Dick Kent on Special Duty 7

Dick Kent on Special Duty 7

“That’s the way I have it all figured out too. Frischette is the man who

plans all the robberies and Creel is the one who executes them.”

 

Dick paused and leaned against the trunk of a huge jack-pine,

contemplatively regarding his two chums.

 

“It means we have two persons instead of one to deal with. The

treasure-box they keep between them. Each probably has an equal interest

in it. I wish there was some way we could get hold of it.”

 

“Mebbe that not be so very hard,” Toma suddenly interjected. “One night

we go over to Creel’s cabin an’ find it sure. I think I know how we get

it without much trouble.”

 

“How?” demanded Sandy.

 

“You remember yesterday when Frischette come close to Creel’s cabin he

stop in the brush an’ make ’em noise for him to come out. Well, one of

us do same like that while other two hide close to cabin. When Creel

come out, thinking it Frischette, good chance go get box. What you say?”

 

“A good plan, certainly,” criticised Dick, “only how are we going to

imitate that peculiar, mysterious whistle. I’m sure I couldn’t.”

 

“I couldn’t either,” declared Sandy.

 

Toma put two fingers to his mouth and blew softly. It was an excellent

imitation of the sound the boys had heard on the previous day, and both

Dick and Sandy clapped their hands in delight.

 

“You’re good!” Sandy exclaimed. “I’m proud of you. How can you manage to

do it, after hearing it only once?”

 

“I hear it many times,” flushed the young Indian. “You see, there is

bird that hide deep in the woods that make ’em call like that.

Frischette, jus’ like me, try make sound like that bird.”

 

“We’ll go tonight,” exulted Dick.

 

The other two nodded in agreement.

 

“Ten o’clock will be a good time,” Sandy suggested. “Dick and I will

enter the cabin, while you, Toma, practice your wiles upon the thieving

Mr. Creel. Lead him away from the cabin as far as you can, so that we’ll

have plenty of time to look around. We may have some trouble in finding

the place where he has hid the box.”

 

The boys had worked themselves up to a high pitch of excitement long

before the time appointed for setting out on their night’s adventure. In

order not to arouse Frischette’s suspicions, should he discover their

absence, they had informed him that they were planning to go over to

Lake Grassy Point, a distance of about eight miles, and visit the Indian

encampment there. Fontaine and Le Sueur, they explained, would accompany

them too, and he, Frischette, must not worry if they were late in

getting back.

 

To their surprise, the arrangement met with the Frenchman’s immediate

approval.

 

“Et ees good you go,” he told them. “You young fellow get ver’ tired

stay one place all ze time.” Then he sighed regretfully. “Ver’ often I

weesh I might be young too. Always go, always have good time. Et ees ze

great fun, monsieurs.”

 

Dick’s brow contracted thoughtfully. Did Frischette contemplate a visit

to Creel himself? Had the Frenchman a plan of his own?

 

“Just our luck,” Dick told Sandy a few minutes later, “if the old rascal

decides to visit Creel tonight. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble already.”

 

The young Scotchman slapped irritably at a mosquito that had lit upon

his arm.

 

“Yes, it was necessary to take Fontaine and Le Sueur more or less into

our confidence. That’s one phase of the thing I don’t like. Those two

friends of Toma’s know we’re up to something. All I hope is, that

they’ll have sense enough to keep their mouths shut. If Frischette ever

gets an inkling that we’re watching him, the game’s up.”

 

“But Fontaine and Le Sueur haven’t the least idea what we purpose to

do,” said Dick. “Neither one of them knows that we’re spying upon

Frischette.”

 

“Yes, but they’ll think it’s queer that we’re deceiving him. They’ll

wonder why we have lied to him, want them to go to the encampment while

we remain behind.”

 

“You don’t need to worry about that, Sandy. You may depend upon it that

Toma has made our proposed actions seem very plausible.”

 

Sandy grinned.

 

“Toma probably has told them a wonderful story. I’ll agree with you

there. He certainly possesses a keen imagination.”

 

Dick consulted his watch.

 

“It’s twenty minutes past nine now. I think, Sandy, we’d better go back

to the house and find Toma and the others. It’ll be time to start before

long.”

