped
his canvas jacket as he shot by.

The crowd rose and roared, for Grant was flying over the chalk marks
with giant strides, followed by the players of both teams. Head thrown
back, nostrils expanded, Rodney covered the ground as if his very life
depended on it.

“Touchdown!” howled the excited Oakdale spectators. “Touchdown!
touchdown!”

There was no preventing it. Over the Barville goal line went Grant,
planting the ball favorably for a goal. He did not seem to hear the
school cheer, which, with his name tagged at the end, came rolling
across the field. His manner was grim and businesslike; his attention
was entirely centered upon the matter in hand.

There was no need to punt the ball out. Brought forth properly by the
referee, it gave Oakdale a most favorable chance to boot it over the
bar, and Stone performed the trick.

As the teams changed positions on the field, the Oakdale captain found
time to rest his hand for a moment on the shoulder of Sage and speak a
few low, hasty words to him. In response Fred nodded.

Soon they were at it again, but Barville, apparently nothing
disheartened, resumed the struggle more fiercely and grimly than ever.
The tide of battle ebbed and flowed, neither side gaining any great
advantage, until presently a long, shrill blast of the whistle announced
the end of the first scrimmage.

As the boys jogged off the field, Chipper Cooper gave Piper a slap on
the back, crying:

“Well, we put one across on ’em all right.”

“Yes,” nodded Sleuth; “but Sage lost an opportunity for us before that.
He isn’t right to-day. There’s something the matter with him, or I’m a
dunce.”




                              CHAPTER XV.

                       THE PLAYER WHO BLUNDERED.


The elation of the Oakdale players over making a touchdown and goal in
the first quarter was quickly subdued by their captain, who, in the
privacy of the gym, sternly informed them that they should have done
much better.

“It was a lucky stab, nothing less,” said Ben. “Only for the
resourcefulness and speed of Grant, they would have held us scoreless.
We threw away fine opportunities, one splendid chance in particular;
and, although we got the start on them to begin with, we made nothing by
it. Unless we do better, we’ll be outplayed in the next quarter, mark
what I say.”

After this bit of general talk, he selected several of the players for
special advice and criticism. Lastly he spoke to the quarterback, whose
eyes, although fixed on Stone, held a far-away look, which seemed to
indicate lack of attention.

“Sage,” said Ben sharply, “Sage, listen to me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Fred, with a start.

“Several times you were woefully slow with your signals, and you know
that the swift aggression of a team depends mainly upon the quarterback.
No matter how prompt and ready the players may be, they can’t play fast
when a quarter dawdles over his signals. It’s not like you to be slow,
and I fail to understand it. You missed a fine chance to take advantage
of a Barville fumble, and, only for Nelson, those chaps would have
obtained possession of the ball after losing it on a bungling pass and
letting it bound to your very feet. Are you sick?”

Fred’s face was crimson. “No, sir, I’m not sick,” he answered. “I’m all
right.”

“Then it’s up to you to get into the game and play as if you were all
right.”

“I will, depend on it,” promised the quarterback.

Before the boys returned to the field Roy Hooker found an opportunity to
speak privately with his friend.

“Get a brace on, Fred—get a brace on,” urged Roy. “If you don’t, they’ll
blame it on our little outing last night. I never saw you so punk
before. Your wits seem to be wool-gathering.”

“I guess that’s right,” acknowledged Fred regretfully. “I’ll get into
gear now. Watch me.”

“Has anything happened to worry you?”

“Nun-no,” faltered Sage, “not a thing.” But, somehow, Roy felt that his
chum had not spoken the truth.

The second quarter opened quite as fiercely as the first, but with
Barville plainly prepared for quick, savage work and ready to contribute
her part of it. Indeed, the visitors seemed the more aggressive, even
though Oakdale improved all the opportunities that were offered; and,
presently, after some eight minutes of play, the home team found itself
making a desperate defence on its own thirty-yard line. Right there,
after a first down had yielded no gain, Barville tried the forward pass
and executed it successfully, cutting down the distance to the home
team’s goal by fully one half.

“Hold them, boys—you’ve got to hold them!” was the cry from the Oakdale
crowd.

“Got ’em going!” came from the visiting spectators. “Keep it up, boys!
Put the ball over for a touchdown! You can do it!”

Barville had found a weak spot in Oakdale’s line, and, mercilessly
buffeted and battered, Bob Collins, the left guard, showed signs of
grogginess. With only fifteen yards to gain, the visitors followed the
forward pass with another assault on Collins, which, although they made
only a slight gain, left him groaning on the ground. Promptly attended
by a doctor, Collins pluckily tried to stand on his pins and resume his
place in the line; but the moment he was released by supporting hands he
staggered, being prevented from falling only by the quickness of Nelson
in catching him.

Stone saw that Collins could not continue and ordered him to the side
line, at the same time calling for Hooker. Surprised that he should be
selected from the waiting substitutes, Roy promptly responded.

“Get in there at left guard, Hooker,” directed Stone, “and see if you
can stop that hole.”

Fresh and exultant, Roy took his place in the line, and, when Barville
tried the quality of the substitute, the hole was found to be stopped
effectively. Not another foot could the visitors gain through Oakdale’s
left wing.

Blocked and held, Barville apparently decided to try for a field goal,
even though success at that would leave the home team still in the lead.
It was Stone, however, who suspected a fake and hurriedly warned his
players; and Ben’s perception baffled the smashing charge of the
visitors, who were held for the final down, thus losing the ball.

Of course no time was lost in booting the pigskin away from that
dangerous point.

Nothing daunted over this failure, Barville resumed the battering
process, occasionally varying it with an end run or some peculiar piece
of strategy of her own concoction. But the locals, stronger on the
defence than the offence, refused for the time being to let the enemy
regain the lost advantage.

In the last minutes of the quarter, with Oakdale in possession of the
ball, Sage once more betrayed surprising slowness and even symptoms of
confusion in giving the signals. This was true to such an extent that
finally, in desperation, Stone went in at quarter himself, letting Fred
play fullback. And even then Sage was slow about getting into the plays.

The quarter ended with the score unchanged.

In the second period of rest the Oakdale captain drew the quarterback
apart from the others and talked to him with great earnestness. Of those
who watched the two, Piper took special note of the fact that Sage
seemed discouraged and downcast, and it was evident that Stone was
seeking by every possible manner of encouragement to brace him up. With
Fred at his best, no one else on the team could fill his position nearly
as well, and for this reason Ben was extremely loath to make a change.

Collins, having recovered from the gruelling he had received, was
anxious to get back into the game, and he made an appeal to Stone the
moment Ben finished his talk with Sage. Hooker, however, had done
surprisingly well, and the captain told Collins that he would have wait
until, during the course of the play, an opportunity offered for him to
return.

The Oakdale boys were now showing few signs of elation, for the second
quarter had led them to realize that the two teams were more evenly
matched than they had supposed, and that, doubtless, they had been
rather lucky in securing six points in the first quarter, to say nothing
of their success in holding Barville in check after that.

In the last minute before they returned to the field, Stone called all
the players around him and hastily gave them a plan of action. As soon
as the ball came into their possession, unless they should chance to get
it so close to their own line that a kick would be necessary, they were
to line up and attempt a series of three varied plays, without waiting
for signals. He was careful to make them all understand precisely what
those plays were to be, and in what order they would be carried out.
Having made certain that no man misunderstood these directions, he led
them back to the gridiron.

It was Barville’s kick-off, but Copley’s effort was somewhat weak, and
Nelson ran the ball almost to the forty-five yard line before he bit the
dirt. This made it especially favorable for the carrying out of Stone’s
plans, and the Oakdale players lined up, eager to get the start on their
antagonists then and there.

Tuttle, with the ball between his feet, took one quick backward glance,
and, seeing the others springing into position, prepared to snap it.
Just as he was on the point of doing so, he was astounded to hear Sage
cry:

“Signal!” Following which, Fred rattled off some numbers which called
for a play entirely different from that agreed upon.

A bit confused, Tuttle snapped the ball to Sage, who passed it instantly
to Grant. The confusion of the center was likewise felt by every member
of the team, which led to faltering and gave the enemy a chance to
overwhelm them and bear them back for a loss of more than five yards.

In the midst of the untangling mass Stone reached Sage, grasped him by
the shoulder and almost snarled into his ear:

“What’s the matter with you? What made you do that? You know we had
arranged to work three plays without signals.”

“I—I forgot,” said Fred. “I’m sorry, but I forgot, captain.”

“Well, you messed things finely! It’s too late now. Get into action and
see if you can make up for the blunder somehow.”

Apparently Sage tried hard to atone, and for a time he displayed a
return to his best form. His blunder, however, had greatly disturbed the
others, and the entire team betrayed such uncertainty and lack of
cohesive, united action that the home crowd was dismayed. In a few
moments Oakdale was compelled to surrender the ball on a kick.

After this the quarter was heartbreaking in many ways. Twice the
visitors threatened Oakdale’s goal, and twice they were repulsed. In her
turn Oakdale had an opportunity that set her supporters into a frenzy of
hope and enthusiasm. An end run that netted thirty yards was followed by
a trick play that yielded ten more, and then came a forward pass which
placed the locals within striking distance of the enemy’s goal.

Right there Sage once more dashed Oakdale’s hopes. The team had two sets
of signals. This was necessary to enable them to switch from one set to
the other in case their opponents should get wise to the signals in use.
Now, however, Sage put them all into confusion by mixing the signals
himself in such a manner that it was impossible to tell which of two
plays he had called for. Then he made a bad pass, which was followed by
a fumble, and Barville, coming through Oakdale like water through a
sieve, got the ball.

Immediately Stone ordered Sage out of the game. Nelson was placed at
quarter, and his position was filled by a substitute.




                              CHAPTER XVI.

                      REMARKABLE BEHAVIOR OF SAGE.


Crestfallen and deeply chagrined, Sage attempted to watch the game from
the side line. He gave no heed to the substitutes, who stared at him and
muttered among themselves. His face, at first flushed, gradually lost
its color until it became almost ghastly and haggard. He saw the
exultant, confident Barville team, with the ball in its possession,
tearing to pieces the defence of the locals in a manner that promised
disaster for Oakdale.

“They’ll seek explanations in the next intermission,” he whispered to
himself. “I can’t answer their questions.”

Turning suddenly, he left the field. Having passed outside, he made a
dash for the gymnasium, in which he began ripping off his sweat-soaked
football togs in a manner that was almost frantic. He did not pause for
a shower, knowing that there would be no time for it if he wished to get
away before his teammates appeared. Dully he seemed to hear the cheering
of the crowd upon the field, taking notice in a benumbed way that the
Barville cry was swelling stronger and more triumphant.

Leaving his playing togs as he had dropped them, he dashed bareheaded
from the gymnasium, flinging himself into his coat as he ran. Round the
corner he darted, scudded down Lake Street until the entrance to the
academy yard was reached, ran panting across the yard and settled into a
rapid walk when his feet were presently on the path that led across lots
between Middle and High Streets.

He had made his escape none too soon, for barely was he out of sight
when the third quarter ended and the Oakdale players came hurrying
toward the gymnasium. They were a soiled, battered, weary-looking band,
and more than one seemed to totter in his stride. In the gym they flung
themselves down upon benches and blankets, some even sprawling upon the
floor.

“Cripes!” groaned Sile Crane. “Them fellers sartainly made us fight. We
barely held ’em.”

“If they’d had another minute they’d have scored,” sighed Harry Hopper.
“They’re better trained than we are. They’re like iron. That’s what a
coach does for a team.”

Two chaps were rubbing Chipper Cooper’s left ankle, which he had
wrenched in a scrimmage. The smell of witch hazel and arnica filled the
room.

“Look at the confounded thing,” snapped Chipper, his face contorted by
grimaces of pain. “You can almost see it swell. I’ll be as lively as a
toad on that bum peg.”

“If Sage hadn’t messed things up!” muttered Rodney Grant, as if speaking
to himself. “What was the matter with him, anyhow?”

“Where is Sage?” asked Stone, looking around. “I don’t believe he came
in from the field. Here, Shea, go bring Sage.”

Piper touched Ben on the arm.

“Don’t bother to send for him, captain,” he advised.

“Why not?”

“You won’t find him out there. He’s gone.”

“Gone—where? Why——”

“I don’t know where,” said Sleuth; “but he’s gone. Here are his field
clothes just as he dropped them. He didn’t even stop to put them away.”

Astonishment was plainly revealed in Stone’s face.

“I don’t understand it,” he finally said in a low tone. “I can’t see why
Fred should desert us like this. What will we do if——” He checked
himself abruptly.

“He’s run away! He’s quit!” cried Nelson. “What do you know about that,
fellows?”

Hooker rose to the defence of his chum. “I’m dead sure Fred is sick,” he
said. “There’s no other explanation for his actions. He wouldn’t
acknowledge it, but he must be sick. You all know what a football
enthusiast he is, and you never before saw him put up such a numb,
bungling game.”

“At least,” said Stone, “if he had to quit, he might have let me know.”

The inexplicable action of Sage seemed to cast a heavier shadow upon the
team. Desperately though Stone sought to rally his players, he could not
help feeling that the effort was profitless. They returned to the game
in a spiritless, almost sullen humor, which made them, although they
fought stubbornly, quite unable to cope with the persistent, determined,
undaunted visitors; and, with the opportunity in their grasp, the
Barvilleites presently hammered out a touchdown and kicked the tying
goal.

Oakdale made a mighty effort to hold the game to a draw, and for a time
it seemed that such would be the result. In the very last minute of
play, however, getting within the home team’s twenty-five yard line, the
visitors made a field goal.

As the ball soared over the crossbar a groan of dismay came from the
Oakdale spectators.

“That settles it,” declared a keenly disappointed man. “Our boys are
beaten.”

He was right; the game ended with Barville victorious and jubilant.

It was a sore and disgruntled bunch of fellows who took their showers
and rubdowns in the gymnasium. With scarcely an exception, they were
disposed to place the blame of their defeat entirely upon Sage. Vainly
Hooker tried to defend his friend.

“He ran away without a word,” reminded Grant. “There’s sure no excuse
for that.”

“Nary bit,” agreed Crane. “He done us a dirty turn to-day, and it’ll
take a whole lot of explainin’ to put him right with the bunch.”

Roy was the first to leave the gymnasium, and he started almost at a run
for Sage’s home.

“I don’t understand it myself,” he muttered, as he hurried along. “I
can’t imagine what threw Fred into such a pitiful condition. I hope he
can explain.”

As he came within view of Fred’s home he discovered his chum and Mr.
Sage standing near the open stable door, apparently engaged in
conversation. At the same moment Fred seemed to espy Roy, and
immediately, with a quick word to his father, he darted into the stable
and disappeared.

Mr. Sage walked out to meet Hooker. There was a strange expression on
the man’s face, and Roy fancied that he seemed somewhat nervous and
distraught.

“I’d like to see Fred a minute,” said Hooker.

“I’m sorry,” was the answer, “but he’s not feeling well. He can’t see
you.”

His perplexity greatly augmented, Roy stared at the man.

“Is he ill?”

Andrew Sage seemed to hesitate. Lifting a hand to his lips, he coughed
behind it.

“Well, not—er—not exactly ill,” he answered; “but he isn’t feeling well
enough to talk with anyone, Roy. I hope you don’t mind?”

This treatment from his comrade piqued Hooker. “I didn’t suppose,” he
said, “that Fred would refuse to see me unless he was dangerously ill in
bed—and I know he isn’t that. It’s all right, though. Will you please
tell him that Barville won the game?”

Turning, he walked slowly away, his brow knitted with perplexity.

“I can’t understand it,” he told himself once more. “It’s too much for
me. He isn’t sick, that’s sure; and still, his father says that he
doesn’t feel well. Possibly,” he added resentfully, “the information
that Barville trimmed us will make him feel better.”




                             CHAPTER XVII.

                      WORK OF THE YOUNG DETECTIVE.


That evening a group of somewhat doleful-looking boys gathered in front
of the Oakdale post-office and shivered as they discussed the game.
Without a single dissenting voice they blamed Sage for their failure to
win from Barville.

Sleuth Piper appeared, hurried into the post-office and presented
himself at the delivery window.

“Look a’ the businesslike bustle of the great detective,” said Crane,
watching Piper through the window. “Anyone would sorter s’pose he
expected to receive about a bushel of important mail. I bet he don’t get
a thing.”

