The Ranger Boys and the Border Smugglers Part 12

In a short time Phil had approached the restaurant, and entered. Taking his seat on one of the high stools at the lunch counter, he ordered some supper. The bearded Frenchman, evidently the proprietor, who approached, shot at him a question in French.

Phil know perfectly well that he was asking him in French what he wanted, but he just stared blankly at the man, who, believing that he did not understand, spoke to him in broken English.

"M'sieu does not spik the French, hein?"

Phil shook his head and repeated his order in English. Satisfied, the man turned to the stove back of the counter and dished up a mess of piping hot baked peas, cooked with bacon instead of pork. This is a favorite dish with the French of Canada. A great slab of johnny-cake and a cup of hot coffee seemed to be the only thing on the bill of fare. For dessert there was apple pie and cheese.

The whole was put before him at once, and Phil, with the appet.i.te of a healthy boy, fell to and soon dispatched the food. He ate a second portion of the peas, which evidently pleased the proprietor who was at once cook and waiter.

Following the order for the second helping, the big Frenchman entered into conversation with Phil. He seemed satisfied with Phil's answer to his query as to what he was doing in those parts, when Phil told them he was camping there for a short time, preparatory to a fishing expedition.

Supper over, Phil walked over to one of the tables, where he found a week-old Bangor paper, and a Canadian French paper. Carefully avoiding taking up the French paper and thus betray his knowledge of the language, he took the _Commercial_ and read steadily for an hour or more. During this time the place was steadily filling. Men came in, got their supper, and took seats at the many tables scattered about. Later others came in, evidently villagers who made a sort of a clubhouse of the place. A half a dozen card games were in progress, and at three of the tables couples were playing checkers. By this time Phil had read all the news and was beginning on the advertis.e.m.e.nts in order to have some ostensible purpose in remaining where he knew n.o.body. Another half hour pa.s.sed, and then he decided to get up and watch one of the checker games that was in progress near him.

Both of the players were fairly expert, and he watched for some time with great interest. During the second game, one of the players made a bad move and let his opponent sweep off three pieces and land in the king row to boot. As he made the move, Phil could not repress a little gasp. The lucky opponent looked up at Phil and grinned, and Phil smiled back. The game was lost for the first man, and his friend proceeded to rub it in a little.

"I declare, Hoke, you're gettin' worse every day. You ought to see that I would clean the board if you made that move. I declare, I bet this young fellow here can beat you."

"Bet a doughnut he can't," said the man called Hoke.

"Take ye up on that, an' if you lose I'll make you walk home and get one. They never have 'em here at night. What say, young feller, will ye give this feller a tr.i.m.m.i.n.g for me?"

"Why, yes, I would like to play a game," said Phil. He wanted to play for two reasons. First, it would give him a legitimate excuse for loitering there a little longer without attracting attention, and secondly, he really enjoyed a good game of checkers.

Phil disposed of his man very easily, for he was a remarkably good player. At the conclusion of the game, the defeated man demanded that his friend try a game with Phil, and accordingly changed places with him. Here was a harder opponent, and Phil was devoting his entire attention to giving him a run for the honors of the game, when the door opened and a couple of men slouched in.

Phil's heart stood still, for they were two of the trio of tramps they had caught in their shack outside their home town. Phil was in a quandary. He couldn't leave the game and rush out of the restaurant without doing the very thing he least wanted to, that was draw particular attention to himself.

There was only one thing to do, and that was stay and face the music. He doubted if the tramps would start anything in the room, but would probably wait outside and seek to wreak revenge on him for being one of those instrumental in their capture that time in the shack.

Then to his great surprise, they pa.s.sed by him, giving him only a casual glance, but no sign of recognition.

Phil breathed a sigh of relief, and then reflected that it was not strange that they failed to recognize him. In the first place, they would hardly expect to find him in that northern town, and then his khaki clothes were of the sort that is common to the woods, but not to the town where their arrest had taken place. So it was a simple matter, their not knowing him.

He turned his attention to the game again, and had made two moves, when a phrase, spoken in French by a man at the table in back of him, startled him into alert attention.

The man had said:

"Well, Pierre, 'The Bear' will be here in a few moments now."

What was he to do? "The Bear" could be no one but LeBlanc.

He must get out of the room at all costs, but how was he to avoid running into LeBlanc?

There was precious little chance that the guide would fail to recognize him, and he knew that he would be in real danger here among the half-breed's friends and cronies.

Then, too, he must make his exit naturally, so as to arouse no suspicion in the minds of the checker players, who might be foes just as well as friends.

Already the watcher at the table was demanding they finish the game quickly so that he could have another chance at Phil.

