The Merry Anne 39

The Merry Anne 39

"But think of it, Bill! What you going to do now?"

 

"I'm going to find the man that hit you."

 

"Not with those two, Smiley and Harper?"

 

"Why, certainly."

 

"But don't you see, Bill? That's just what they want. They've got rid

of me--now they 'll draw you off into the woods--why, you're putting

yourself right in their hands!"

 

"You'd better try to think of something else, Bert. Mrs. van Deelen here

is going to take good care of you. I 'll stop in on the way back." And

Beveridge slipped out the door without giving Wilson further opportunity

to protest.

 

The others were waiting impatiently at the steps. Smiley and Harper at

once started off toward the creek below the barn; and Beveridge set out

on a run for the bridge, telling the farmer to follow.

 

When he reached the creek, Beveridge searched through the trees for some

distance down-stream and then up-stream, but found no sign of a man.

"Well," he said, joining Van Deelen at the end of the bridge, "he got

away all right."

 

"Did you look under the bridge?"

 

"Yes. Nothing there."

 

The farmer stood still for a moment, thinking; then he clambered down

the bank and peered into the shadow under the bridge floor. "Come

down here," he said. And when Beveridge had reached his side, standing

ankle-deep in the muddy water, he went on, "See that?"

 

"No--wait a minute, I can't see anything yet. What is it?"

 

"Feel this rope. It's been cut."

 

"Oh," murmured Beveridge, "I see. A boat."

 

"Yes. He has stolen my boat."

 

"Of course--and slipped off down-stream as easy and quiet as you like.

He's a cool hand, that Spencer. Come back up here--we 'll go on down and

meet Smiley. Wait, though, he might be hiding anywhere down the stream

here. Are there many bushes and such along the bank?"

 

"Yes, it's grown up pretty heavy. I never had any reason for keeping it

cleared."

 

"Well, then, we 'll keep down here close to the water where we can see

things."

 

"It 'll be pretty wet. Will you wait while I get my boots? My

rheumatism's been pretty bad this year--"

 

"Go back, then. I can't wait for you."

 

And with this, Beveridge pushed off down the stream. Van Deelen, after

a moment's hesitation, followed. They met the other party just above the

barn.

 

"See anything?" asked Dick.

 

"Yes. He has gone down in a boat." Beveridge turned to the farmer. "Does

the creek go on far in this direction?"

 

"No, it turns off south pretty soon."

 

"Would it take him anywhere especial?"

 

"No--just into the woods."

 

"No houses south of here?"

 

"Not for a long way."

 

"And it's sluggish like this all along, isn't it? Full of snags and

shallows?"

 

"Oh, yes, he couldn't go very fast."

 

"All right. Come on, boys."

 

On they went, walking over the spongy ground below the bank or splashing

softly through the water. They did not speak, but followed their leader

eagerly through the moving shadows. The trees arched over their heads,

the water slipped moodily onward, blacker than the shadows. Now and then

they stumbled over projecting roots, or stepped down knee-deep in

some muddy hole; all the while their eyes strove to pierce the dark,

searching for a boat in the gloom of the opposite bank, or for a man

among the bushes above, even glancing overhead into the trees, where a

desperate man might have hidden. At length they reached an opening in

the trees of the right bank, and Beveridge, stepping up, found that the

road here paralleled the creek.

 

"Which way now?" asked Dick.

 

"No sign of a boat, is there?"

 

"No."

 

"Then keep on down-stream."

 

They divided now in order to watch both banks, for the creek had widened

a little and the shadows were dense. It was Smiley and Harper who waded

across, stepping down waist-deep in the water and mud. Not a word was

spoken. The only sound was the low splash-splash of four pairs of feet,

with now and then the noise of heavy breathing or a muttered exclamation

as one or another stumbled into a hole.

 

"Hello--ouch!"

 

The voice was Pink Harper's. At this point the trees had shut in

overhead, and the dark was impenetrable. Beveridge and Van Deelen could

see nothing across the creek, not even the blot of denser black which

told Smiley, only a few feet behind, where his companion had stopped.

 

"What is it?" came in a low voice from Beveridge.

 

"Hit my shin. Hold on--feels like a boat. Guess you'd better come

across."

 

Without a moment's hesitation the special agent turned to the left

and plunged into the stream. At this point it was deeper, and he found

himself submerged to the armpits. To save time he drew up his feet

and swam across until his knees struck bottom. And then the three of

them,--Van Deelen waited on the farther bank,--now dimly visible to each

other, stood side by side feeling of the boat.

 

"You 'll have to come over here," said Beveridge to the farmer, "and tell

us if it's your boat."

 

Van Deelen had no mind to swim. "Can't you strike a match?" he asked.

 

"Strike your aunt!" growled Beveridge, wringing his wet clothes.

 

"Well, say, that ain't necessary anyhow. My boat's the only one on the

creek."

 

"Why didn't you say that before I swam over?"

 

"Well, I--"

 

"You want to watch out or you 'll be coming down with brain fever one of

these days. Come, boys, we 'll go back."

 

"You think what he did was to take to the road back up there and set the

boat adrift?" asked Pink.

 

"Of course." The words came from the deeper water, where the special

agent was already swimming back. A moment more and Dick and Pink were

after him.

 

"Now, Mister van Deelen," said Beveridge, when they had gathered

together, "take us to the road."

 

"It's right back up-stream. You know where it is as well as I do."

 

"Can't we strike right over through the woods?"

 

"Why, yes, you could do--"

 

"All right, Dick. It 'll be lighter when we get up out of this hole."

 

They floundered through a hundred yards of undergrowth and finally came

upon the open road. They were a dismal enough party. The water in their

shoes gurgled when they moved and spurted out at the lacings in little

streams. Other streams ran down their clothing to the road, where the

sand drank them up. Beveridge was without coat or collar, and the others

were nearly as dilapidated. The physical strain of the chase, and the

loss of sleep, not to speak of Beveridge's fight with McGlory, had worn

them down nearly to the point at which nature asserts her peremptory

claims,--but not one of them knew it. They did not know that they were

a desperate spectacle in the eyes of the bewildered farmer; even if they

could have stood in the light of day and looked full at one another, it

is to be doubted if any of the three would have observed the deep-lined,

white faces, the ringed eyes, of the other two. For the spirit of the

chase was in them.

 

"Now, Mister Van," said Beveridge, almost gayly, "how far is it to the

next house?"

 

"Why--why--"

 

"Don't think too fast. A man died that way once."

 

"There's an empty house about a mile from here."

 

"All right, we 'll make for that. I want you, Van Deelen, to hitch up a

wagon and come on after us as quick as you can."

 

The farmer turned at once and walked rapidly up the road.

 

"Spencer hasn't much start of us," said Beveridge, as the three men started in the opposite direction."He couldn't have. It took him a good while to work down here in that boat. We 'll get him if he keeps the road."