“You lose,” said Hunk Rollins, as a letter was passed out to Sleuth.
“He’s got something.”

Before opening the letter, Piper was seen eagerly scanning the postmark
upon the envelope, and the watchers fancied there was an expression of
mingled excitement and satisfaction upon his face. Coming forth, Sleuth
paused in front of a lighted window a short distance from the others and
tore his letter open. In a moment he was eagerly intent upon the
contents.

“Hi! Who’s the girl, Sleuthy?” called Jack Nelson. “Let us read it, will
you?”

“’Sh!” sibilated Chub Tuttle, spluttering forth munched peanuts with a
hissing sound. “The great detective has a scent.”

“Huh!” grunted Cooper, with a forced laugh. “If that’s so, he’s better
off than I am. I bet on the game, and I haven’t a cent.”

“Look,” urged Nelson—“look at Sleuthy’s face! He’s excited. By Jinks!
that letter must be rather interesting.”

“I’ll get a peep at it,” said Harry Hopper. “I’ll tell you if it’s a
girl’s writing.”

But, although he tiptoed forward with great caution, Sleuth detected his
approach, and, having finished reading the letter, hastily folded the
missive and thrust it into his pocket.

“Go chase yourself, Mr. Sly Boy,” he said, waving Hopper off. “Rubbering
will give you a cramp in the neck sometime.”

Roy Hooker, looking decidedly glum, came slouching along, his hands
thrust deep into his pockets. Immediately Sleuth pounced upon him.

“Just the man I’m looking for,” said Piper, in almost tragic tones.

Roy drew away, seeking to shake Sleuth’s hand from his shoulder.

“Well, I’m not looking for you,” he retorted. “I’ve no particular use
for you, Piper.”

“Come now,” said Sleuth, “I wish to hold a private consultation with you
on a matter of immense moment.”

“Run away and consult with yourself,” snapped Roy. “I don’t like your
company, and you know the reason why.”

But Sleuth grabbed at him again as he made a move to pass on.

“Wait,” whispered Piper. “Perhaps you’d like to know what was the matter
with Sage to-day? I can tell you.”

“The deuce you can!”

“I can,” insisted the other boy. “I’ve solved the mystery.”

“Well, if you know what ailed him, why don’t you tell? I’m sure I’m not
the only one who would like to have the matter cleared up.”

“It’s not a subject for the public ear, Hooker; it’s something to be
talked over privately and discreetly between ourselves. If you want to
know what I know, you’ll just take a little walk with me to some spot
where we’ll be all by our lonesomes. If you don’t want to know, if you
haven’t got any interest in Sage and his affairs, you needn’t bother.”

To say the least, Roy’s curiosity was aroused.

“I’ll wager it will be a waste of time,” he said; “but I’ll listen. What
have you done, concocted some sort of fool deduction about it?”

“I have the straight, solid, indisputable facts right in my inside
pocket. I can tell you something about the Sages that will make your
hair curl. Where shall we go?”

“You say.”

“Down to the bridge. There’s not likely to be anybody around there.”

It was somewhat chilly upon the bridge which spanned the river below
Lake Woodrim, and Hooker’s teeth were inclined to chatter as he leaned
against the railing and invited his companion to “divulge.”

“To begin with,” said Piper, “I want to ask you a question, and I hope
you’ll give me an honest answer. You’ve been mighty chummy with Sage,
and I have a notion that he gave me away by telling you that I was
trying to make a ten-strike by capturing a certain criminal for whom a
large reward is offered. Am I right, or not?”

“Whatever Fred has told me in confidence, I’ll not blow on him. If it
was your object to pump me, Piper, you’re wasting your time—and mine.”

“You don’t have to answer,” said Sleuth instantly. “Your failure to give
me a fair and square reply is sufficient. Sage told you. I knew he
would. Well, I don’t care. I’ve got something to tell you now, and, as I
said, it will make your hair curl.”

He paused impressively, apparently desiring Roy to urge him to go on;
but Hooker, shrugging his shoulders a bit, waited the promised
revelation.

“I want to ask one more question,” said Piper, “and you’ll not betray a
confidence by giving me an answer. Saturday, one week ago, while out
hunting with Sage, you encountered a certain mysterious stranger in the
woods beyond Culver’s Bridge. You talked with the man face to face and
had a fine opportunity to look him over thoroughly. Tell me, did he bear
any personal resemblance to your friend, Sage?”

“Huh!” grunted Roy. “Resemblance? What do you mean?”

“Did he look as if he might be a relative?”

“Why, I—I don’t know. What in the world are you trying to get at, Pipe?”

“That man professed to know the Sages and made inquiries about them.
Nevertheless, at the approach of Fred he ran away, and, although he
pretended to you that he was looking for work hereabouts, as far as I
can learn he has not attempted to obtain employment, and has not been
publicly seen since that day.”

“If you have an idea that he was some relative of the Sages, the mere
fact that he has not been seen seems to knock your theory into a cocked
hat.”

“When I place you in full possession of the facts,” returned Piper, in a
lofty and superior manner, “you’ll perceive that the man’s care not to
attract public attention strengthens the foundations of my theory. You
have not answered my question. Did he look like Fred Sage?”

“In some respects he may have borne a slight resemblance. He had blue
eyes, and Fred’s eyes are blue. But that’s nothing. Come across with
your dope that’s going to make my hair curl.”

“Doesn’t it occur to you as very singular that so little is really known
about the past history of the Sages? This family, consisting of father,
mother and one son, came to Oakdale something like three years ago and
settled here. Yet who is there in this town that can tell where they
came from and how they happened to come? You’re chummy with the
before-mentioned son, Hooker. How much has he ever told you about his
past?”

“Oh, say, Sleuth, if you’re trying to fasten a dark and terrible past
upon Fred Sage, you’ll do nothing but make yourself ridiculous. Why,
anybody knows that he’s been one of the openest, frankest fellows in the
world.”

“Huh! Is that so?” sneered Piper. “Really, he may appear to be all that
you claim, Hooker, but appearances, you should know, are often most
deceptive. Mr. Andrew Sage has the bearing of a country gentleman in
moderate circumstances. Mrs. Sage is apparently a most estimable lady.
These people are regular churchgoers, and have the respect of their
townsfolk. Nevertheless, since living here they have never become
especially intimate with anyone, and you must admit that they are rather
reserved.”

“Aw, rot!” exploded Roy in exasperation. “Simply because people don’t
choose to go about telling everybody their business and all their past
history, you get the notion that they must have some guilty secret they
are trying to cover up. That comes from reading the kind of trash with
which you stuff your mind, Piper.”

“In a very few minutes,” retorted Sleuth, “I’ll make it necessary for
you to take back some of your slurs, Mr. Hooker. You know what country
people are. You know that gossip is one of their chief delights. As a
rule, let a strange family move into a town like Oakdale, and within
thirty days more than fifty per cent of the inhabitants of that place
are conversant with the history of those people as far back as it can be
traced. When the Sages came here the usual curious gossips attempted to
learn things about them. They failed. To me that’s a guarantee that the
Sages, for good and sufficient reasons, desired to keep their family
history from being probed. This thought has occurred to me more than
once, and many a time I’ve told myself that a little investigation of
the before-mentioned Sages might prove interesting to a sensational
degree. Recently I decided to investigate.”

“In other words, you decided to pry into affairs which did not concern
you in the least. Poor business, Piper. The fellow who persists in
poking his nose into a crack is sure to get it pinched some day.”

Not the least ruffled, Sleuth retorted: “The person who puts himself to
extreme trouble to hide his past must have a guilty secret. Sometimes
there are wolves in sheep’s clothing, and for the public weal they
should be exposed. In order to obtain information regarding the Sages,
it was necessary to learn where they came from when they moved to this
town.”

“And you found out?”

“Having decided on a course of action, I never permit anything to baffle
me.”

“How did you do it?”

“Oh, one day I dropped in on Mrs. Sage for a little social call. Fred
wasn’t home, so I waited for him; and, while waiting, I made myself
comfortable, at the lady’s invitation, in the sitting-room. I knew there
must be in that house something which would give me the clue I sought.
It was not long before I discovered the very thing, a family photograph
album. While seemingly amusing myself by looking at the pictures in that
album, I slipped several of them from their places and looked for the
imprint of the photographer. There were pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Sage,
and also of Fred, taken some years ago. Those pictures, I found, bore
the name of a photographer in the town of Rutledge, State of New York. I
lost little time in writing a letter to the postmaster of Rutledge, New
York, making inquiries concerning the Sages. I asked if they had ever
lived in that town. In case they had, I politely requested information
concerning the entire family. To insure an answer, I enclosed a stamped
and addressed envelope.”

“And did you get an answer?”

“Sure,” exulted Piper. “I received it to-night. I have it in my pocket
now. The information it contains is of the most sensational character.
It clears up the mystery of the Sages, and also, I firmly believe, fixes
the identity of the mysterious man you met beyond Culver’s Bridge.”




                             CHAPTER XVIII.

                      SLEUTH’S ASTONISHING THEORY.


Curiosity is one of the most powerful traits in human nature, and in
youth, being to some extent unrestrained, it often reaches its highest
development. It was chiefly curiosity that had led Hooker to listen thus
far to the words of Piper; but now, as if suddenly realizing the full
significance of Sleuth’s self-confessed and shameless prying into the
affairs of others, and remembering at the same time his familiar and
friendly relations with Fred Sage, Roy suddenly seared his companion
with the red-hot iron of contempt and wrath.

“You miserable, sneaking puppy!” he cried. “Under pretence of making a
friendly call, you play a miserable trick like that, do you? I’ve a mind
to give you the finest drubbing you ever had.”

Indeed, so savage and threatening was his attitude that Piper fell back
precipitately, lifting his hands as if to ward off a blow.

“Now you hold on!” he cried. “You hold on, Hooker! You hadn’t better hit
me. Perhaps you think that would be a good way to make me keep still
about what I know concerning the Sages. I’m not going to blow this thing
round to everybody. I chose you because you’re Fred’s chum.”

“Oh, is that so?” scoffed Roy incredulously. “You’ve begun blabbing with
me, and it isn’t likely you’ll stop there. I don’t know what you’ve
found out, but I do know that the way you’ve gone about it to obtain
your information was dirty—just plain dirty.”

“It was thoroughly legitimate,” asserted Sleuth in self-defence. “These
people are living here in our town and associating with our citizens. If
they’re the right sort, there can be no harm in finding out about their
past history. But perhaps you’ve misunderstood me, Hooker. I’m not
making the claim that there’s anything wrong with the Sages we know.”

“Oh, aren’t you?” said Roy in surprise. “I thought you were. If you
haven’t found out that there’s something wrong about them, what the
dickens _have_ you found out that was so wonderful? What is this
sensational thing that’s going to make my hair curl?”

“If you’ll give me a chance and not get fighting mad over it, I’ll tell
you. You know it’s often the case that there’s a black sheep in the most
respectable family.”

“Huh! There are only three persons in this particular family. Where’s
the black sheep?”

“Only three of the family are known at the present time to the people of
Oakdale,” Piper said hastily. “Have you never thought that there might
be at least one other member of this family?”

“Can’t say such a thought ever occurred to me.”

“Listen,” urged Sleuth, “and keep your temper under check until I’m
through. The information I’ve obtained does not reflect upon Andrew
Sage, his wife or his son Fred.”

“Well,” breathed Roy in relief, “there’s considerable satisfaction to be
derived from that statement.”

“The postmaster of Rutledge states that Mr. and Mrs. Sage and their
younger son, Fred, are most estimable people.”

“Whew!” whistled Hooker. “Their younger son, eh? Oh, do you mean that
there’s another—another son we don’t know anything about?”

“There’s another son, of whom we’ve known nothing whatever up to the
present date. I know something about him now, and he’s the black sheep.
It was the criminal act of this elder son, Clarence Sage, that doubtless
added many gray hairs to his mother’s head and led the family, weighted
by the shame of it, to leave Rutledge and seek another home, where no
one would know of their disgrace. Now if you don’t care to hear any more
about the matter,” said Sleuth craftily, “I’ll close up.”

Roy’s aversion to hearing the information Piper had secured was
completely swept away.

“Oh, go on,” he invited, once more leaning against the bridge rail.
“What did this Clarence Sage do?”

“Robbed a bank.”

“In Rutledge?”

“Yes. He was employed in a bank there, and he pilfered fourteen thousand
dollars from the institution.”

“Jove!” muttered Hooker. “I don’t wonder Fred never has mentioned his
brother.”

“The crime was discovered, as such things always are, and Clarence Sage
was arrested, tried, convicted and sent to Sing Sing for a term of
years.”

“My hair curls!” exclaimed Roy. “So Fred has a brother in prison. That’s
a shame!”

“He _had_ a brother in prison. Clarence Sage isn’t there now.”

“Oh, his term has expired?”

“No.”

“Was he pardoned?”

“No.”

“Cæsar’s ghost! What happened then? Is he dead?”

“Well,” answered Sleuth, “in my mind, at least, there is a doubt at this
point. He is supposed to be dead. With two other prisoners, he broke out
of Sing Sing in midwinter and tried to escape by crossing the Hudson on
the ice. The other two convicts were both recaptured. The trio had
separated immediately after getting out of the prison, and neither of
the recaptured rascals knew what had become of Clarence Sage. For more
than two months detectives sought everywhere for Sage, whose apparent
success in avoiding them was both astonishing and perplexing. Eventually
the body of a man was recovered from the river, but in such a condition
that identification was difficult. There were reasons, however, to
believe that the body was that of Clarence Sage. Andrew Sage viewed the
remains and decided that it was his recreant son. The body was buried in
Rutledge, and the grave is marked by a stone bearing the name of
Clarence Sage.”

“Well, then, why do you doubt that he’s dead?”

Piper tapped his forehead. “I believe I’ve got a little gray matter up
here,” he said boastfully. “After reading this letter, it took about
thirty seconds for me to form a theory in which I have the utmost
confidence. My conviction is that Clarence Sage is still alive. I think
he did make good his escape and succeeded handsomely in baffling the
officers who tried to follow him. The body that was taken from the river
and buried under the name of Clarence Sage was that of some other man,
as yet unknown. Perhaps it will continue to be unknown. When this
identification and burial had taken place, danger for the escaped man
was reduced to a minimum. Mind you, I’m not making the assertion that
Andrew Sage knew the body was not that of his son, but what would be
more natural than for him to identify it as such in order to give
Clarence a better chance for freedom? Perhaps, at the time, he really
believed it to be the unfortunate young man. Possibly, through some
means, he has since learned that his son is alive.”

“If you hadn’t read so much detective stuff, such an improbable idea
could not have found lodgment in your crazy garret,” said Hooker. “I
understand you’ve even tried to write stories yourself lately. Say,
Sleuth, if this matter wasn’t so serious, it would be laughable.”

“Your words,” returned Piper, “betray the narrow limits of your
reasoning faculties. I’m not basing my suspicions on mere guesswork,
Hooker.”

“Then, for the love of Mike, what do you base them on?”

“One week ago you met a stranger who behaved in a most peculiar manner.
Apparently of some education and refinement, this man seemed to be
somewhere near the age of Clarence Sage, if Sage still lives. He made
inquiries of you concerning the Sages in Oakdale, and when he learned
that Fred Sage was approaching he took to his heels and got away. He
didn’t dare remain to face Fred in your presence. Why, Hooker—why?
Simply because he knew that in his amazement Fred would call him by name
and give the whole thing away. What do you think about that?”

For a moment or two Roy shook his head. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be
true, Piper. If that’s all you have to base your belief on——”

“Did there seem to be anything especially wrong with Fred last night?”

“No, not that I observed.”

“Well, there surely was something the matter with him to-day. Something
had happened to upset him completely.”

“What do you think it was?”

“It was something tremendous, or it never would have led him to bungle
and blunder the way he did in that game. It was such a tremendous thing
that he could not get it out of his mind so that he might concentrate on
the game. Whenever he dismissed thoughts of it, he played in something
like his usual form for a few minutes, but it kept coming back at him
and putting him on the blink. He denied that he was sick. He denied that
anything had happened to upset him. All this is precisely what would
have happened had he made the amazing discovery to-day that his brother
Clarence was alive.”

“Gee whiz!” breathed Hooker. “I’ll own up that you’ve got me staggered.
If you’re right, Piper, you certainly have got a head on your
shoulders.”

