The Boy Scouts on Sturgeon Island Part 20

CHAPTER XIX

BAD NEIGHBORS

"It seems to be getting worse and worse, the further we go, don't it, Thad?" Allan asked, after he had had time to digest the startling information which his chum had imparted, as they stood there within the outer edge of the glow cast by Giraffe's camp-fire under the overhanging ledge of rock.

"Looks that way," replied the other, seriously enough, for he did not exactly like the situation.

"Seems like it wasn't bad enough for us to be wrecked, and marooned on this queer island, but we have to fall across the trail of some unknown parties who may be up to all sorts of unlawful dodges, for all we know.

But Thad, tell me more of what you saw and heard."

"When I started out from here," the scoutmaster began, "I knew that I'd probably only have to look around at this end of the island, because no sensible man was going to take up his quarters where these storms always strike in. And then I figured it out that the chances were, these parties, if there were more than the one fellow I'd seen sneaking around, and spying on us, would want to be down close to the water, for a good many reasons. You can understand that, Allan?"

"Yes, and I think that notion would have come to me, just as it did you," replied the other promptly, showing that he was following the narrative closely.

"Well, that being the case," resumed the scoutmaster, "I stuck to the lower part of the land, climbing over and around such outcropping rocks as I came across. The moon wasn't helping me very much, though it's up there behind the clouds; and on that account you see the darkness is never so bad as when there's no moon at all.

"It wasn't so very long before I heard something knocking softly near by, and listening carefully I made up my mind that it must be a boat that was kept in a snug cove perhaps, and yet where it got more or less wash of the sea beyond.

"That was just what it turned out to be, Allan, a fair sized motorboat, stoutly built, and yet something of a hummer when it would come to speed. Her outlines told me this as soon as I could make her out down in the berth she occupied between the rocks where they had protected the sides of the little basin with logs to keep her from chafing too much.

"Now, speed indicates that the people owning that boat expect to show a clean pair of heels, as they say, at times. They want to be in condition to skip out in a hurry, and be able to outrun any ordinary craft that might try to overhaul them. Wouldn't you think that way, Allan?"

"You're speaking my mind to a dot, Thad."

"But I wasn't satisfied wholly, and made another move, to see whether they had any sort of a cabin around. Seemed to me that if they were using Sturgeon Island for some sort of shady business, they ought to have a shelter. Well, I found it before ten minutes had pa.s.sed, and by just creeping along what I made out to be a regular trail leading from the boat up the sh.o.r.e a piece."

"Good for you, Thad; no woodsman could have done better!" exclaimed the other scout, who, having had practical experience extending through many trips into the wilderness with hunting parties, was pretty well posted on the numerous little "wrinkles" connected with woods lore.

"Oh! that was the most natural thing in the world for any one to do, and I don't deserve any credit, Allan. But there were times when I admit I did have to almost smell that trail, for it pa.s.sed over little stretches of rock, you see. At such times I had to look around, guess about where it ought to be found where the earth began again, and in that way pick it up once more."

"And it really led you to a cabin, did it?" Allan asked, as the other paused.

"Yes, and there had been a fire burning in front of the shack, though I found only the ashes, as though it had been-hurriedly put out, perhaps when they first saw us heading toward the island, just before the storm came along."

"The ashes were still warm, then?" queried Allan, knowing that to be the logical way a forest ranger always learns about how long past a fire has burned out, or been extinguished.

"They were, and I could see that the brands had been torn apart, showing that some one was in a hurry to keep its light from betraying the fact of any person being camped on Sturgeon Island."

"Just what I'd think myself, Thad."

"After I saw that there was a cabin," continued the scout-master, "I wondered whether I had better take chances, and crawl up close enough to hear what they were saying, if so be there were men there. Before I had gone far in that scheme I realized that it was a little too risky, because I could hear a moving about, as though several men might be pa.s.sing in and out. I also caught an occasional low muttering tone; but the noise of the waves dashing against the rocks, and the rattling of the branches of the trees that overhung the lone cabin, kept me from catching more than a single word now and then.

"After listening for quite a while I thought you would be getting anxious about my staying so long; and as I couldn't get any real satisfaction out of the game by hanging around any longer, why, I made up my mind to clear out. I'd learned several things, anyway, and by putting our heads together thought we might get at the meat in the cocoanut."

Of course that was a neat way of admitting that he wanted to talk matters over with his best chum, on the supposition that "two heads are better than one." Allan took it that way, for had he not on numberless occasions done just about the same thing?