 

They hurried along the path, and a few minutes later entered the house,

where they were joined by Toma and his two friends. Soon afterward,

Frischette strode into the room, carrying his coat and hat.

 

“I go with you a leetle way,” he announced. “All day long I work in ze

kitchen, where et ees hot. I think ze night air mebbe make me feel

good.”

 

Dick glanced sharply across at Sandy, keen disappointment depicted in

his gaze. The Frenchman’s announcement had taken him completely by

surprise. The situation was awkward.

 

“Why not come all the way to the encampment with us,” invited Dick.

“We’ll be glad to have you.”

 

Frischette threw up his hands in a gesture of dismay.

 

“All zat way! Empossible! Et ees too far, monsieur. I am too tired.

Eight miles there an’ back an’ ze brush tangle in my poor tired legs.

No, I will go only a ver’ short way.”

 

So Frischette, much to the boys’ disappointment, accompanied them. He

chatted as they walked, continually gesturing, often stopping abruptly

in his tracks to point out some inconsequential object.

 

Never before had Dick been given so excellent an opportunity to study

the man. He was slightly amused at the Frenchman’s queer antics. He

would become intensely enthusiastic over the merest trifles—a bright

flower, a sparkling stone, a gnarled, misshapen tree.

 

A person of moods and impulses, Dick decided, watching him. Sometimes he

wondered if Frischette were not assuming a certain behavior for their

special benefit. What was his real purpose in coming with them?

Certainly it was not because he really wanted the exercise and fresh

air. More likely, he intended to go over to visit Creel.

 

Their course to Grassy Point Lake led them in the general direction of

Creel’s cabin. When the Frenchman bade them adieu and turned back, Dick

estimated that they had still about two miles farther to go before they

would be directly opposite the abiding place of the mysterious recluse.

Realizing this, his previous conviction that Frischette was really going

there became shaken. Perhaps, after all, the road-house keeper had told

the truth, was actually going back as he said.

 

Even if the man planned to strike off obliquely through the woods to

Creel’s, hope of obtaining possession of the box was not altogether

lost. They might still turn the trick that same night, if only they

hurried. By running part of the way, they would arrive at the cabin

sufficiently in advance of Frischette to achieve their purpose. With

this thought in mind, Dick, after waving a friendly farewell to the

unsuspecting Frenchman, led the party forward quickly until a turn in

the trail obscured their movements. Then, breaking into a run, he darted

along the shadowy forest path, motioning the others to follow.

 

Ten minutes later, the three boys drew away from Fontaine and Le Sueur,

striking off at right angle with the dim trail to Grassy Point Lake, and

continued their hurried course straight in the direction of the lonely

cabin. As they proceeded on their way, excitement, caused by the thought

of their coming adventure, grew upon them. They were shaky and nervous

when they finally drew up in front of a thick screen of underbrush, less

than sixty yards from the house. Dick motioned to Toma.

 

“Hurry around toward the front of the cabin,” he whispered tersely, “and

give your bird-call.”

 

“Sure you all ready?” inquired the young Indian.

 

“Yes, all ready.”

 

“I go then.”

 

Without further word, Toma slunk forward, skirted the line of underbrush

and presently disappeared from view.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII

THE MYSTERIOUS POKE

 

 

Dick and Sandy waited breathlessly. Thus far, no sound had come to them.

The forest was pervaded by a silence so deep and oppressive that the two

boys, waiting for Toma’s mysterious call, could hear the thumping of

their own hearts. They had crept forward through the dense thicket to a

point where, though still concealed themselves, they could see the cabin

plainly. In the sombre northern twilight its every detail stood clearly

revealed—the low, grass-grown sod roof, the tiny window and the crude,

rough door.

 

The boys found it difficult to restrain their gathering impatience. What

was Toma doing? Chafing over the delay, they crouched low, their gaze

sweeping the tiny clearing ahead. On Dick’s forehead beads of

perspiration gathered slowly, while the palms of his hands were moist

and warm.

 

“Can’t imagine what’s happened to him,” Sandy croaked in Dick’s ear.

“What’s he waiting for? What’s got into him, anyway? First thing we