The Merry Anne 30

The Merry Anne 30

They could not speak; they looked at one another and grinned foolishly.

Then Beveridge reached for the crank, but Dick caught his arm.

 

"Hold on there, Bill," he said fervently, drawing a small flask from his

hip pocket, "you wouldn't spoil a thirst like this with water?"

 

"You don't mean to say that you've had this in your clothes all along?"

said Beveridge.

 

"Yes. I thought from the way things were going we might need it more

to-morrow than to-day."

 

There was a general smacking of lips as the flask went around. Then they

paused and looked at the house.

 

"Well," observed Beveridge, "I'm not sure that I want to be told where

we are--but here goes!" And he walked slowly toward the kitchen door,

sweeping his eyes about the farmyard and taking in all that could

be seen in the darkness. At his knock there was a noise in the

kitchen,--the sound of a chair scraping,--and the door was opened a very

little way.

 

"How are you?" began the special agent.

 

The farmer, for it was he who blocked the doorway, merely looked

suspiciously out.

 

"We're a camping party, Mr.--Mr.--"

 

"Lindquist's my name." His voice was thin and peevish, a fit voice for

such a thin, small man.

 

"--Mr. Lindquist, and we seem to have lost our way. Can you take us in

and give us a little something to eat?"

 

"Why, I don't know's I could. How many is there of you?"

 

"Four."

 

"You say you're campers?"

 

"That's what we are."

 

"Is your tent near by?"

 

"Blest if we know. If we did, we shouldn't be here."

 

It was plain to the three of them, standing back in the dark, that

Beveridge, for reasons of his own, was moving very cautiously, and

equally plain that the little man had some reason for being cautious

too. It was hard to think that any honest farmer, living so lonely a

life, would be so downright inhospitable.

 

"And you say you want something to

 

"Well, now,"--there was no trace of impatience in the special agent's

voice,--"that's just as you like. We don't want to impose on you; and of

course we're more than willing to pay for what we get."

 

"Well, I dunno. I s'pose you might come in. Maybe we've got a little

bread and milk."

 

The kitchen was not a large room. The floor was bare, as were the

walls, saving a few county-fair advertisements in the form of colored

lithographs. A thin, colorless, dulleyed little woman was seated beside

a pine table, sewing by the light of a kerosene lamp. The third member

of the family, a boy of fourteen, did not appear until a moment later.

When the sound of the opening door reached his ears, he was lying flat

on his bed, chin propped on hands, feverishly boring through a small

volume in a flashy paper binding.

 

Beveridge, as they all found seats, was taking in the farmer, noting his

shifting eyes, and his clothes, which were nothing more than a suit of

torn overalls.

 

"Diana," said Lindquist, "you might give these young men some bread and

milk."

 

His wife laid aside her sewing without a word, and went to the pantry.

 

"Now," began Beveridge, "I suppose we ought to find out where we are."

 

"What's that?"

 

"Where are we, Mr. Lindquist? What's the nearest town?"

 

"The nearest town, you said?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Why, Ramsey, I guess, or--"

 

"Or--what?"

 

"Or--Spencer's place."

 

"That's what I was afraid of." Beveridge turned to his companions,

adding, "You see, we've got back near the lake."

 

At the sound of strange voices, the boy came down the stairs and stood

in a corner, gazing at the strangers, and holding his book behind him.

 

"How far off is the Lake, Mr. Lindquist?"

 

"How--what's that you say?"

 

"How far off is the Lake?"

 

"What Lake?"

 

"Lake Huron, of course."

 

"Lake Huron?--Oh, twenty,--twenty-two mile."

 

"That's another story!" exclaimed Wilson. But Beveridge, evidently

fearing his assistant's tongue, gave him a look that quieted him. The

faces of the four travellers all showed relief.

 

The bread and milk were ready now, and they fell to, joking and laughing

as heartily as if their only care had been a camp outfit somewhere in

the woods; but all the time the three were watching Beveridge, awaiting

his next move. It came, finally, when the last crumb of bread had

disappeared and the plates had been pushed back.

 

"Now, Mr. Lindquist," said Beveridge, "it's getting on pretty late in

the evening, and we're tired. Can't you put us up for the night? Not in

the house--I'd hardly ask that--but out in the barn, say?" As he spoke

he laid a two-dollar bill on the table and pushed it over close to the

farmer's hand.

 

"Well, I dunno." For a moment the bill lay there between their two

hands, then Lindquist's nervous fingers slowly closed over it. "I

suppose you could sleep out there."

 

"That's first-rate. We 'll go right out if you don't mind. You needn't

bother about coming. Just let your boy there bring a lantern and show us

where to go."

 

Lindquist did not take to this. "Axel," he said, "you go up to bed.

Mind, now!" Then he lighted the lantern and led the way to the barn.

When he had left them, tumbled about on the fragrant hay, Smiley spoke

up. "Well, Beveridge, what next?"

 

"Didn't he lock the door just then?"

 

"Yes," said Harper, "I'm sure I heard it. I 'll go and see."

 

Slowly he descended, and felt his way across the floor, returning with

the report that the door was fast.

 

"Now, boys, I 'll tell you," said Beveridge. "We 'll take a little rest.

It's all right as long as one of us is awake. Before the night's over

we've got to get hold of that boy, but we won't make a disturbance yet."

 

"Oh," cried Dick, a flood of light breaking in on his understanding,

"it's the boy you're after."

 

"Yes, it's the boy, of course. I've had to sit down a good many times in

my life and thank the Lord for my luck, but this beats it all."

 

"Are you sure, though, that they went through here?"

 

"Am I sure? Could you look at the old man and ask me that? What I'd like

to know is how far off they are just now."

 

"Lindquist doesn't look as if he'd tell."

 

"Oh, no; _he_ won't tell."

 

"Would it do any good to make him?"

 

"Put on a little pressure, you mean?"

 

"Yes."

 

"I don't think so. He'd lie to me, and we wouldn't have any way of

knowing the difference. The boy is our game."

 

"Why not get him now? We could break out of here easy enough."

 

"No, Smiley, you're a little off the track there. He must tell us on the

sly. Don't you see, he's a good deal more afraid of his father than he

is of us. If we aren't careful, we 'll have him lying too."

 

"Have you thought of the old lady?"

 

"Yes, but I'm doubtful there. She is afraid of him too. It's more than

likely that she was kept pretty much out of the way. Anyhow, her ideas

would be confused."

 

"But sitting up here in the haymow isn't going to bring us any nearer to

the boy."

 

"Isn't it?"

 

"I don't see how."

 

"Did you notice the book he was reading?"

 

"No, what book? I didn't see any book."

 

"I guess maybe you were right, Smiley, about your eyes being trained for

sea work. Now, I 'll tell you what. This little rest may be the only one

we're entitled to for a day or so, and I wish you fellows would curl

right up and go to sleep. I'm going to stay awake for a while. Harper,

over there, is the only sensible one in the lot. He's been asleep for ten minutes."