His mind working rapidly, Phil figured out what the best course to pursue would be. The main point was to get out of the restaurant, but there was the danger that at the precise moment of his exit, Jean LeBlanc might be coming in the door.

It was not wholly fear of LeBlanc that made him want to escape un.o.bserved, he didn't want the treacherous guide to know that he or his chums were in the vicinity, for it would immediately destroy their usefulness; at least it would hamper their work to a great degree.

While his opponent studied the board, Phil was looking about the room.

At one side of the room there was a window looking out on a side street or alley, Phil did not know which. Right beside it was a door. He decided that this was the best means of exit, for in the dark alleyway he could pa.s.s anyone coming in without their seeing who it was, and once in the shadows, he could look up and down the street, and make his escape as soon as it looked clear.

The immediate thing to be done was to bring the game to a close. His opponent had made his move, and concentrating on the game, Phil saw an obscure move, which, once made, would give his opponent the game.

Without further hesitation, he made it, and the other player seized the advantage and won the game.

While he was chuckling over his victory, the other man was demanding a return chance at Phil, but the Boy Ranger forestalled this by pleading a headache from the heat and the smoke-filled room.

"Tell you what," he said. "You two play a game, while I go outside for a few minutes and clear my head, then I'll come back and take you on again."

This proved to be agreeable to the others, and in another moment they were absorbed in the start of the game. Carefully edging his way over to the side door, he waited till no one was looking at him, then opened the door and slipped through--not into an alleyway, but into another room!

He had been fooled by the close proximity of the window, never dreaming that there was an ell-like extension beginning flush at the side of the window. Hastily glancing about, he saw another door, and running to it, threw it open, only to have Jean LeBlanc enter just as he opened it.

CHAPTER XIII.

TRAPPED.

Phil's hand darted to his pocket for the automatic that Garry had given him before he started on his mission, but he was not quick enough, for in less than an instant LeBlanc had leaped upon him, pinioning his arms to his side. Phil was helpless in the grasp of the half-breed. LeBlanc called in French for help, and in another moment the black moustached proprietor came rushing in.

While LeBlanc held Phil, Canuck searched his pockets, taking from him what little money he had, and the automatic revolver. Evidently suspicious that Phil might have some other weapon concealed about him, they made him unlace and take off his shoepacks; here, of course, they found nothing, but fortunately they did not notice the secret pocket that he had made in the lapel of his coat, in which reposed safely his heavy scout knife.

In the meantime, the French restaurant proprietor and LeBlanc carried on a swift conversation in French, all of which, of course, Phil understood perfectly.

"We shall take him up to the room on the third floor that we know about, and keep him there until we shall have decided what to do with him."

Phil was unceremoniously hustled out through the rear door, and with a couple of brutal shoves, was taken up the dark stairway. Still, a second flight he went up, and was then drawn into a dark room. Just before they closed the door upon him, his heart sank, as he heard LeBlanc tell the proprietor:

"This is the fourth time that I have met this boy. He seems fated to work me harm. Once I left him for dead in the Great Woods, but he seemed to have a charmed life and escaped. This time, I promise you he will not."

So saying, they slammed the door, and Phil heard the rasp of the heavy lock being turned in the door. Groping his way about, he found that the room was bare of all furnishing, except for a decrepit old cot, and a rough table. Feeling for the top of the table, he discovered there was an old bottle, with a good-size piece of candle in it. He went through his pockets carefully to see if by chance his searchers had left behind them a stray match, but his hunt was not rewarded.

There was nothing to do but make the best of the darkness. He groped his way to the cot and sat down, taking stock of the situation. There seemed to be nothing he could do except to wait for the morning, provided that he would be allowed to see the morning come, then to look about the room in search of some method of escaping. Thanks to his foresightedness, he still had his knife, and this might prove to him to be salvation as far as escape was concerned. He laid down on the cot, thinking, and after nearly a half of an hour jumped to his feet, inwardly calling himself names for his forgetfulness.

Not until that moment had he remembered that he generally carried several matches, wrapped in a bit of oil silk and tucked under his hat band. It was a trick that Garry had taught him when they first went in the woods.

Fumbling inside of the hat band, he came upon a little package of half a dozen matches, still securely wrapped in the oiled silk in which he had placed them, almost a month before.

"What a fool I was," he muttered to himself. "All that time that I was tied and chained to a tree by LeBlanc and Anderson, I had those matches and never once thought of them."

So saying, he carefully struck one of the matches and lighted the candle. He now had a chance to examine the prison room that he was in.

Save for the door, the only other means of egress from the room was a solitary window, but a quick examination showed that escape in this way was impossible, for the shutter of the window, instead of being composed of wood was made of a solid piece of iron.