The darkness masked the smile of satisfaction that Sleuth could not
repress.

“You can’t dodge the force of my deductions,” he declared. “Let me give
you a further illustration of my reasoning ability. As an escaped
convict, is it likely that Clarence Sage would lead an honest life? I
admit that he might, but the germ of dishonesty must have been virulent
in his blood, or he, the apparently promising son of highly respectable
parents, would never have committed his first crime. Once a man has
taken a crooked step, he’s almost sure to take others. Supposed to be
dead, Sage surely traveled under a fictitious name. A certain crook,
called James Wilson and known among his pals as Gentleman Jim, bears a
strong resemblance to the young bank-looter who was sent to Sing Sing.
This crook was arrested in the town of Harpersville a short time ago,
but made his escape from the jail, nearly killing the guard as he did
so. A big reward has been offered for Wilson’s capture. The last peg in
my argument is that this Gentleman Jim is none other than Clarence Sage
himself.”

“If that should prove to be right,” said Hooker, “I’ll admit that you’ve
got all the detectives of real life or fiction beaten to a froth.”




                              CHAPTER XIX.

                            THE NIGHT ALARM.


On Sunday night, or, rather, Monday morning, within a few minutes of the
hour of three (Captain Aaron Quinn afterward swore it was at six bells
precisely) occurred the explosion which, although muffled and faintly
heard by two persons only, was of sufficient importance to shake Oakdale
village to its very foundations. The only person actually to hear the
explosion, besides the old sailor, who could not sleep well on account
of his rheumatism, was Jonas Sylvester, the fat and pompous village
night-watch. With the establishment of the bank the town authorities had
decided that a night guard must be employed to patrol the streets, and
Sylvester, whose qualifications may be summed up briefly by the
statement that he weighed nearly three hundred pounds and had no regular
employment, was chosen for the job.

With his greatcoat brass-buttoned tightly to the chin, Officer Sylvester
had paused at the end of Main Street bridge, the southern limit of his
beat, and was stamping his feet and thumping his mittened hands together
when, as he stated later, he heard something like the closing of a
distant heavy door, which seemed accompanied by a slight shock or
jarring of the ground. Wondering vaguely what it was, and recalling that
he had heard that earthquakes, however slight, almost always manifested
themselves by several recurring detonations, Jonas ceased stamping and
thumping and stood quite still in the muffling darkness, his lips parted
as he listened.

“Hokey!” he muttered presently. “What was it? ’Twasn’t thunder, for it’s
out of season, and I’m too fur away to hear a horse kicking up in the
livery stable. The bank——”

Immediately he started puffingly up the street toward the new bank
building.

The clock in the steeple of the Methodist church struck three.

In the meantime, Captain Quinn had been further aroused by his monkey.
Chattering excitedly, the creature leaped upon the old sailor’s breast
and began tweaking at his hair.

“Quit it, ye swab!” rasped the old salt, thrusting the monkey away.
“Back to the fo’cas’le, you imp of mischief. Leave me alone, you scrub,
or I’ll give you a douse of bilge-water.”

But Jocko refused to be repulsed by his irascible master. His chattering
rose to a squeaking shriek as he returned with a bound and gave a
distressing tug at the captain’s whiskers.

“Keelhaul me!” roared Quinn, struggling up and casting the animal to the
floor. “I’ll throw you into the hold and keep you under the hatches for
the rest of the voyage if you try it again, you spawn!”

Even though he now kept beyond his master’s reach, the monkey persisted
in such a chattering uproar and dashed about the dark room in such a
frantic manner that the wondering man, groaning at the necessity,
hoisted himself out of bed, struck a match and looked at the brass-bound
ship’s clock which hung near at hand upon the wall.

“There’s something the matter,” decided Quinn, dropping the burning
match as the flame threatened to scorch his fingers. Then, forgetting
that he was undressed, from force of habit he placed his bare foot upon
the match to extinguish it.

The racket made by the monkey was nothing in comparison to the roar that
broke from the lips of the now thoroughly awakened man, and had anyone
witnessed the tremendous jump which Captain Quinn made he would have
fancied the old tar suddenly cured of his rheumatism. The language which
burst in a torrent from Quinn’s lips was of a decidedly sulphurous
nature.

“You imp of the Old Nick!” he bellowed, making a dive and a grab for the
elusive monkey. “I’ll wring your neck if I get my two hooks on it!”

Jocko, however, bounding over the furniture, skimming the length of a
shelf, and seeming to swing himself along one of the bare walls of the
room, perched on a window ledge beyond immediate reach. If possible,
Captain Quinn was further aroused and enraged by barking his shins upon
a chair.

“Furies!” he breathed. “Where’s my gun? I’ll blow a porthole in the hide
of that infernal pest!”

As if realizing the peril to his very life, Jocko yanked away a mass of
old rags which had completely filled the opening left by a broken
windowpane, and darted through the aperture.

At about this moment Officer Sylvester, hastily approaching the front of
the bank, fancied he saw a dark figure dart around a corner of the
building and disappear. Shivering, more from excitement and exertion
than from the cold, the night-watch pursued that shadowy figure, weapon
in hand. At the back of the building he paused, hearing the voice of the
old sailor raging within the nearby shanty.

“I s’pose it’s that old fool that’s made the disturbance,” muttered
Jonas doubtfully. “Still, I kinder thought I saw something.”

Producing the electric torch he always carried while on duty, he flashed
the light around him, making almost a complete arc of a circle. Suddenly
the light stopped, bearing full upon an iron-barred window in the rear
of the bank building, and there it hung quivering, revealing to
Sylvester’s bulging eyes a most astounding and disturbing fact.

Three of the bars had been cut completely off and bent outward, and
beyond them an entire section of the window glass was missing, leaving
an opening large enough to admit the body of a man.

Almost paralyzed by this amazing discovery, Officer Sylvester felt his
thick knees growing weak beneath him.

“Robbers,” he gasped—“robbers, by the jumping jingoes!”

That very instant there was a flash in the nearby shadows, and, with the
report of a pistol, a bullet almost grazed the torch in Sylvester’s
hand.

The night-watch did not hesitate upon the order of his going, but went
at once. With a yell of terror he took to his heels, and his wild shout
of “Robbers! robbers!” resounded through the main part of the village as
he dashed toward the public square near the post-office. Reaching the
square, he increased his efforts to arouse the townspeople by firing his
revolver several times into the air.

“Marlin spikes and belaying pins!” spluttered Captain Quinn, still
groping for his shotgun. “There’s blazes to pay! The monk wasn’t such a
fool, after all.”

Presently, gun in hand, he flung open his door and stood peering into
the night. He could hear the courageous night-watch shouting from the
square and firing his revolver. But what interested Aaron Quinn far more
was the sight of two figures which seemed to drop from the rear window
of the bank and run away into the darkness.

“Shades of Neptune!” said Captain Quinn. “It’s piracy on the high seas!”

Somewhat tardily, he got into action, lifting the gun and firing into
the darkness which had swallowed the fleeing figures.




                              CHAPTER XX.

                              IN THE BANK.


Naturally, all this shooting and shouting in the early hours of the
morning was sufficient to arouse the villagers. In house after house
lights began to gleam, and ere long half-dressed men were running toward
the square, where, still lustily bellowing, Jonas Sylvester was seeking
with trembling hands to reload his revolver. Hyde, the livery stable
keeper, Stickney, the grocer, Lawyer Francis and others surrounded the
officer and demanded to know the meaning of it all. Others kept coming
from various directions as Jonas told what he had discovered at the rear
of the bank and how nearly he had paid for that discovery with his life.

“Robbers,” cried the livery man—“robbers in the bank? Why didn’t you
capture them?”

“Yes,” demanded the grocer in a high, quavering falsetto, “why didn’t ye
nab ’em? What are you doing here? What do we hire ye for?”

“I tell ye they shot at me,” replied Jonas. “They banged right at me,
and I couldn’t see a soul. They had the advantage. Think of my size.
S’pose I was going to stand still and let them pepper me full of
bullets?”

“Fellow citizens,” said the lawyer, who of them all seemed to retain the
most presence of mind, “if there are robbers in the bank they may escape
while we stand here wasting time in talk. Lead the way, Sylvester; we’re
with you.”

Thus encouraged, the night-watch took the lead, accompanied by the
excited crowd. A few of the more timid ones either held back or hastily
returned to their homes to procure weapons. Some expressed doubts,
declaring their belief that Oakdale’s nocturnal guardian must be
mistaken.

But a single glance through the front window of the bank convinced
Lawyer Francis that something was wrong there beyond dispute. With a
word he called attention to the fact that the light which burned by
night in front of the vault had been extinguished.

“Show us that winder,” commanded Hyde, pushing Sylvester forward.

“Yes, show us the winder,” tremulously urged Stickney, falling back
until nearly all of the crowd were ahead of him.

“Git ready for a bloody encounter,” warned the night-watch. “They’re
desperate men, and they’ll fight to the last gasp.”

“We’ll find there are no robbers in the bank now,” said the lawyer; “and
all this uproar has sent them scampering long before this.”

As they were hurrying round to the rear of the building a voice roared
at them through the darkness.

“Avast there, you lubbers!” it shouted. “You’re too late for action. The
scoundrels hoisted anchor and made sail long ago. By this time they’re
running before the wind under full canvas.”

The old sailor came hobbling swiftly toward them, bearing his gun, his
cane forgotten for the time being.

“Did you see them, Quinn?” asked Lawyer Francis.

“I did that,” was the prompt answer. “I put my lamps on them just as
they got under full headway, and I’ll swear I hurried them some with a
double charge of buckshot.”

“You fired at them?”

“Both barrels at once, and it’s a mercy if I ain’t got a busted shoulder
to pay for it. The old gun near kicked my head off, confound it!”

“How many of them were there? How many did you see?”

“It’s dungeon dark a’most, but I’m certain sure I saw two, at least.”

“Mebbe some of you thought I was lying or a fool,” cried Officer
Sylvester triumphantly. “Now I guess you’ll change your tune. Here’s the
winder. Just look at it.”

The electric torch was again turned on the cut and bended bars, and the
group of men pressed forward, staring and exclaiming.

“Which way did the robbers flee, Quinn?” questioned Lawyer Francis,
grasping the old sea captain’s arm.

“Back that way toward Middle Street,” was the answer.

“They must not escape,” said the lawyer. “They haven’t obtained much of
a start. Let every man arm himself and take up the search. Deputy
Sheriff Pickle and Constable Hubbard must be notified at once. They must
organize posses and scour the country. Will you see to it that this is
done, Sylvester?”

“Yes, your honor,” assured the night-watch.

At this moment a citizen joined the group and announced that Lucius
Timmick, the bank cashier, had arrived and was about to unlock the bank
door. This information led Lawyer Francis to hasten back to the front of
the building, where, pushing his way through the rapidly increasing
crowd, he reached Timmick as the latter finally found his key and
inserted it in the lock.

Doubtless fearful of entering, the cashier hesitated a bit even after
the key had thrown the bolt.

“I’ll accompany you, Mr. Timmick,” said the lawyer. “I think you need
have no fear of encountering any of the rascals within. They have all
fled.”

“Thank you, Mr. Francis,” said Timmick, his voice husky and not quite
under control. “Doubtless you are right, but I think it best that I
should have a few reputable citizens with me when I investigate.”

“I’m here, Timmick; I’m with you,” encouraged Stickney, the grocer,
boldly jabbing his way through the crowd with his sharp elbows. “You’ll
find me ready to back you up if you need assistance.” His courage had
revived amazingly with the assurance that the robbers had fled.

Rufus Sprague, the jeweler, and Lemuel Hayden, a leading business man,
both of whom were directors of the bank, were on hand, and with those
four citizens at his back the cashier opened the door. Others who were
inclined to crowd in were commanded to stand back, but one there was
who, crouching low, slipped in unobserved and congratulated himself over
his cleverness as he heard the door relocked. This was Sleuth Piper.

Timmick’s hand found the button and turned on the electric lights. Then
he opened the door in the grating-guarded partition, beyond which was
located the bank vault.

An odor like that of a burnt explosive pervaded the atmosphere of the
place, and increased, if possible, the tingling excitement of the men
who pressed after the cashier, eager to learn just what had happened.
What they now beheld caused them to gasp with dismay.

A number of full sacks of grain had been placed on the floor in front of
the bank vault. This grain had doubtless been brought in the sacks from
the old feed mill, a quarter of a mile away; and the full sacks had been
skilfully arranged in such a position that the outer door of the vault,
blown from its hinges, had fallen upon them. A leather grip stood open
upon the floor, and scattered about on all sides could be seen a full
set of up-to-date burglar’s tools.

“Look,” cried Timmick, aghast, pointing with a trembling finger—“look at
that, gentlemen! Oh, the scoundrels!”

Outside, the crowd, with noses pressed against the cold plate glass of
the big front window, could see everything, and the sound of their
agitated voices reached the ears of those within.

“The bank’s been robbed!” cried Stickney. “The critters must have done
it in a hurry.”

“I don’t think it has been robbed,” said Lawyer Francis. “The inner door
of the vault remains in place. The burglars were detected at their work
before they could complete the job.”

“Let us hope,” said Lemuel Hayden grimly, “that you are right, sir.”

“Open that inside door, Timmick—open it!” spluttered Rufus Sprague.
“Let’s find out if they got anything.”

But the cashier shook his head. “I think, gentlemen,” he said, “we had
better wait until the president arrives. When I open that door I wish to
do so in the presence of Mr. Eliot. At any rate, I think it would not be
advisable to go ahead beneath the watching eyes of that crowd outside
the window. Mr. Stickney, will you draw the shade?”

“Yep, I will,” said Stickney, rejoicing with a feeling of high
importance over the fact that he was one of those who had obtained
admission to the bank. “Whether the robbers got anything or not, it will
be just as well to proceed with our investigation in private.”

Hurrying to the window, he drew the shade, greatly to the disappointment
of the gathered watchers, some of whom expressed their feelings with
considerable emphasis.

There was one person, however, who was not thus deprived of further
knowledge of what was taking place within the bank. In the shadows of
the patrons’ side of the cashier window, Sleuth Piper congratulated
himself again.




                              CHAPTER XXI.

                          WHAT SLEUTH LEARNED.


The excited chattering of the crowd in front of the bank was broken in
upon by the harsh voice of Captain Quinn.

“Ahoy, you blatherskites!” cried the old sailor, appearing upon the edge
of the gathering. “Stow that jabber a minute and tell me if you’ve put
your peepers on my monkey. The little whelp has run away, and he’ll
freeze to death unless I find him. It would break my heart if anything
should happen to my monkey.”

This statement aroused some laughter and provoked a few jeers.

“Go crawl into your bunk, you old pirate,” advised one of the younger
men. “It would be a good thing if your monkey did freeze. The town
wouldn’t miss it—or you, either.”

“Take twenty years off my shoulders,” snarled the old tar, “and I’d lay
you by the heels for that, you swab! You talk bold and sassy to a man
three times your age and crippled with the rheumatics, but I’ve scrubbed
the deck of my vessel with dozens of your kind in my day.”

“Everybody knows that, you old man-handler,” was the retort. “You’ve
cracked the skull of more than one better man, but the law protected you
because you were the master and they were nothing but common sailors.
Oh, we know you here in Oakdale.”

“Yes, and I know you, the whole common crew of ye. You’re brave as
dogfish chasing po’gies until you spy a shark, and then you run and
hide. What are ye doing here? Why ain’t ye off with the men that’s
trying to run down the burglars? You’re afraid. There’s not one of ye’s
got the courage of a squid.”

“If you weren’t so old,” said one of the wrathy listeners, “we’d be
handing you a taste of your own high-sea methods before you could say
half as much.”

“Never mind my age,” bellowed Quinn, squaring away. “Come try it, any
one of ye or the whole crew together. You’ll find it a bit lively while
it lasts, or my name is not Aaron Quinn. Hoist anchor, you blackguards.
Up with your sails, and come at me with every stitch set. What’s the
matter, you lubbers—what’s the matter? Why don’t you come on? Afraid,
eh?—afraid of old Aaron Quinn! A bold lot you are! You can wag your
tongues loud and talk bold, but not one of ye has as much gizzard as a
chicken. Bah!”

With a derisive gesture, he disdainfully turned his back upon them and
slowly moved off into the darkness, seeming deaf to their jeers and
cat-calls.