"Of course you couldn't tell how many of these men there were, Thad?" he asked.

"I tried to make a stab at it by noticing the different sound of voices; and I'm dead sure there must have been three anyhow, p'raps more," the scout-master told him.

"And I think you've said once or twice that they seemed to be a rough lot?" the other went on to remark.

"That's my impression, Allan, from a number of things which I won't bother mentioning now. And there's something more. I told you that when I had a glimpse of the fellow who spied on our camp I thought he might be a foreigner, or a half-breed, didn't I?"

"Yes, I remember you did, Thad."

"Well," explained the other, "although I heard so poorly while I was hanging out near that hidden shack there were times when I thought one of the men was talking in some tongue besides plain United States. Fact is, he rattled off something in French."

"Oh! then it's plain who they are--half-breed Canadians from the North Sh.o.r.e. As this island properly belongs to Canada they would have a right to land here, and our coming needn't bother them any--if they are honest men."

"Thad, they wouldn't hide out like they do if they were the right sort.

Make up your mind they're doing something that's against the law.

Honest men don't carry on this way, and spy on a camp of Boy Scouts wrecked in a storm. Why, no matter how rough they might be, they'd drop in on us, and offer to share whatever they had. It's only fear of arrest that makes cowards of men this way."

"I forgot to tell you that among the few words I did manage to pick up by straining my ears to the limit, were just three that gave me an idea they took us for a detachment of militia, either Canadian or Yankee, out on the lake on some serious business that might interfere with their trade. Those three words were 'soldiers,' 'khaki,' and 'arrest.'"

Allan gave a soft whistle to indicate how his state of feeling corresponded with that of his chum.

"There isn't any doubt about it in my mind, Thad," he a.s.serted, vehemently; "but that they're here for no good. That fast launch means they are in the habit of making swift trips back and forth, perhaps taking the night for it every time, so as to run less chance of being seen. And here hard luck has marooned us on Sturgeon Island with a bunch of desperate smugglers, who look on us as soldiers sent out by the Government to gather them in. If ever we were up against it hard, we sure are right now, Pard Thad."

"You seem to have set your mind on that one explanation of their presence here; and I'll admit that this island would be a great half-way place to hide the smuggled goods on, till the right night came to run them across to the American sh.o.r.e; but perhaps you're barking up the wrong tree there, Allan!"

"Oh! I'll admit that when I call them smugglers I'm only guessing, because, so far as I know we haven't any sort of evidence looking that way. It only seems the most natural explanation of why they're so much afraid of us, believing as they seem to that we're connected with the Government, one side or the other, just on account of these Boy Scout uniforms, which I reckon they don't happen to be familiar with. But Thad, you're holding something back; I can tell that by the way you act.

You learned more than you've told me so far; own up to that."

The young scout-master chuckled. He liked to spring little surprises once in a while. It was just like tapping a peg until he had it set in the ground to suit his fancy; and then with one master-stroke driving it home. He had whetted Allan's curiosity now, and the time had come to satisfy it.

"Yes," Thad went on to say, "there was one little discovery I made that gave me certain information, and it was strong enough to convince me that our earlier suspicions about smugglers and all that sort of thing were away off the track."

"Yes, go on, please, Thad."

"It struck me while I was lying there not so very far away from that shanty hidden among the rocks and brushwood. Most of the time the wind was blowing on my left side, but every little while there would come a pucker or a flaw, causing it to change for just for a second or two.

And it was when this happened the first time I got scent of what was in the wind, in a double sense. In other words, Allan, I discovered a distinct odor of fish in the air!"

"Oh! now I tumble to what you mean!" exclaimed the other.

"And every time that wind brought me a whiff of the fishy smell the stronger became my conviction that these men must be poachers, who knew they were breaking certain game laws by taking white fish or trout illegally, and reaping a harvest that honest fishermen were unable to reach. Stop and think if things don't point that way?"

And Allan did not have to hesitate in the least, for what his companion had just told him seemed to settle the matter beyond all dispute.

"Yes, Thad," he said, "now you've let the cat out of the bag there can't be any question about it. These half-breed Canadians are illegal fishermen, poachers they'd be called up in Maine; and they believe we've come to arrest the lot. It's a bad lookout for the Silver Fox Patrol; but we've seen worse, and always came out on top."

CHAPTER XX

"HOLD THE FORT!"