A few minutes later Urian Eliot appeared, made his way through the
throng that respectfully stepped aside from his path, and was admitted
to the bank. The door had not long been closed behind the president when
it opened again, for Stickney, the grocer, whose manner as he came out
betrayed that he was leaving the place with great reluctance and much
against his will.

“How is it, Stickney?” called one of the gathering. “Did the robbers get
anything, or were they frightened away?”

“Huh!” grunted the grocer, standing on the steps. “I don’t know. They
waited for Eliot before they opened the inner door of the vault, and
when he came he proposed, as I didn’t happen to be a director or some
high muckamuck connected with the bank, that I should leave. And I was
one who risked his life to follow Timmick into that place, not knowing
but we might have to face desperate burglars armed to the very teeth.
That’s the way they treat a fellow citizen who is ready to shed his
blood for them. But what can you expect of men who try to run a bank in
these days without a night watchman of their own? That’s their idea of
economy, perhaps, but it will be a mercy if it hasn’t proved expensive
economy. They take our money in trust and then fail to give it proper
protection. Timmick refused to touch the inner door until Eliot came.
Perhaps it was unlocked. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the bank
had been cleaned out of every dollar and every scrap of security it
contained. I have an account here myself; seventy-nine dollars balance,
too. If there has been a robbery, somebody will have to make good. They
can afford it, men like Eliot and Hayden and the others; but I can’t
afford to lose it.”

His resentment seemed contagious, and there were others who began
murmuring about the bank officials. But, for the most part, those who
talked loudest had small accounts with the institution or none at all.

“What have they done about catching the scoundrels?” asked Stickney.
“They ought to have ’em by this time.”

He was told that armed squads were searching for the cracksmen, although
there had been no reports of a capture.

“Oh, they’ll let ’em get away, I’ll guarantee,” sneered the grocer. “I
was opposed to the hiring of a night-watch by the town. I said it would
be an extravagant waste of money, and this night proves I was right.”

“Only for him,” reminded some one, “the robbers might have finished the
job and got off without an alarm being raised. Likely nobody would ever
known it till the bank was opened at nine o’clock.”

“He might have nabbed ’em, instead of running away and hollering like a
loon,” asserted Stickney. “He had the chance. If I’d been in his place,
I’d potted the whole bunch. Now it’s doubtful if any one of ’em is
caught. Well, I’m going home to get a little rest before breakfast.”
Apparently it did not occur to the courageous grocer that he might be of
service by joining one of the searching parties.

It was growing light and a curious throng still lingered in front of the
bank hoping to learn if a robbery had actually taken place, when the
door of the building opened again, and this time Sleuth Piper was thrust
forth with such violence that he was saved from sprawling on the
sidewalk only by the quick hand of a man who stood on the lower step.

“Hello, Piper,” said this man, gazing at him in astonishment. “How did
you get in there?”

“Sh!” hissed Sleuth, pulling away. “Never mind, never mind. In pursuance
of my duty, I am liable to be found anywhere. Had they given me a little
time, I might have imparted some information of tremendous moment. But
let them go on. Let them work in the dark. They will need me yet.”

“Tell us, has the bank been robbed?”

“They are now going over the contents of the vault,” was the boy’s
evasive reply. “I’ll not forestall their report by a premature
statement.”

Some one pulled at his sleeve, and, looking around, he saw Roy Hooker.
Willingly he followed Roy, who led the way to the rear of the bank,
where at least a dozen men were gathered outside the window by which the
robbers had obtained entrance.

“You beat the Dutch, Pipe,” said Roy, in a manner bordering on respect.
“How the deuce _did_ you ever get in there?”

Piper explained, taking to himself abundant credit for quick thought,
rapidity of action and amazing cleverness in keeping concealed once he
had slipped inside.

“Well, what did you learn, anyhow?” questioned Hooker. “Did you find out
anything, or did you waste your time?”

“I never waste my time,” retorted Sleuth with dignity. “It was through
my natural desire to learn all that could be learned that I was detected
and ejected. At the present moment the officers of the bank are in the
directors’ room at the rear, going over the securities. There’s a door
leading from that room into the outside corridor, and, in order to hear
and see, I had to open that door. They closed it once, but I opened it
again on a crack, and that aroused the suspicions of Rufus Sprague, who
stepped out quickly and nabbed me. Then, refusing to listen, they
chucked me outside. I was ready to throw a bombshell into their midst,
but I’m glad now that I was restrained from action.”

“What did you propose to tell them, Sleuth?”

“It was on the tip of my tongue to advise them to look for a certain
party known as ‘James Wilson,’ _alias_ ‘William Hunt,’ _alias_ ‘Philip
Hastings,’ _alias_ ‘Gentleman Jim,’ and furthermore and finally, _alias_
Clarence Sage.”

“Then you fancy——”

“Fancy, Hooker? Nay, sir, this is no case of guesswork; I know what I’m
about. Doubtless Sage is as far from Oakdale as his feet could carry him
in the time since the would-be robbers fled.”

“The would-be robbers!” echoed Roy. “Then they really didn’t get
anything?”

“Right there,” said Sleuth, “you touch the one point that as yet remains
inexplicable to me. The inner door of the vault apparently has not been
broken open by the burglars. It was unlocked by Timmick in the presence
of Urian Eliot and the directors. They removed cash and securities to
that back room for investigation. At first everything seemed undisturbed
and they were congratulating themselves, when the discovery was made
that a package of securities amounting to twenty thousand dollars was
missing.”

“Gee!” gasped Hooker. “Then there _was_ a robbery. But how can it be
possible, if the inner door of the vault had not been opened?”

In the gray light of the morning a wise and significant smile flickered
across Piper’s face.

“There’s but one explanation,” he answered. “The men who tried to rob
the bank last night did not get those securities. They were stolen at
some previous time.”




                             CHAPTER XXII.

                          FOLLOWING THE TRAIL.


“Gee whiz!” exclaimed Hooker, astonished. “Who stole them?”

“That question,” admitted Sleuth, “I’m not ready to answer at present.
I’ll focus my marvelous discerning intellect upon it after the would-be
bank robbers are securely in limbo. I’ll guarantee that the posses
searching for them are rushing hither and thither without rhyme, reason
or system. That’s no way to hunt the scoundrels down. Of course they may
blunder upon the fugitives by accident, but the trail should be taken up
and followed in a scientific manner.”

“That’s easy enough to talk about,” said Roy; “but, without the aid of
bloodhounds, how is it to be done?”

“To begin with, we know they fled in this direction, for old Quinn saw
them running from the back of the bank and fired at them. They must have
reached Middle Street a short distance away. It was impossible to follow
their tracks in the dark, but it’s now daylight, and I’m going to try to
pick up the trail.”

“A fine job you’ll do at that,” scoffed the other boy. “Even if you
should find their tracks, you’d need the skill of an Injun to follow
’em.”

“We’ll see,” said Piper—“we’ll see about that. There’s a cedar hedge
running from Main Street to Willow, and any person who dashed through
that hedge at full speed must have left some tokens.”

“Let’s examine the hedge.”

In less than a minute Piper found a place where the branches of the
trimmed cedars were bent and broken. He pointed at it exultantly.

“There’s where one of them went through,” he declared.

“Perhaps it’s where some one, hurrying to the bank, came in from the
other direction.”

“Use your eyes, Hook. The manner in which the cedars are twisted and
bent shows that the person who passed through the hedge came from this
direction, and he was in a hurry, too. Look here! What’s this, Roy? It’s
blood—blood on the bushes!”

No wonder Roy’s eyes bulged as he beheld the slight bloodstain at which
his companion pointed with a triumphant finger.

“Blood!” he muttered. “Why, then——”

“Old Quinn hit one of them, no question about it. There’s a wounded
bank-breaker fleeing for his life somewhere.”

Both lads were now greatly excited, although Sleuth fought hard to
maintain such an air of coolness as he fancied would well become a great
detective.

“By this trail of blood we’ll track him, Hooker,” he said. “If we
capture one of the rascals, perhaps he will squeal on his pals.”

“If _we_ capture him!” spluttered Roy. “What are you talking about? Do
you think we could do it alone? He’s a desperate man, and he’d fight——”

“Are you armed?”

“No.”

“Well, I am,” said Sleuth, displaying a small revolver. “It’s too bad
you have no weapon, but, nevertheless, you may be of great assistance in
capturing the man. If you’ve got nerve enough to stick by me, we’ll try
to run him down.”

“Hadn’t we better get others? Do you think we ought to try it alone?”

“If we call for assistance,” said Sleuth, “and the man is actually
captured, we’ll have to share the reward with others. You know there’s a
large reward offered for the apprehension of the man known as Gentleman
Jim, and it’s not impossible that the fellow who was winged by Aaron
Quinn is Gentleman Jim himself. If we take him, just you and I, we can
whack up on that reward money. I’ll agree to give you a fair share,
providing you stand by me through thick and thin.”

“You’ve certainly got a nerve, Piper, to think of trying such a thing. I
don’t know about it, myself.”

“Oh, well, if you’re scared,” said Sleuth, with no attempt to suppress
his scorn, “I’ll go it alone. I thought you had more sand, Hook.”

“Well, nobody around here has ever figured that you were running over
with sand, yourself,” was the resentful retort. “I guess I’ve got as
much as you have. Go ahead and see what you can do at this job of
trailing.”

Forcing their way through the hedge, they reached Middle Street, where
for a moment Piper hesitated, as if considering the probable course the
fugitive had taken.

“About the time the man got here,” he said, “Jonas Sylvester was waking
people up by his yells and shouts from the square in front of the
post-office. Under such circumstances, fearing to encounter some citizen
of the town who had been aroused by Sylvester, the fleeing man would
avoid the streets as far as possible. I should say he kept straight
across the road here and struck across lots for High Street.”

“Guesswork,” said Hooker.

“Deduction, reasoning, sound judgment,” flung back Sleuth, as he hurried
to examine the top rail of the old slat fence upon the northern side of
the street; “and here’s my proof—a smooch of blood where the man grasped
the rail as he vaulted over the fence.”

“Jinks!” breathed Roy, gazing at the sanguine mark. “You’re right; it’s
there.”

Beyond the fence Piper continued northward, bending forward that he
might search the ground with his eyes. Again and again he pointed to
frozen blood-drippings upon the grass, and, at Sleuth’s heels, Roy felt
his pulse throbbing with a touch of the fierce excitement that
invariably seizes upon one who hunts fleeing men. For the first time in
his life he was beginning to believe that Piper had been underestimated
by those who had scoffed at his ambition to become a great detective.

Across High Street and into the neglected, old-fashioned horse sheds at
the rear of the Methodist church the two boys followed the trail. In one
of those sheds there was a little pool of blood, surrounded by similar
drippings, at which Hooker stared in great fascination.

“He stopped here,” asserted Sleuth. “Concealed by the darkness, he hid
in this shed for some little time. Perhaps he was led to do this through
exhaustion caused by the wound. Perhaps he did so because he heard
citizens running down Main Street toward the bank.”

“Gee!” said Roy, giving himself a shake. “If he’s hurt bad, we’re liable
to come on him any minute. Why, we might have found him here, and
perhaps he’d filled us full of lead. It’s ticklish business, Pipe.”

“He won’t be liable to fight unless cornered, and if we corner him we
must get him foul so he can’t pot us. Come on; time is precious.”

As if the flow from the wound had been partly staunched, the trail now
became decidedly more difficult to follow. Nevertheless, Sleuth traced
it to upper Main Street, some distance below the home of Urian Eliot.
There it again led across the road and into the broad fields beyond.
Through the midst of these fields ran a tiny brook, the banks of which
were lined by scattering clumps of bushes. Here the brown grass was
rather tall, and the boys followed the man’s tracks with little
difficulty. At the point where the fugitive had started to cross the
brook a clay bank some three feet in height had caved beneath his feet.

“He took a tumble here,” said Piper. “There’s where he got on his pins
again. See his tracks, Hook?”

The prints of the man’s feet were plainly to be seen, and, it being no
more than a foot wide at that point, he had crossed the brook at a
stride. On the western side the trail again led northward, and before
long the boys paused within plain sight of the house of the Sages.

“Ah! ha!” breathed Sleuth, with an intonation of deep exultation. “Now
you can see what he was doing. I’m sorry indeed for our mutual friend,
Fred Sage; but duty is duty, and we must not falter.”

“It does look as if he made straight for the Sages’ place,” admitted
Roy.

“No question about it,” nodded Sleuth, grasping his companion’s arm and
drawing him back. “Let’s preserve proper caution. We might be seen.”

“I don’t see anyone stirring around the place.”

“No, but you can see that the front door of the stable is standing open
a bit. That door was not left thus all night long, you can bet on it.”

“I suppose they were woke up by the racket.”

“But why should they go to the stable? If we locate our man there,
Hooker, I’ll stay and keep watch while you go for the officers.”

“I don’t see how we’re going to——”

“We’ll have to retreat a distance, cross the road out of sight of the
house and approach the buildings from the rear. That’s the proper
trick.”

Hooker did not attempt an argument; he left the maneuver to be carried
through by Sleuth, whom he continued to follow without proffering
advice.

Crouching low when the road was reached, they darted across it, one
after the other, circling until they could approach the stable of the
Sages from the rear. To their surprise, they perceived that the small
back door of the building also stood open. Their nerves taut and
tingling, they presently found themselves beside that door, where, with
one hand on his pistol and the other upheld as a signal for caution,
Piper listened intently.

“Can you hear anything?” whispered Roy.

“No,” admitted Sleuth, “nothing that seems significant to me. I’m going
to look in. Keep still.”

Thrusting his head forward, he peered into the gloomy interior of the
building. After a few glances, reaching backward without turning, he
beckoned for the other lad to follow, and entered, walking on his toes.

They were in the very center of the stable floor when a sudden stamping
and a snort caused them both to leap backward, Piper jerking up the hand
in which his nickle-plated revolver quivered tremulously. After a moment
he drew a breath of relief, turning a pallid face toward Roy as he
explained in a whisper:

“Nothing but their cow in the tie-up yonder.”

“Thunder!” sighed Sleuth’s companion. “She gave me an awful start. Don’t
look like we’ll find anything here, Pipe.”

“Wait. I have a theory into which I’ve been led by the sight of the open
doors, but it’s best to proceed carefully and not overlook anything.”

Ten seconds later, not five feet from the slightly opened front doors,
Piper discovered something that added in no small degree to his
self-esteem. Upon the floor near a small grain box was a pool of blood,
and beside that pool he perceived some shreds like ravellings from a
torn cloth.

“Our man was here, Hooker,” he said.

“_Was_ here?” muttered Roy. “Then you think he’s gone?”

“I think his injury was bound up right here in this stable while he sat
there upon that box. I don’t believe he did the work of bandaging the
wound himself.”

“He must be in the house.”

“Don’t jump at conclusions. That’s the trouble with most people. That’s
how they lead themselves astray. The fellow came here. He must have been
pretty badly used up, too. Somebody tied up his injuries. Isn’t it
likely they realized the man would be traced by the blood-drippings? And
is it likely, in that case, that they would think of trying to hide him
here?”

“Why, I don’t know——”

“I don’t _know_, but I’m using logic, reasoning, horse sense. I saw
something as we entered by that open back door which makes me confident
that the fellow continued his flight in that direction. Beyond the
orchard, out there, lie the woods to the north of Turkey Hill.”

“You think he hit out for those woods, do you?”

“I think so, but unless I can find evidence to confirm my belief we’ll
not try to follow him haphazard.”

They left the stable by the door through which they had entered, and
when they were outside Sleuth once more fell to searching the ground
with his eyes.

“Tracks!” he muttered. “There were two of them—two of them! And here’s
the proof that our man was one!”

He picked up a lump of half frozen clay which plainly had fallen from
the boot of a man. It was the sort of clay into which the fugitive had
slumped when the brook bank gave way beneath his feet.

“You’re a wonder, Pipe,” declared Roy, his admiration unrestrained at
last.

“Spare the compliments,” said Sleuth briskly. “We’re off again.”

The trail led through the orchard, beyond which it was plain enough in
the hoarfrost which covered the ground.

“And these tracks weren’t made so long ago, either,” asserted Piper. “It
won’t be so easy to follow them after we get into the woods. Too bad.”

In truth, it was not an easy matter, and they were proceeding with
exasperating slowness when of a sudden Piper whirled and clutched his
companion, exclaiming in a hoarse whisper:

“Hark! Some one coming! Get to cover, Hooker—lively!”

Near by was a fallen tree. Sleuth cleared it with a bound, flinging
himself down behind the thick trunk. His example was followed by Roy,
and there, amid a mass of leaves which the wind had swept into a little
hollow, they knelt, peering over the fallen tree.

Barely were they thus hidden when another boy came crashing at a run
through some bushes and appeared in full view.

It was Fred Sage!




                             CHAPTER XXIII.

                              THE CAPTURE.


Fred was panting, his clothes were torn, and his manner that of one
overwrought with tremendous excitement. He had come from the deeper
woods to the north of Turkey Hill, and was plainly hurrying homeward as
fast as his feet would carry him.

Crouching behind the fallen tree, the two boys gazed in astonishment at
Sage as he passed them. They could hear his panting breath and see his
breast heaving, and into the minds of both leaped the strange thought
that only for his exertions his face would have been ghastly pale. There
was a wild expression in his eyes, like that of a person in great fear.

Hooker remained kneeling, petrified, but Piper partly rose, his lips
open, as if he thought of shouting to the running lad. If this was his
intention, however, he changed his mind, not uttering as much as a
whisper, and stood staring after the hurrying boy, the crashing sounds
of whose movements could be heard for some moments following his
disappearance. Presently those sounds died out and silence fell upon the
woods.

Shaking off his lethargy, Hooker rose. “Well,” he breathed, “what have
you got to say about that, Pipe?”

Sleuth’s forehead was puckered in a momentary frown. Before answering,
he climbed to the bole of the tree and stepped down on the other side,
Roy following.

“It simply confirms my theory,” announced Piper. “Fred is badly scared.
Somewhere yonder in these woods he lately parted from his brother, who
is wounded and a fugitive from justice. That’s quite enough to put
Fred’s nerves on the blink.”

“But why is he running for home that fashion?”

“For one reason, he doesn’t wish to be seen here in the woods by anyone
searching for the bank robbers. For another reason, he must remember
that there is a telltale pool of blood on the floor of his father’s
stable, every trace of which I’ll guarantee will soon be removed after
Fred gets home.”

“I guess you’re right,” admitted Roy regretfully. “I’m sorry about this
business—mighty sorry.”

“I, too, am sorry for Sage,” nodded Piper; “but in matters like this,
where justice and the rights of peaceable citizens are involved,
sentiment must be put aside.”

“Fred’s a good fellow,” muttered Hooker. “We’ve been pretty chummy.”

“Of course he’s a good fellow; nobody disputes that.”

“But to think he has such a brother!”

“That’s his misfortune, not his fault.”

“And he’s trying to help the fellow escape.”

“You’d do the same under similar circumstances, so don’t condemn him.
But while we’re gabbing here the fugitive is getting farther away. Of
course, if he’s badly hurt, as it seems he must be, he can’t cover
ground as fast as he otherwise might.”

“We can’t find him in these woods; we might as well give up that idea.”

“And give up all hope of copping the reward!” exclaimed Sleuth. “Not I.
The <DW72> of Turkey Hill isn’t far away, and from it we can get a good
view of the swamp and the woods. Perhaps we’ll see something of the
fellow by climbing up there. Anyhow, it won’t take us far out of our
course, if we’re going to make for that old camp in the swamp, in which
I fancy our man, at Fred’s suggestion, may try to hide. Don’t quit. Come
on.”

For a short distance Sleuth sought to retrace the trail made by Fred
Sage while hurrying homeward, but this was so slow and exasperating that
presently he abandoned the effort and made straight for Turkey Hill.
There the boys pantingly climbed the first steep <DW72>, soon arriving at
a clearing upon the hillside where the timber had been cut away, leaving
an expanse of unsightly stumps.

“From this spot,” reminded Piper, “Spotty Davis was seen when he shot
Berlin Barker’s hound. Use your eyes, Hooker. See if you can discover
anyone moving in the woods or the open places down yonder.”

For some moments they searched the lower expanse of woods and clearings
with their eyes.

“I don’t see a thing,” muttered Roy presently. “I don’t believe we’ll be
able to——”

“Look at those crows yonder,” interrupted Sleuth, flinging out his hand.

Some distance away, near the base of the hill to the westward, a number
of crows had suddenly risen into the air, cawing wildly.

“We’re not hunting for crows,” reminded Hooker.

“I’ve studied the habits of those birds,” asserted the amateur
detective, “and I’ll guarantee they’ve been suddenly alarmed by
something moving in the woods near by. Hear them cawing? Take it from
me, they are shouting in crow language: ‘Man! man! Here’s a man!’”

“Oh, rot, Piper! You may be pretty wise about some things, but——”

“_There he is!_” rasped Sleuth, suddenly seizing his companion’s arm and
pointing with the other hand. “I saw him—I saw him run across a little
opening! He’s coming back this way, too!”

“Why—why should he do that?” wondered the bewildered Hooker.

“Because, in all probability, he has discovered a posse of searchers
over yonder. He has been compelled to double back on his tracks. We may
be able to cut him off if we hustle.”

Without waiting to see if Roy followed, Piper ran down across the
clearing, dodging hither and thither to avoid the stumps, and plunged
once more into the woods, setting a course calculated to intercept the
fleeing man. Once more he had drawn his revolver, which he carried in
his hand as he ran.

Roy followed instinctively, although it must be confessed that he had
little relish for an encounter with a desperate criminal fleeing from
man-hunters. Sleuth was buoyed by excitement and a sort of fictitious
courage, which, possibly, might desert him in a twinkling when the
decisive moment came. On through the woods he darted, turning hither and
thither to avoid the denser thickets. His ears told him that Roy was
coming, and that was sufficient. Dead branches snapped beneath their
flying feet; in places fallen leaves were scattered with a swish and a
rustle; once or twice both lads felt their heart-strings tug as they
glimpsed black tree trunks, any one of which for a moment might have
been mistaken for a man.

Suddenly they burst out into a rocky bit of pasture land, through which
ran a deep gully. And there, not thirty rods away, was the man!

Evidently warned by the sounds they had made while running through the
woods, he was looking toward them when they appeared, and in every
respect his bearing was that of a creature hunted and nearly cornered.

“Stop!” cried Sleuth, lifting the revolver and halting so suddenly that
Hooker nearly bumped against him. “Throw up your hands!”

Instead of obeying, the man turned toward the gully and made a desperate
attempt to leap across it. Beneath his feet the ground gave way, and the
boys saw him disappear with one arm outflung, as if he had fruitlessly
clutched at the empty air.

“Jerusalem!” burst from Roy’s lips. “He’s gone!”

“And if that tumble doesn’t bump him some, I’m mistaken,” said Sleuth.
“We can get him before he recovers.”

Nevertheless, he exhibited a certain amount of caution and apprehension
as he reached the gully and peered into it.

“He may shoot,” called Hooker, holding back discreetly.

“Not he,” exulted Sleuth. “Here he is! Come on; we’ve got him!”

With seeming recklessness, Piper slid down into the gully, still
gripping his revolver in his right hand.

“I never thought it of him,” said Roy, aghast—“never!”

A moment later, peering downward, he saw the other boy bending over the
body of a man who lay amid some rocks at the bottom of the gully.

“Come down,” called Piper chokingly, his voice husky and shaking with
excitement. “We’ve got him cold! He was knocked out, stunned by that
fall.”

[Illustration:

  “HERE HE IS! COME ON; WE’VE GOT HIM!”—Page 242.]

Hooker, his courage reviving, descended into the gully, bringing down
with him a small mass of loose earth and stones. He found Piper going
through the pockets of the unconscious man.

“Here,” said Sleuth, passing over an automatic pistol, “take this thing,
Hook. We’ll render him helpless by disarming him so that he can’t do
much when he comes round.”

“Hadn’t—hadn’t we better tie his hands behind his back?” faltered
Hooker.

“If we have to, we will,” assured Sleuth; “but it will be liable to
cause him a great deal of suffering. You can see that he was shot in the
right arm and shoulder. That’s where old Quinn plugged him. His coat
sleeve is all bloody. The coat was removed while his wound was bandaged,
and his arm is hanging loose inside of it now. Certainly he couldn’t run
very fast that way. No wonder he didn’t get away.”

“He isn’t—dead—is he?” whispered Roy, staring at the pale face of the
unfortunate wretch and noting a little trickle of blood which was
running down across the man’s temple from a cut higher up in the edge of
his scalp.

“Oh, I guess not,” answered Piper, with an hysterical little gulp of
laughter. “He struck his head on the rocks down here when he fell, and
that put him to sleep for fair; but I’ll wager he’ll come round all
right pretty soon. This is a big piece of work for us, Hook, old pal.
Five hundred dollars for the capture of Mr. James Wilson, _alias_
Gentleman Jim, won’t divvy up so bad between us. Eh? What?”

“But is he—is he Gentleman Jim?” muttered Roy, staring at the man’s
face. “Have we got the right man?”

“The right man?” echoed Piper. “He must be the right one, or Fred Sage
never would have tried to help him get away. Isn’t he the man you saw
and talked with in the woods beyond Culver’s Bridge?”

“No, he’s not,” answered Roy positively.

“Gee!” gasped Sleuth in dismay. “That’s queer!”




                             CHAPTER XXIV.

                               SUSPICION.


“Not—not the man?” muttered Piper, still staring at the unconscious
captive. “Why, he must be the man—he must be! He can’t be anybody else.”

“He’s not the one I talked with,” reiterated Hooker. “I never saw him
before. That man was larger, taller, better looking.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sleuth, thrusting his hand into his pocket and
bringing out a clipping from a newspaper. “Here’s the description of
James Wilson. About twenty-six years of age, five feet ten inches in
height, weight one hundred and sixty pounds, hair slightly curly, eyes
blue, teeth white and even.”

“Doesn’t come within a thousand miles of fitting this fellow,” asserted
Hooker. “This man is thirty-five, if he’s a minute. He doesn’t stand
more than five feet seven or eight, and he won’t weigh a pound over one
hundred and forty-five. His hair is coarse, black and bristly. Can’t see
the color of his eyes, but look at those teeth! You’d never call them
white and even, would you?”

“I should say not,” acknowledged Piper, in a tone of profound regret.
“This isn’t Gentleman Jim, but it must be one of his pals. Do you
realize what that means, Roy?”

“It means that we’ve caught the wrong bird and won’t get our fingers on
that reward money,” sighed the other boy regretfully.

“It means,” said Sleuth grimly, “that Fred Sage was concerned in
assisting to escape a member of that gang, to whom he is in no way
related. It means that he’s an accomplice. There would be an excuse for
his aiding his brother, but not for rendering assistance to any other
member of the gang. It looks pretty bad for Fred.”

“I can’t believe it,” muttered Roy—“I can’t believe he’d make himself
the accomplice of criminals.”

“I don’t want to believe it, but what else are we to believe?”

“I hope he can explain.”

“_I_ hope he won’t have to.”

“Look out, Pipe, this fellow is coming round.”

The man’s breast heaved, and a faint groan issued from his lips,
following which his eyelids fluttered a bit and then lifted slowly. He
lay there staring dumbly at the two boys, each of whom menaced him with
a loaded pistol. For the time being he did not seem to realize what had
happened.

“It’s no use to try to kick up,” Piper stated warningly. “We’ve got you,
and we’ll have to plug you if you try any tricks.”

Slowly comprehension seemed to creep into the man’s brain, and presently
he made a weak effort, as if trying to sit up, but fell back with a
smothered cry that ended in a groan.

“It’s pretty tough,” said Piper; “but you’ll have to make the best of
it, my man. Fellows engaged in your line of business have to take their
medicine when they run afoul of calamity. What’s your name?”

Until Sleuth had repeated this question three times the man made no
attempt to reply. After the third demand he growled falteringly and
harshly:

“None of your business.”

“Thanks,” said Piper. “I guess your picture is in the rogues’ gallery
somewhere, and your identity will be learned all right when you’re
placed on trial. We’ve disarmed you so you can’t make any sort of a
fight of it, and we’re going to take you back to Oakdale. Our great
regret is that you’re not Gentleman Jim.”

The man looked at them queerly. “Who’s Gentleman Jim?” he growled.

“Bluff,” said Piper—“pure bluff. He’s your pal, and, doubtless, the
leader of the gang who broke into the Oakdale bank last night and blew
open the vault. Poor job, that. It’s tough to be pinched without ever
having lifted a dollar from that bank.”

“You’re a wise young brat!” sneered the man.

“Hark!” exclaimed Hooker at this moment, rising quickly to his feet. “I
hear voices. It must be some of the searchers.”

“I hope so,” said Sleuth, who likewise could hear the sound of voices,
evidently approaching. “I’ll keep this fellow covered, Roy. See who they
are.”

It proved to be a posse headed by Constable Abel Hubbard. From this
armed body of men the captive had fled, having discovered them ahead of
him in the woods. Hooker, seeing and recognizing the men, raised a shout
that brought them hurrying to the gully, and soon the two boys were
vainly trying to answer a score of questions hurled at them
promiscuously.

“Well, I swan to man!” spluttered Constable Hubbard when he presently
understood the situation. “I swan to man, if these two younkers ain’t
ketched one of the rascals! That’s purty clever work for boys, feller
citizens.”

With scarcely an exception they agreed that it was, and Sleuth and Roy
were showered with congratulations.

“We’re rather glad you turned up, constable,” said Piper pompously. “It
relieves us of the trouble of marching this poor wretch back to the
lockup. We’ll turn him over to you with the understanding that we’re to
receive the reward, in case there’s one offered for his apprehension.”

After a time the prisoner was lifted to his feet and boosted out of the
gully, to be marched away toward town by the rejoicing posse. The
shortest route was pursued, which led them down across the fields to the
Barville road and thence into Lake Street.

Piper and Hooker followed.

The appearance of the party in the village created a great sensation;
but when the citizens were informed that Sleuth and Roy had effected the
man’s capture, the sensation was even greater. The boys were plied with
questions. Hooker felt like running away, but Piper seemed to enjoy it
all hugely, and was tireless in describing how the man had been trailed,
although, for some reason, to the relief of his companion, he avoided
mentioning Fred Sage or speaking of the telltale pool of blood upon the
floor of Andrew Sage’s stable.

The captive was confined under guard in the village lockup, and a doctor
was called to give his injury proper attention.

The boys could not learn that anything further in connection with the
bank robbery had transpired. Several armed posses were still searching
in the vicinity of Oakdale, and the surrounding country and towns had
been warned by telephoning, which made it seem most improbable that the
associates of the captured burglar could escape.

“I’m going home for breakfast,” Hooker finally announced.

“I’ve just discovered that I’m hungry myself,” said Sleuth.

At a street corner, having gotten away from the crowd, they paused a
moment. Piper, who had borne himself with no small amount of pride
beneath the eyes of the townspeople, now betrayed a disposition to be
somewhat downcast and gloomy.

“Look here,” said Roy, “I took special notice that you didn’t mention
Fred Sage in connection with the matter. You dodged that, and so I kept
still, too.”

“I was in hopes you’d follow my lead, Hook. Forgot to warn you until it
was too late.”

“But what’s your idea in shielding Sage, if you think he’s guilty?”

“Is he guilty?”

“Why, you know it certainly seems that——”

“It seems so,” nodded Piper; “but, still, I can’t bring myself to
believe that our respected schoolmate and comrade would make himself the
accomplice of criminals. I had this thing figured down to a fine point,
Roy, but I’m willing to admit that my calculations were decidedly upset.
I don’t want to make any charges against Fred until I talk with him face
to face.”

“I’m glad,” breathed Roy—“I’m mighty glad of that. I thought you were
absolutely positive. I own up it does look queer for Fred, but perhaps
he can explain. I’m sure he can. I’ll go to him——”

“No, you won’t,” interrupted Sleuth sharply. “You keep away from him,
Hooker. You let me do this. You’d make a mess of it. There are other
features of this affair that puzzle me a bit. For instance, there are
the missing securities. Queer business that a bank vault which was only
partly broken open should be discovered short to the extent of twenty
thousand dollars in negotiable securities.”

“Haven’t you any theory at all, Sleuth?”

“Only one. As long as I’ve trusted you this far, I may as well go the
limit. Swear silence.”

“All right.”

“Cross your heart.”

“Here goes.”

“Then listen,” whispered Sleuth, after an unnecessary glance around, as
if to make sure no one was within earshot. “I’ve never had much
confidence in that smug, smooth-faced, canting cashier, Timmick. I know
Urian Eliot trusts him, but I wouldn’t. I thought he acted queer while I
was watching him in the bank after the attempted robbery was
discovered.”

“By Jove!” cried Hooker. “I’ve always said he was a sneak. I told Sage
so myself. You’ve hit it—I’ll bet you’ve hit it, Sleuth!”

“Not so loud! Cautious! cautious!” warned Piper. “Now don’t forget your
oath. Don’t breathe this suspicion to a soul. If the robbers didn’t get
those securities last night, and it’s a certain fact that they didn’t,
someone removed them from the vault at an earlier date. The
investigation by the president and the directors led to the discovery
that they were gone.”

“Timmick did it,” said Hooker. “He’s the man.”




                              CHAPTER XXV.

                       THE BOY WHO ACTED GUILTY.


The bank officials were perplexed and mystified. With the arrival of
Urian Eliot the inner door of the vault had been opened by Timmick. It
was evident to them all that the looters had been driven away before
they could open this door, and therefore there was every reason to
believe that the contents of the vault would be found undisturbed.

In order that a thorough examination might be made in the presence of
the president and the others, the cash and securities contained in the
various compartments of the vault had been removed and placed upon a
long oak table in the adjoining directors’ room. This done, the
officials gathered about the table and began the investigation, the
president, pencil in hand, checking everything off on a list that had
been furnished him by Timmick.

Then it was that they were shocked to discover that twenty thousand
dollars’ worth of negotiable securities could not be found. The
suggestion that these securities had been overlooked sent Timmick and
one of the directors back to the vault, but without avail. In a few
moments the cashier and his companion returned, and Timmick’s face was
pale and his voice husky as he said:

“Those securities must be here on this table. They’re not in the vault.
They must be here. They can’t be gone.”

“We’ll go over the list again,” said Urian Eliot. “Let’s do it slowly,
carefully and systematically.”

Their great care in this second inspection simply served to confirm the
fact that the securities were missing, whereupon Timmick collapsed upon
a chair, seemingly on the verge of fainting.

“It’s awful—incomprehensible!” he whispered hoarsely, staring at the
faces of the other men. “I can’t understand it.”

“Nor I,” snapped the little jeweler, rapping his knuckles sharply on the
table and facing the cashier with a piercing eye. “If you can’t explain
it, Mr. Timmick, I don’t know who can.”

“Why—why,” faltered the distressed cashier, “I hope—you don’t mean,
sir——”

“I’m sure Mr. Sprague will not be hasty with an insinuation,”
interrupted Urian Eliot. “I’m sure we all have the utmost confidence in
your integrity, Timmick.”

It was noticeable, however, that none of the others said a word in
support of this assertion, and Mr. Lucius Timmick looked very ill indeed
by the white light of the shaded chandelier.

It was some time after daylight before the officials came forth from the
bank and made inquiries concerning the search for the fugitive crooks.
Later they learned of the remarkable capture by two boys of the wounded
member of the gang, and when the prisoner had been attended by a
physician they sought to obtain some information from him by giving him
a mild sort of “third degree” treatment. The effort, however, resulted
most unsatisfactorily. The prisoner, stretched on a cot in the lockup,
grimly defied them and sullenly refused to answer a single question.

“Aw, go on,” he growled. “You couldn’t make me snitch if you skinned
me.”

“Your accomplices are certain to be captured,” asserted Lemuel Hayden.
“They can’t get away. It is your opportunity to obtain a little clemency
by confessing before any of the others do so.”

“Bite it off,” advised the prisoner. “You’re wasting your wind, old
geezer. I never ties up with squealers.”

About this time Roy Hooker, crowding down a breakfast rendered tasteless
by his excitement, was telling his astounded mother a story that made
her gasp and throw up her hands.

“Mercy!” she cried, staring at him. “You caught one of the robbers—you
and Billy Piper? I never heard of such a thing! Two boys catching a
desperate burglar!”

“We caught him,” laughed Roy, “though perhaps it wouldn’t have been so
easy, only he was pretty weak from his wound and the loss of blood.”

“You’ll be killed some day, Roy,” prophesied his mother. “Now there’s
your father; I didn’t want him to go out with the men who are hunting
the robbers, but he just would go. I’m worried to death for fear he’ll
get shot or something.”

“Wonder what he will say when he hears what Sleuth and I did,” chuckled
Roy, gulping down a final mouthful and pushing back from the table. “Bet
he don’t do as much.” He rose and grabbed his cap.

“Where are you going now?” asked Mrs. Hooker apprehensively. “I won’t be
able to rest easy a minute.”

“Oh, there’s something doing in Oakdale this morning. Only a dead one
could hang around home with so much going on. Don’t worry, mother;
nothing will happen to me. They ought to be marching in some of the
other crooks pretty soon, and I want to see ’em when they come.”

Outside the house, however, he paused, as if doubtful concerning the
course he would pursue, and for some moments he seemed struggling with
contending desires.

“Sleuth didn’t want me to see Fred,” he muttered. “He made me promise I
wouldn’t tell Sage anything. Fred’s my friend. If he’s mixed up in this
rotten business it’s a shame. I’d like to see him a minute; I must see
him. I won’t give anything away, but I’d like to see how he’ll behave.
I’m just going up to his house, that’s all.”

Having arrived at this decision, he hurried up Willow Street, crossing
to Main only after the heart of the village had been left behind. As he
drew near the home of the Sages his pace slackened somewhat, and he
began to realize that he almost dreaded to meet Fred face to face. Even
when he had reached the proper point to turn in from the street he
hesitated and was almost tempted to retrace his steps.

At that moment, as if he had seen Hooker, Fred came out of the house,
and Roy walked into the yard.

“Hello, Hook,” said Sage. “What’s the latest? Have they caught any of
the robbers? My father is down town now.”

It seemed rather singular to Hooker that Fred also was not in the
village, and, furthermore, Roy imagined he could perceive something
unnatural and distraught in his friend’s manner.

“S’pose you’ve heard about Pipe and me?” said Roy.

“No. I’ve been staying home with mother. She’s nervous. Father deposits
at the bank, you know, and he wanted to find out if there had really
been a robbery. What about you and Sleuth?”

“We caught one of the gang,” announced the visitor proudly.

“You—you did?” faltered Sage, seeming to stiffen a bit. “Really and
truly did you and Sleuth catch one of them?”

“Really and truly, old man. We ran him down over behind Turkey Hill and
nabbed him. He’s in the lockup now.”

“Back of Turkey Hill!” said Fred, a bit huskily, and the other boy
fancied his face lost color somewhat. “How—how did you do it?”

“Oh, the fellow was wounded, and it wasn’t much of a trick. Old Quinn
blazed away blindly at the robbers when they ran, and he happened to hit
this one. Of course,” he continued, with a pardonable touch of pride,
“some folks seem to think we did quite a thing in nabbing him.”

“I don’t wonder,” muttered Fred. “Tell me just how you did it.”

With a sudden impulse, Roy strode past his companion, saying: “Come on
into the stable and I’ll tell you.”

“We can talk just as well out here,” said Sage hastily. “Let’s not go in
there.”

“But I want to go in there,” persisted Hooker, keeping on, although his
friend had grasped his arm.

The sliding doors were now nearly closed, but Hooker thrust one of them
back sufficiently to enter, and Fred, ceasing to object, followed into
the building.

At a glance Roy perceived a large damp spot upon the floor, where upon
his previous visit there had been a pool of blood. Every trace of the
blood stains was gone. Turning quickly to Sage, Hooker saw that he was
being watched narrowly, but instantly Fred’s eyelids drooped.

“Sleuth was right in his suspicions, after all,” thought the visitor,
with sinking heart. “If there wasn’t something wrong, they’d never
removed those stains and kept still about it.”

“Tell me,” urged Fred, “how you happened to find this wounded robber.
How did you trace him?”

“I didn’t say we traced him.”

“No, but I supposed—that is, I imagined you must have been led in some
way to search for him over by Turkey Hill.”

“He’s in it—in it up to the neck,” thought Roy, almost bitterly. “It’s a
shame! He seemed like such a fine fellow!”

“What’s the matter?” asked the other lad nervously. “Why don’t you tell
me all about it?”

“Oh, yes, I—I will. You see, it was this way.” He began his story at the
point where he and Piper had discovered the fugitive from their position
in the clearing on the northern shoulder of the hill. In the midst of
the narrative, through which he was hurrying, the boys were startled by
the swift tread of feet, and a moment later several persons, led by
Constable Hubbard, entered the stable.

“What—what is it?” demanded Fred Sage at sight of the men. “What are you
doing here?”

“We’re a-looking for one of them there bank robber critters,” answered
the constable, “and for sartain reasons we’re led to believe he’s hiding
round these premises somewhere. The buildings are surrounded complete,
and he can’t git away.”




                             CHAPTER XXVI.

                            ANOTHER CAPTURE.


Roy Hooker, interrupted in the midst of his narrative by the appearance
of the constable and the posse, was not a little startled, but his
dismay was nothing compared with that of Fred Sage. For a few moments
following the assertion of Abel Hubbard Fred apparently found it
impossible to speak, although he made an effort to do so. Recovering his
voice presently, he falteringly and huskily cried:

“One of the bank robbers here? It’s impossible, Mr. Hubbard! You’re
certainly mistaken.”

“Maybe so,” admitted the constable, rolling a quid of tobacco into his
plump cheek; “but we’ll see about that. I received notice that he was
here from a certain young feller that’s showed himself rather wise and
slick by ketching one of the bunch.”

“By which,” said a voice, as Sleuth Piper stepped forward, “the worthy
officer refers to me.”

“You!” gasped Fred, resentment mingling with his alarm. “You! I might
have guessed it! You’ve got a grudge against me, Piper, and you’ve made
all sorts of trouble for——”

“I positively disclaim any personal animosity,” interrupted Sleuth. “I’m
simply doing my duty, that the ends of justice may be attained. I will
add, Sage, that I’m mighty sorry to see you involved.”

Following this statement he turned somewhat savagely upon Hooker, to
whose side he quickly stepped.

“You’re to blame,” he snapped in a low tone. “You forced me into this
sooner than I intended.”

“_I_ did?” muttered Roy, astonished. “How?”

“You broke your pledge to me. You forgot your solemn oath. I suspected
that you might, and, fortunately, I had my eyes open. I saw you skin up
here to tell Sage, and I lost no time in notifying the constable and
getting him to bring an armed party to search these premises.”

“I’ll bet they don’t find anything,” said Hooker. “I hope not. If they
don’t, it will take some of the swelling out of your head.”

“Time is val’able,” announced Abel Hubbard sagely, “so we’ll begin
s’arching right away. We’ll take the stable fust, and then we’ll go
through the house. Git at it, boys,” he commanded, with a wave of one
pudgy hand.

The men started to obey, but before they could really begin the door of
the little granary at one side of the stable swung open, and a man
stepped out into view.

“If you’re looking for me,” he said coolly, “you needn’t go any further;
but let me state right here that I was in no way concerned in that
attempted bank robbery.”

“Clarence!” gasped Fred Sage.

“The man I met in the woods!” burst from Hooker’s lips.

“Gentleman Jim, or I’ll eat my hat!” exulted Piper. “Nab him, men! He’s
desperate! Don’t let him play any tricks!”

Immediately the man, who was indeed the mysterious stranger with whom
Hooker had conversed, was covered by several loaded guns and commanded
to throw up his hands, an order which he disdainfully obeyed.

“It won’t be necessary to shoot,” he said. “I sha’n’t offer the
slightest resistance.”

“Keep him kivered,” fluttered Constable Hubbard—“keep him kivered till I
put the irons on him!”

Producing a set of old-fashioned manacles, the excited constable
bunglingly snapped them upon the wrists of the man.

“There!” he breathed in deep satisfaction; “we’ve got _you_, all right.
By golly! that boy Piper is a wonder.”

“Constable,” said Sleuth, remindingly, “you mustn’t forget that it was
solely through information supplied by me that Mr. James Wilson, _alias_
Gentleman Jim, was captured. I shall lay claims to the reward offered
for him.”

“I guess you’ll git your share of it, if he’s the feller you think he
is.”

“He’s nobody of the sort,” excitedly asserted Fred Sage. “He’s in no way
connected with the bank robbers. You’re making a dreadful blunder.”

“Then what’s he doing, hiding here?” questioned Hubbard incredulously.
“Mebbe you can explain that.”

“Yes, yes,” faltered Fred, “perhaps—I can.”

“Don’t try it,” implored the prisoner quickly. “It won’t do any good,
Fred; they wouldn’t believe you. I should have gone away yesterday and
saved you all this trouble.”

“It’s awful,” choked young Sage—“awful for you! Oh, what made you come
here at all!”

“Simply because I was a fool and couldn’t keep away,” was the bitter
answer.

“This ain’t no place to chin it over,” said the constable sharply. “It’s
my business to lodge this here gent in the lockup, and I’m going to do
so jest about as quick as I can.”

“Wait a minute,” pleaded Fred. “My mother doesn’t know. She’s in the
house. Doubtless she’s in terror now because of all these armed men
around the place. Wait two minutes, until I can go inside and prevent
her from looking out of the window when you take Clar—this man away.
Won’t you do that much, Mr. Hubbard?”

“I don’t see no reason why I shouldn’t. Go ahead, young feller, and
soothe down your mammy. I’ll give ye jest two minutes, and then we’ll
march this feller off to the caboose.”

Flinging a final resentful look at Piper, Fred hurried into the house.
Sleuth, preening himself proudly, could not refrain from giving Hooker
another jab.

“You did a good thing for yourself, Hook,” he sneered. “By going back on
me, you cut yourself out of any share in the reward money. We’ve got the
feller who calls himself James Wilson; there’s no doubt about that.
Furthermore, you must have observed that Fred called him Clarence, which
fully confirms my deduction that Clarence Sage is not dead, although an
unknown man was buried under that name.”

“It looks as if you’re right, Pipe,” admitted Roy sadly; “but losing a
share of the reward don’t hurt me half as much as knowing what this
means to Fred and his folks.”

“Time’s up,” announced Constable Hubbard, snapping shut the case of his
silver watch and dropping it into his pocket. “Come on, Mr. Crook;
for’ard, march!”




                             CHAPTER XXVII.

                           THE TWO PRISONERS.


As the key rattled in the lock of the heavily barred door the wounded
prisoner looked up from the cot on which he was lying and saw the second
captive marched into the room by Constable Hubbard.

“I guess,” said the constable, “I can chance it to take the irons off ye
while you’re in here, for we’ve got the place guarded by men who would
shoot ye quick as they’d spit if you ever did break out, which ain’t
nohow prob’le.”

“Thank you,” said the man, as Hubbard removed the handcuffs. “I won’t
try to break out, I promise you that.”

“And I’d be a fool if I took any stock in your promise,” said the fat
officer, as he backed out of the room, closing and relocking the door.

With a grimace of pain, the wounded man lifted himself to a sitting
posture on the cot. The eyes of the two prisoners met.

“So they nabbed you after all, Thirteen-thirteen,” said the first
prisoner. “Tough luck, old pal. I told yer to lay low.”

The other man shrugged his shoulders. “I did,” he answered; “but they
surrounded the place and had me pinched, so there was no use trying to
make a run for it. If I’d tried that, the chances were a hundred to one
that the damage to your wing wouldn’t have been a patch compared to what
would have happened to me.”

“Tough luck,” repeated the other. “But they can’t do anything to yer for
this job we made such a rotten mess of. I won’t forget how you tied up
this shoulder of mine, nor how the kid did his best to give me a show to
get away. I’ll swear you wasn’t mixed up in the job here.”

The younger man smiled wearily. “It’s not fear of their nailing this
business onto me that gets me,” he said; “it’s the old case against me.
I was supposed to be dead and buried, you know. Yes, it’s tough luck. I
was born under an unlucky star on the thirteenth day of the month. In
prison I was ‘Number 1313,’ and that was a double sign of bad luck.”

“You made a great break, you and your two pals. When they nabbed the
other pair and couldn’t find you, it seemed that all the luck was yours.
Course, arter I did my bit and was turned loose, I heard you had
croaked. When I was sitting on that box just at day peep trying to stop
the blood that was leaking out of me and you stepped out to give a hand
at the job, you certain looked like a ghost. I couldn’t believe you was
old Thirteen-thirteen till you owned up to it. Then the youngster come
on us, and we had to——”

“That’s the thing I regret most. Look here, Riley, you owe me something,
don’t you?”

“Anything you say, old pal.”

“I bound up your wound the best way I could. My brother caught me at it.
Then we had to bring him into the business, knowing that the searchers
were likely to trace you to that place. If they did so, it was a sure
thing that I’d be nabbed, which must lead to the public knowledge that
Clarence Sage, escaped convict, had not been drowned in the Hudson. In
hopes of avoiding this, my brother guided you into the woods and helped
you as best as he could to get another start in your flight.”

“The kid done his part all right, pal.”

“Now I want you to do yours, Riley.”

“Spiel it off. Lay it out. Put me on. What am I to do?”

“Not one word about my brother and the part he played must escape your
lips. He did it for me, not for you, but you owe him this much: you must
protect him.”

“Bank on it, cull—bank on it. They’ll never jimmy a word of it outer
me.”

“Thanks,” said Clarence Sage, taking the single chair which the lockup
contained and seating himself near the cot. “That relieves my mind in a
measure. Fred’s a fine boy, and it would be a shame to have suspicion
fall on him. My misfortune has cast enough stigma on my unfortunate
family.”

“Say, ’bo, there’s just one thing about you that I don’t like. You don’t
have to put up this misfortune bluff to me. Course it’s always hard luck
when we get laid by the heels on any little job, but seems to me you’re
throwing it out that you was on the level.”

“I was,” asserted Clarence Sage grimly, almost fiercely. “I was
arrested, tried and convicted for a crime I never committed. If this
were not true, I wouldn’t think of saying so now. Somebody else looted
the bank, and I believe I know the man. It was on his testimony
principally that I was convicted. He saved himself, but the knowledge
that he sent an innocent man to Sing Sing may possibly have caused him
some uneasy and regretful moments.”

“Well,” said Riley slowly, as he narrowly eyed his fellow prisoner, “you
spiels it like you was talking gospel. Mebbe it’s true.”

“It _is_ true,” asserted Clarence Sage. “Think what it meant, Riley, not
only to me, but to my people. I have the finest mother a boy ever had.
The thought of her shame and suffering has been gall and wormwood to
me.”

“My old mother,” said Riley, with a touch of sentiment, “was dead and
buried before I was pinched the first time, thank Heaven!”

Sage bowed his head and spoke in a low tone, his gaze fixed upon the
floor.

“It was to get another look at my mother’s face that I returned to
Oakdale. I was here a week ago, and I went away without obtaining a
glimpse of her. In all the years that I was supposed to be dead I have
carried her image in my heart, and it was the knowledge of her faith in
me—for she never believed me guilty—that kept me straight, I believe.
I’ve knocked about in many places and associated with all sorts of men,
some of them honest, but many more who were crooks. I’ve roughed it in
Alaska, sailed before the mast, starved and nearly died from fever in
the Philippines, tried my hand at coal mining in Australia; and through
it all the knowledge of my mother’s faith has kept me straight, even
though I’ve had many a chance to turn a good thing by crookedness. At
last, believing there was little danger, I came back and hunted for my
people. I found them here, and here I have likewise found my undoing.”

“Tough luck,” said Riley again. “They’ll send you back to the jug.”

“No doubt of it. I’ll have to serve out my term, with an additional
period hitched on to it because of my break. There’s water in my veins,
Riley; the dread of what I’m up against takes the heart out of me.
Perhaps you don’t know what it is to be sent to prison with the
knowledge that you’re innocent and serving time for the crime of another
man.”

“It must be fierce,” said Riley sympathetically. “And you say he put it
on you at the trial? Pal, if I was in your boots, he’d get hisn some
day. When I’d done my turn and been discharged, I’d look the gent up and
hand him something he’d remember—if he was in shape to remember
anything.”

“That would be poor satisfaction to me. It wouldn’t clear my name of the
crime. It might mean that I’d be sent up again for another, still
greater, crime. The only thing in this wide world that can ever give me
the least satisfaction is proof of my innocence. I’ve dreamed of
it—dreamed of it a million times. I’ve dreamed of standing before the
world free and exonerated. Of going to my old mother and feeling her
arms about my neck and her tears upon my cheeks, and hearing her glad
cry, ‘I knew it, my boy—I knew it!’ Nothing but that, Riley, can ever
satisfy me, and if there’s any justice under Heaven it will come some
day.”

“I hope so, pal—I hope so,” said Riley, with genuine sympathy. “I’m just
a plain crook, and nothing else; but for an honest man to be marked as a
crook by the bulls and people in general—why, that’s blazes, sure.”




                            CHAPTER XXVIII.

                          THE SHREDS OF HOPE.


During the time that Clarence Sage had been practically in hiding upon
the premises of his parents his mother had been wholly unaware of his
proximity. Resigned in her belief that her unfortunate son lay buried in
another state, Mrs. Sage had bravely endeavored to make the best of the
terrible affliction which had come upon her at a period of her life when
all things had seemed the most promising of happiness and prosperity.
Never for a moment, even after the jury had pronounced him guilty and he
had been sentenced to prison, had Mrs. Sage entertained a doubt
regarding the innocence of her older son. As far as possible the
newspaper reports of the young man’s escape from prison were kept from
her; but in time, when, many weeks later, Andrew Sage had viewed the
body of a man recovered from the Hudson and pronounced it that of
Clarence, it had been necessary to tell her the crushing and terrible
truth.

For a time the poor woman was prostrated and under the constant care of
a physician. During that period the body of the drowned man was buried
and a tombstone bearing the name of Clarence Sage was placed over the
grave.

With commendable knowledge of feminine nature, the physician, finally
perceiving that drugs or medicines of any sort would never help Mrs.
Sage, succeeded in rousing her by turning her mind from herself to her
husband; by leading her gradually to believe that the shock of the
tragedy had benumbed Andrew Sage and threatened to crush him entirely
unless something could be done to encourage him to brace up; by
convincing her that she alone could do this, and that it was her duty to
make the effort.

The result was most surprising. The sick woman rose from her bed, and,
seconded by the younger son, set about the task of cheering and
encouraging the stricken father. She pleaded with him to turn his
thoughts from their dead son and to remember that Heaven had graciously
spared them another son, to whom they owed a duty which must not be
forgotten. She forced herself to smile, and in time the sunshine of that
smile, even though tempered a bit with the faintest cloud of sorrow,
which promised never wholly to leave her, drove most of the black
shadows of bitter resentment from the heart of old Andrew Sage. In time
they came to talk the matter over calmly, and decided to leave their
home in New York, where, were they to remain, they must be continually
reminded of that which they wished to forget, and move to some obscure
town in another state.

And so it happened that, after many years of hardships and wandering and
constant yearning for the sight of his mother’s face, the young man who
was supposed to be dead traced them to that little town. Through a
window of the house he had tried to get a look at his mother, but had
been sent scurrying away by Fred, who, discovering the prowler, came out
and circled the buildings.

That very night Clarence tramped onward to another village, resolved to
return no more to Oakdale. He had learned that his parents and his
brother were comfortably settled there and apparently peaceful and
happy, and he told himself that the knowledge was sufficient.

But he had not seen his mother’s face, and each hour and each day the
yearning to do so grew stronger within him, until presently it made him
falter, broke his resolution and caused him to turn back.

Fred, returning home from the disappointing duck hunt at Marsh Pond, was
seen by Clarence, who suddenly decided to let his brother know that he
still lived. The reader may imagine the state of mind into which this
meeting between the brothers threw Fred Sage. It was this mental
condition which caused his thoughts to wander in the football game that
afternoon and made him responsible for much of the bad playing and many
of the flukes which prevented the home team from piling up a bigger
score in the earlier stages of the game, and thus encouraged the
visitors to keep plugging with all the energy and aggressiveness they
could work up, until eventually they swept Oakdale down in defeat.

For two nights Clarence Sage slept upon some blankets in the stable
granary. After seeing and talking with Clarence several times, Fred
decided that their father should be taken into the great secret—should
be told that the boy he thought dead was still living.

“If I know father,” argued Fred, “and I think I do, it will do him a
heap of good. On the other hand, I’m just as sure that it would be a big
mistake to let mother know. She’d want you to stay near her, that she
might be able to see you, and she would live in constant terror lest the
truth become known and you were taken back to prison. She has struggled
hard to forget you in a way, Clarence—that is, to put you out of her
mind so that she might cease to brood over that dreadful thing.”

Clarence agreed with Fred, and thus it came about that on Sunday old
Andrew Sage came to know the amazing truth that his unfortunate son
still lived. While Fred entertained his mother in the house the
bewildered father talked with Clarence in the stable.

At first old Andrew had thought that his wife must be told, but it was
not difficult to convince him that this would be unwise. He spent as
much time as possible talking with Clarence, who told him briefly the
story of his experiences since escaping from prison, and together they
laid plans for the future. Only once did Clarence declare to his father
his innocence of the crime for which he had been convicted. Mr. Sage
checked him promptly, stating positively that such a protestation was
unnecessary, as he had never permitted himself for a single instant to
entertain any doubts upon that point.

Clarence thought of going away Sunday night, but he had no money in his
pocket, and, learning this, his father practically commanded him to wait
until Monday, when he would draw from the bank and furnish the wanderer
with funds, which might be taken as a loan and repaid when convenient.
Thus it happened that Clarence lingered, finally to be captured as one
of the bank robbers by Constable Hubbard.

As he had expected, when he hurried into the house to quiet her
apprehensions, Fred found his mother much disturbed by the presence of
the armed men whom she had seen through the windows.

“What does it mean, my boy?” she asked, her face quite pale. “Why are
they here?”

“They’re hunting everywhere for the bank robbers, you know,” was the
answer. “There’s no telling where the scoundrels may have taken refuge.”

“But not here—they can’t expect to find any of them here!”

“Perhaps they don’t really expect to find them, but they can’t afford to
overlook the possibility. Why, what’s happened out here?” As he uttered
this exclamation he hurried to a window at the back of the house and
peered through it, pressing his face against the glass.

The little subterfuge was sufficient. His mother likewise hastened to
the window and looked forth, questioning him agitatedly.

“Two of the men out there—I saw them running, I thought,” he answered.
“They were running toward the corner. I didn’t know but they had seen
something. Look, mother, at that big tree at the edge of the orchard.
Father had to prop the limbs up when it was loaded with fruit. It must
be pruned.” In this manner he kept her at the window until he was quite
certain that the men with the prisoner had vanished down the road toward
town.

Afterward he waited with no small impatience for the return of his
father from the village. He did not contemplate for a moment leaving his
mother alone. Ordinarily he might have done so, but, now that she knew
of the attempted bank robbery and had seen the armed man-hunters, she
was pitifully pale and almost bordering upon complete collapse. Fred
knew that her mind had been led to thoughts of Clarence and what he must
have suffered in prison and as a fugitive with the armed guards hunting
him across the frozen bosom of the Hudson.

Fred’s own mind was in a scarcely less tumultuous and painful condition,
but he tried his best to lead his mother’s thoughts into pleasanter
channels. All the while, having placed himself where he could watch the
road, he waited for the coming of his father.

In time Andrew Sage appeared, walking briskly, although his shoulders
were a trifle stooped. At once Fred made an excuse and hurried to meet
his father.

As the boy drew near, he became assured by the old man’s appearance that
he did not know that Clarence had been taken.

“Father,” said Fred hurriedly, “I want a word with you before you go
into the house. Something has happened.”

“What is it?” asked Andrew Sage, a sudden shadow of apprehension
clouding his face. “Uncle Ed Tower just told me that another one of the
robbers has been caught.”

“Father,” said Fred, standing with his back toward the house, “what I am
going to tell you will be a shock, and it’s possible that mother is
watching us from the window. You must not let her see that you’re
affected.”

The man’s face grew suddenly ashen.

“Clarence?” he muttered hoarsely.

“Do brace up,” urged Fred. “They came here to search for one of the
robbers. They had been told that he was hiding in our stable.”

“And they found Clarence?”

“Yes. He gave himself up when he realized that it was useless to try to
hide.”

“But—but he had—nothing to do with the attempted robbery. They had no
right to touch him for that. Didn’t he tell them?”

“What good would that have done, father? He was found concealed in our
stable, and he’s a stranger in this town. You can see that no
explanation he could possibly make would keep them from locking him up.”

“But they have no right to touch him!” cried Mr. Sage, with a sudden
vehement gesture.

“Steady, father. Remember about mother. She does not know. I kept her
diverted while they took him away. You must be strong. We must continue
as long as possible to hide the truth from her.”

“But it will all come out now,” groaned the old man, his shoulders
drooping more than ever. “It’s my fault—my fault! Why didn’t I let the
boy go yesterday? I am to blame!”

“No one is to blame, father. It’s just fate. It had to come.”

“But—but if they find he’s not one of the robbers—if he can prove that
he’s not,” said Andrew Sage eagerly, “perhaps they will let him go.”

“That’s my only hope, and it’s a slim one, father. We mustn’t base too
much upon it.” Even as he said this, Fred realized how futile that hope
was. For had not Sleuth Piper, by prying and spying, learned the truth,
which would mean full exposure for Clarence? Still, it was not best to
let Andrew Sage know at present how desperate the situation was.

“I’m going into town and see what can be done,” said Fred. “You’re
completely upset, father, but still you must keep it from mother. If
they capture the other robbers there may yet be a chance—a very small
chance—for Clarence.”

“It’s fate,” mumbled Mr. Sage, repeating the words the boy had spoken a
few moments before—“fate! It would have been better had he never come
here; better had he left us in ignorance that he was alive.”

He swayed, and Fred clutched his arm, again entreating him to brace up.

“I’m tired, tired!” sighed old Andrew Sage, his face drawn and haggard.
“I must rest.”

Alarmed, Fred said, “I’ll help you to the house.”

In a moment, however, Mr. Sage drew himself up and protested that he
needed no assistance.

“Your mother, boy—your mother,” he murmured. “She will see and be
frightened. I’m all right now; I’m strong. You see what more you can
learn, and if it’s anything favorable let me know as soon as possible.
Look! You can see that I’m all right now. Go!”

Bravely, sturdily he started onward toward the house, even turning to
wave his hand and throw the boy a mock smile, which at that distance
might deceive the eyes of the woman within the house.

After watching the old man for a few moments, Fred turned toward the
village, breaking into a run ere he had passed beyond sight of his home.




                             CHAPTER XXIX.

                       A CONCESSION FROM SLEUTH.


In a way, business in Oakdale was suspended, or, perhaps it should be
said that it had not really begun for the day. On the street corners
groups of men and boys discussed the recent exciting events and
speculated over the probability of quick capture of the robber or
robbers who still remained at large; for it was believed that at least
three men had been concerned in the effort to plunder the bank. Somehow,
it had leaked out that a part of the bank funds were missing, and of
course this created an additional volume of gossip and speculation.

Fred, searching for Sleuth Piper, was hailed by various schoolboy
friends, but, further than to make inquiries regarding Sleuth, he had no
time for them. At last he found the boy he sought, who was on his way to
the office of the village lawyers.

Sleuth turned and waited as Fred called his name and came hurrying up.

“I want to see you, Piper,” said Sage. “I want a little private talk
with you.”

“I’m pretty busy,” returned Sleuth; “but I presume I can spare you a
little of my valuable time. Of course I can imagine what you’re after,
but I’m afraid it won’t be any use, old fellow. I’m sorry for you,
but——”

“Oh, yes, you are—_not_,” flung back Fred scornfully. “After what you’ve
done——”

“Now wait; stop right there,” interrupted Sleuth. “I’ve simply done my
duty, although in your position you may not regard it as such. If my
brother was a bank robber and an escaped convict, perhaps I’d feel hard
toward anyone who tried to send him back to prison, but at the same time
I’m sure my sense of justice——”

“Bosh! That sort of tommyrot gives me a cramp. Besides, my brother is an
innocent man.”

Sleuth lifted his eyebrows and shrugged incredulously.

“He’s innocent, I tell you!” panted Fred fiercely.

“It looks that way, don’t it!” said the young amateur detective, unable
in spite of his professed sympathy for Sage, to repress a slight sneer.

“No, it doesn’t look that way,” admitted the other boy. “I own up that
it must seem that he’s surely guilty. Here come some people, Piper.
They’ll stand around and listen. We can’t talk here. Won’t you come with
me some place where we’ll be by ourselves, with no rubbernecks around?”

Sleuth hesitated a moment. “I can see the lawyers later,” he muttered
presently. “As long as it’s you, Fred, and you’re so badly broken up,
I’ll do what you want, though again I must say I’m sure it’s useless.”

When Sile Crane and Chub Tuttle attempted to follow them as they turned
down the street Fred whirled and almost snarled:

“What do you fellows want? Can’t you let us have a little private talk?”

“Lordy!” gasped Tuttle. “Don’t snap anybody’s head off. Haven’t you had
breakfast? Here, take some peanuts.”

Disdaining this placating offer, Fred strode away at Sleuth’s side.
Reaching the bridge, they paused.

“I hope you’re not going to appeal to me from the standpoint of
friendship,” said Piper. “You must realize that it’s too late now, old
man. Your brother is captured, and I can do nothing. I expect to receive
the reward offered for his apprehension.”

“The offer was withdrawn long ago, when it was supposed that he had been
drowned in the Hudson.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that; I mean the reward offered for the party known as
James Wilson, or Gentleman Jim.”

“Piper, you’re on the wrong track. My brother is not Gentleman Jim.”

Again Sleuth shrugged. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he drew forth
the printed description of James Wilson which he had clipped from the
newspaper.

“This fits him to a tee,” he said. “He must be the man.”

“I admit that, in a way, the description of Wilson seems to fit my
brother, but still, I maintain that they are two different men, Piper.
You’ll find it out, too, if this Wilson was concerned in the attempt on
the bank last night and he does not escape the men who are hunting for
him. My brother had no hand in that business.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do I know? Why, he—he came here alone; came to get a glimpse of the
mother whose heart was so nearly broken over his terrible misfortune.
Oh, Sleuth, you can’t realize what you’ve done! You pried into our
secret. There are few families so fortunate that they have no secret
they wish to keep hidden from the general public.”

“I won’t argue about that,” said Piper, returning the newspaper clipping
to his pocket, “for it can have no bearing on the situation. You say
your brother was not concerned in the attempt to rob the Oakdale bank. I
ask, how do you know? He was here, wasn’t he? He was hidden in your
stable. Of course he told you that he came here to see your mother.
That’s a plausible story. But how do you know he didn’t come here to
take a hand in that bank cracking? While you were asleep in your bed
last night, he was helping his pals cut their way into the bank and blow
open the vault.”

“No—I tell you no!” contradicted Fred, his hands working convulsively,
as if he longed to choke the other boy. “Clarence never did a
dishonorable or criminal thing in his life. After his escape from prison
he fled to the West, and, while this man called Gentleman Jim has been
making himself notorious as a crook, Clarence has been in Alaska and
Australia. He has but lately returned to this part of the country.”

“How do you know?” persisted Sleuth, unshaken in his position. “Of
course that’s the story he told you. Naturally, he’d lie to you.”

Fred’s chest rose and fell; his teeth were set and his nostrils dilated;
his appearance was so ominous that Piper shrank away.

“’Twon’t do you any good to jump on me,” spluttered Sleuth. “If your
brother wasn’t one of that gang, how did it happen that the wound of the
other chap who was captured was bound up in your stable? How did it
happen that you led him into the woods, in order that he might have a
chance to get away?”

“I’ll tell you,” answered Fred, after exhaling a long breath that seemed
to relieve in a degree the tension of his nerves. “My brother knew that
man in prison. The man’s name is Riley. When Riley sought shelter in our
stable my brother saw him sitting there on a box and trying weakly to
staunch the flow of blood. Clarence came out and gave a hand to bind up
Riley’s wound. About that time some men searching for the robbers passed
our house, and we learned what had happened. I went into the stable and
came upon Clarence and Riley. Of course it was necessary for them to
tell me how matters stood. In a moment I realized the danger to my
brother—the terrible danger of having Riley traced there and captured on
the premises. I knew what I was doing when I guided the man into the
woods, but I did so for my brother’s sake.”

Sleuth shook his head. “Too bad—too bad you had to do that, for it makes
you sort of an accomplice. However, Sage, even though you thought me
your bitter enemy and I knew just what you now own that you did, I
haven’t breathed a word that would bring suspicion of this matter upon
you. I’ve pledged Hooker to keep still. He’s your friend, and that fact
ought to help keep his mouth buttoned up.”

“As long as you’ve done this much, why won’t you do something more? It’s
doubtful if the people here know anything of my brother’s history, and
so, if it’s shown that he was not connected with last night’s affair, he
may be released. They are still searching for the robbers who have not
yet been taken. Now if those men are captured and one of them proves to
be Gentleman Jim, you’ll see what a blunder you’ve made. It can do you
no good to expose my brother and send him back to Sing Sing. Before
telling what you know about him, won’t you wait to see if one of these
other burglars may not be Gentleman Jim? If you refuse to do that, I’ll
know that your behavior toward me was prompted by pure animosity, and
nothing else.”

“You’re hanging on to a false hope, Sage,” said Sleuth, after a moment
or two of consideration; “but, seeing it’s you, I’ll agree to keep mum
for a while. That won’t hurt me, for your brother is safe in custody and
can’t get away. When the robbers are captured and you’re satisfied that
your brother is the only one of the bunch who could possibly be
Gentleman Jim, I shall tell the authorities everything. You can’t ask me
to do otherwise under those circumstances.”

“You’ve agreed to do all I expected of you—and more,” acknowledged Fred
in relief. “I—I thank you, Piper.”

“Don’t,” said Sleuth. “Some day you’ll understand that there was not an
atom of animosity or spite in my heart. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go
see those lawyers. And don’t worry, I won’t blow until I’ve seen you
again.”

A short time later Fred Sage presented himself at the lockup, where he
tried to get a word with Clarence, but admission was denied him. Ere
returning home, more from habit than otherwise, he called for mail at
the post-office and was given a letter addressed to his father. Not
until he had nearly reached his home did he observe that the envelope
bore the postmark of Rutledge, New York, and that the names of “Jorlemon
& Gates, Attorneys-at-Law,” were printed upon it.

Jorlemon and Gates were the lawyers who had defended Clarence Sage at
his trial.




                              CHAPTER XXX.

                           THE TRUTH AT LAST.


Old Andrew Sage uttered a choking cry and fell back on his chair, the
letter he had been reading fluttering from his nerveless fingers and
dropping upon his lap.

Startled, Mrs. Sage hastened toward her husband, and Fred sprang
forward, crying:

“What is it—what is it, father? What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

No wonder he asked the question, for Mr. Sage’s face was white as chalk
and he was gasping painfully, as if he found it difficult to breathe.

“Get some water quick, Fred,” urged Mrs. Sage, bending over her husband.

In a moment Fred had brought a glass of water, and Andrew Sage took a
swallow or two, which seemed to revive him in a measure.

“The letter,” he whispered hoarsely, peering from beneath his
spectacles—“where’s the letter?”

“Here it is, father.”

“Read it, boy—read it!” almost shouted the old man. “Read it aloud, that
your mother may hear. It doesn’t seem possible! It’s Heaven sent at this
moment!”

Wonderingly Fred picked up the typewritten missive and began to read it
aloud:


  “DEAR MR. SAGE:

      It is possible that you have not yet heard of the death of
    George Barrows, late cashier of the First National Bank of
    Rutledge. Mr. Barrows died yesterday, and, when he knew beyond
    doubt that there was no hope for him, he sent for me to come to
    his bedside and bring with me a stenographer. I complied, and in
    the privacy of the unfortunate man’s death chamber I listened to
    a most astounding confession which absolutely clears the name of
    your unfortunate dead son from the stigma of the crime for which
    he was convicted and sent to Sing Sing.”


At this point it was necessary for Fred to give his mother assistance
and aid her into her own special rocking-chair. The moment she was
seated, however, she begged him to go on with the letter.


       “We have now in our possession (Fred read on), a full and
    complete typewritten confession of the crime, in which Barrows
    took the entire guilt upon his own shoulders. Before the man
    passed away, we had this typewritten document read to him in his
    presence and sworn to before a notary. The document is secure in
    our private safe, and it can be made public at any time you
    choose. Although, most unfortunately, this confession comes too
    late to do your misjudged son any good, it, nevertheless, must
    give you no small degree of satisfaction and happiness. If you
    desire, Mr. Gates will come to you personally with the
    confession and place it in your possession, it seeming unwise to
    us to trust in the slightest degree to the uncertainty of the
    mails.

      Permit us, my dear sir, to offer you and your good wife our
    most heartfelt congratulations.

                  Sincerely yours,
                    HENRY D. JORLEMON.”


The excitement and joy produced by the reading of this astounding letter
was unbounded. Amid tears and laughter the members of the little family
embraced one another again and again, and finally, when a little
calmness had come upon them, they knelt while Andrew Sage offered up a
prayer of thanksgiving which came from the deepest chamber of his
overflowing heart.

The moment the prayer was ended Fred leaped to his feet, kissed his
mother, turned to his father and cried:

“You tell her, father. I’m going back into the village. I’m going to
take this letter. You tell her the wonderful truth.”

The door slammed behind him, and away he went as fast as his legs could
carry him. And thus it happened that the parents of the young man who
had been falsely convicted of a crime were alone together when old
Andrew Sage broke the marvelous tidings that Clarence Sage lived and was
even then in that town.

Racing into the village in search of Piper, Fred was just in time to see
Sheriff Pickle and a large body of men conducting toward the lockup two
tattered and battered men, the associates of the wounded burglar, who
had been captured only after a hot pursuit and a desperate fight.

The morning train had brought into Oakdale a slim, smooth-faced, quiet
man in dark clothes, who had seemed greatly interested in the story of
the attempted bank robbery. This man was also on hand when Pickle
appeared with the prisoners, and with an air of authority he forced his
way through the posse until he almost touched one of the captives, whom
he surveyed with no small amount of satisfaction.

“Hello, Wilson,” he said. “You seem to have made a bad mess of this
job.”

“Here! here!” cried the deputy sheriff, attempting to thrust the
stranger back. “None of that! Keep away! What do you mean, men, by
allowing anyone to approach the prisoners this fashion?”

“Keep your clothes on, my friend,” advised the stranger, giving Pickle a
look in which disdain and amusement seemed mingled. “You’ll get your
share of the reward for capturing Gentleman Jim, but I’ll take him back
to York State.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Burke Sheldon, and I’m a detective.” Saying which, he
flipped open his coat and displayed a badge that caused Mr. Pickle to
gasp and touch his hat with a sudden show of great respect. “I was
pretty close on this man’s heels. His pals are likewise wanted. See that
you hold them tight and fast, officer, until I secure the needed
requisition papers.”

Now Sleuth Piper had not been far away when the new captives arrived,
and, crowding close in the throng that surrounded the posse, he heard
the words of Detective Sheldon.

“Great scissors!” he muttered, aghast. “Is _that_ Gentleman Jim?”

Fred Sage had followed Sleuth into the thick of the crowd, and he
proceeded to lay a hand on the shoulder of the bewildered boy.

“_That’s_ Gentleman Jim,” he palpitated exultantly. “Now you see what a
blunder you made. Luckily, you promised to keep still until these men
were caught.”

“It don’t seem possible!” muttered Piper sorrowfully. “I don’t see how I
could have missed fire in my deduction.”

“Come with me a minute,” urged Fred. “I’ve got something to show you. I
want to prove to you that my brother told the truth when he declared his
innocence.”

Seemingly dazed and crushed, Sleuth permitted Fred to drag him from the
crowd, and when he had read the letter from Jorlemon and Gates he was a
very sick-looking chap indeed. For some moments he stood with his hands
sunk deep in his pockets, his head drooping and his eyes fixed upon the
ground. Presently, kicking weakly at some pebbles, he began to speak.

“I had that five hundred dollars pretty well spent,” he said. “I’d
bought everything with it from a new pair of skates to an automobile.
And now I don’t get a red cent!”

Then, as Fred was about to say something bitter and cutting, Piper
braced up suddenly.

“Look here, old man,” he exclaimed, with an air of sincerity that surely
seemed genuine, “for all of my confidence that I had that money as good
as nailed, I’ve been feeling pretty rotten. I don’t suppose you believe
me, but it’s a fact. I’ve been mighty sorry about the whole business
since you talked to me a while ago at the bridge. Now, even though I’ve
lost the five hundred, I’m feeling better. Say, Fred, you must be ready
to blow up with joy. Just think of it! Your brother is alive, and he’s
innocent. You have the proof. Old fellow, I congratulate you.”

“Thanks,” returned Fred, a bit coldly. “I’m glad you have the decency to
say that much.”

“There’s only one hope left for me now,” said Sleuth. “The bank is out
twenty thousand dollars in securities, and I believe I can put my hand
on the thief. Anyhow, that will be a feather in my cap.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

At eleven o’clock that forenoon, while the officials of the bank were in
consultation in the directors’ room, the door-man appeared and stated
that there was a boy outside who insisted that he could tell who had
robbed the institution.

“It’s one of the boys who helped catch the wounded burglar,” he said.
“His name is Piper.”

“Admit him,” directed Urian Eliot.

Sleuth entered, bearing himself well. His eyes roved swiftly over the
assembled officials until they rested upon Lucius Timmick, who sat
huddled on a chair at one side of the great oak table.

“What is this you claim, my boy?” asked Mr. Eliot. “Do you pretend to
say that you know who robbed the bank?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Sleuth positively, “I’m dead certain I can point
out the man. He’s in this very room.”

While the electrified assemblage gasped over this statement, there came
a sudden disturbance outside the door, which was violently flung open to
admit Captain Quinn, who was threatening with his cane the door-man as
the latter tried to collar him.

“Keep away, you swab!” roared the old sailor. “I tell you I’ve got
business in here. Put your hands on me and I’ll mop the deck with you!”

“He—he would come in, gentlemen,” said the door-man, seeking to excuse
himself for the interruption.

“You bet I would!” rasped Quinn. “And if I’d had a marlin-spike instead
of this cane, I’d busted your head when you tried to put your dirty
hooks on me! I guess I’ve got something that belongs aboard this here
craft. I caught my monkey, Jocko, hiding it in my bunk. I reckon the
little rat must have come in here through the busted winder and swiped
the stuff, and I suppose in the excitement nobody saw him. Here it is.”

He pulled a thick package from his pocket and flung it down upon the
table. Timmick, leaping from his chair, seized the package and took one
look at it. Then he uttered a joyful shout.

“The missing securities!” he cried. “Here they are! That lets me out.”

It likewise let Sleuth Piper out. At any rate, in the midst of the
confusion attendant upon the return of the securities Sleuth slipped
through the open door and made all possible haste to leave the bank.

Some time later Rod Grant found Piper leaning on the railing of the
bridge and gazing gloomily down at the icy waters of the river. Sleuth
did not even look around when Rod slapped him on the shoulder, crying:

“What are you thinking about, you great detective—jumping into the
drink? Going to commit suicide?”

“I will admit,” answered Piper in a doleful voice, “that such black
thoughts have percolated through that empty chamber where up to the
present date I’ve supposed my brains were located.”

“What’s the matter?” persisted Grant. “Why, you’re one of the heroes of
the hour. You and Hooker caught one of the burglars——”

“After he had tumbled into a gully and bumped himself as helpless as a
dead flounder,” returned Sleuth, with unspeakable self-scorn. “A great
piece of work, that! Hook may feel chesty over it, but not I. Leave me,
Rodney—leave me to my sorrow. Let me suffer alone and in silence.”

                  *       *       *       *       *

Thus the Great Oakdale Mystery was cleared up to the satisfaction of
all, for in time even Sleuth Piper professed to be rejoiced, and his
profession was accepted as genuine by Fred Sage, whose own great
happiness would not permit him to hold hard feelings toward anyone.

Clarence Sage, cleared of any suspicion of complicity in the attempted
robbery of the Oakdale bank, soon went to Rutledge, where Jorlemon and
Gates took up his case, and, with the aid of the dead cashier’s
confession, quickly obtained for Clarence the governor’s pardon.




------------------------------------------------------------------------




Transcriber’s note:

    Punctuation has been standardized. Minor spelling and typographic
    errors have been corrected silently, except as noted below.

    On page 66, "reëntered" was changed to "reentered", as other uses of
    the word "enter" does not use the diacritic e.

    On page 273, "ring" was changed to "bring". The original text was:
    Then we had to ring him into the business



***