CHAPTER XIII
SAGINAW ED HUNTS A CLUE
"Hello!" cried Saginaw Ed, as he stared in surprise at a wide, flattrail in the snow. The exclamation brought Connie Morgan to his side.The two were hunting partridges and rabbits, and their wanderings hadcarried them to the extreme western edge of the timber tract, severalmiles distant from the camps that were located upon the Dogfish River,which formed its eastern boundary. Despite the fact that the work ofboth camps was in full swing, these two found frequent opportunity toslip out into the timber for a few hours' hunt, which answered thetwofold purpose of giving them a chance to perfect their plans for theundoing of Slue Foot Magee, and providing a welcome addition to the saltmeat bill of fare.
"Wonder who's be'n along here? 'Tain't no one from the camps--them'sInjun snow-shoes. An' they ain't no one got a right to hunt here,neither. Hurley posted the hull trac' account of not wantin' nopermiscu's shootin' goin' on with the men workin' in the timber. Themtracks is middlin' fresh, too."
"Made yesterday," opined Connie, as he examined the trail closely."Travelling slow, and following his own back trail."
Saginaw nodded approval. "Yup," he agreed. "An', bein' as he wastravellin' slow, he must of went quite a little piece. He wasn'tcarryin' no pack."
"Travelling light," corroborated the boy. "And he went up and came backthe same day."
"Bein' as he headed north and come back from there, it ain't goin' to dous no hurt to kind of find out if he's hangin' 'round clost by. Theyain't nothing north of us, in a day's walk an' back, except theSyndicate's Willer River camp. An', spite of yer stickin' up fer him, Idon't trust that there Mike Gillum, nor no one else that would claimHurley throw'd in with the Syndicate." The man struck into the trail,and Connie followed. They had covered scarcely half a mile when Saginawonce more halted in surprise.
"Well, I'll be doggoned if there ain't a dugout! An' onless I'm quite abit off my reckonin', it's inside our line." For several moments the twoscrutinized the structure, which was half cabin, half dugout. From theside of a steep bank the log front of the little building protruded intothe ravine. Smoke curled lazily from a stovepipe that stuck up throughthe snow-covered roof. The single window was heavily frosted, and a deeppath had been shovelled through a huge drift that reached nearly to thetop of the door. The trail the two had been following began and ended atthat door, and without hesitation they approached and knocked loudly.The door opened, and in the dark oblong of the interior stood thegrotesque figure of a little old man. A pair of bright, watery eyesregarded them from above a tangle of grey beard, and long grey haircurled from beneath a cap of muskrat skin from which the fur was worn inirregular patches. "Phwat d'yez want?" he whined, in a voice cracked andthin. "Is ut about me money?"
"PHWAT D'YEZ WANT?" HE WHINED.]
"Yer money?" asked Saginaw. "We don't know nothin' about no money. We'refrom the log camps over on Dogfish. What we want to know is what ye'redoin' here?"
"Doin' here!" exclaimed the little old man. "Oi'm livin' here, that'swhat Oi'm doin'--jest like Oi've done f'r fifteen year. Come on in av yewant to palaver. Oi'm owld an' like to freeze standin' here in th'dure, an' if ye won't come in, g'wan away, an' bad cess to yez f'r notbringin' me back me money."
Saginaw glanced at Connie and touched his forehead significantly. Asthey stepped into the stuffy interior, the old man closed the door andfastened it with an oak bar. Little light filtered through the heavilyfrosted window, and in the semi-darkness the two found difficultypicking their way amid the litter of traps, nets, and firewood thatcovered the floor. The little room boasted no chair, but, seatinghimself upon an upturned keg, the owner motioned his visitors to thebunk that was built along the wall within easy reach of the little castiron cooking stove that served also to heat the room.
"Ye say ye've lived here for fifteen years?" asked Saginaw, as he drewoff his heavy mittens.
"Oi have thot."
"Ye wasn't here last winter."
"Thot's whut Oi'm afther tellin' yez. Last winter I wuz to the city."
"This here shack looks like it's old, all right," admitted Saginaw."Funny no one run acrost it last winter."
"Ut snowed airly," cut in the little man, "an' if they ain't no wan hereto dig her out, she'd drift plumb under on th' furst wind."
"Who are you?" asked Connie. "And what do you do for a living? And whatdid you mean about your money?"
"Who sh'd Oi be but Dinny O'Sullivan? 'An' phwat do Oi do fer a livin'?'sez ye. 'Til last winter Oi worked f'r Timothy McClusky, thot owned thistrac' an' w'd died befoor he'd av sold ut to th' Syndicate. Good wages,he paid me, an' Oi kep' off th' timber thayves, an' put out foires, an'what not. An' Oi thrapped an' fished betoimes an' Oi made me a livin'.Thin, McClusky sold th' timber. 'Ye betther come on back wid me, Dinny,'sez he. 'Back to the owld sod. Ut's rich Oi'll be over there, Dinny, an'Oi'll see ye'll niver want.'
"But, ut's foorty year an' more since Oi come to Amurica, an' Oi'd be astranger back yon. 'Oi'll stay,' Oi sez, 'f'r Oi've got used to th'woods, an' whin they cut down th' timber, Oi'll move on till somewheresthey ain't cut.' 'Ut's hatin' Oi am to lave yez behind, Dinny,' sez he,'but, Oi won't lave ye poor, fer ye've served me well,' an' wid thot,he puts his hand in his pocket loike, an' pulls out some bills, an' hehands 'em to me. 'Put 'em by f'r a rainy day, Dinny,' he sez, an' thinhe wuz gone. Oi come insoide an' barred th' dure, an' Oi counted th'money in me hand. Tin bills they wuz, all bright an' new an' clane, an'aich bill wuz foive hunder' dollars. 'Twas more money thin Oi'd iversee, or thought to see, an' ut wuz all moine--moine to kape or to spind,to t'row away er to save. 'Oi'll save ut,' sez Oi, 'loike McClusky said,ag'in' a rainy day.' An' Oi loosed a board in th' flure--'tiz th' wan toth' left in under th' bunk, yonder--an' Oi put th' bills in a tobaccytin an' put 'em in th' hole Oi'd scooped out, an' put back th' board."The little old man paused and poked noisily at the stove, fumbled in hispockets and produced a short, black cutty pipe and a pouch of tobacco,and continued:
"Oi've wor-rked hard from six years owld to siventy, but ut's not in th'name av O'Sullivan to lay an-nything by. 'Twus come hard an' goaisy--but f'r a month Oi niver lifted th' board. Thin wan day Oi tuk 'emout an' counted 'em. Th' nixt wake Oi done th' same. Th' days begun togit shorter, an' th' noights colder, an' th' ducks come whistlin' outav th' narth. Ivery day, now, Oi'd take thim bills out an' count 'em. Oicut three little notches in the carners wid me knife--'tis the mark Oifile on me thraps, so whin an-nyone sees 'em, 'Tiz Dinny O'Sullivan'sbill,' they'll say, an' Oi can't lose 'em. ''Tiz a cowld winter comin',Dinny,' sez Oi, 'f'r th' mushrats is buildin' airly. Yer gittin' owldf'r th' thrappin',' sez Oi, but Oi know'd 'twuz a loie whin Oi said ut;'beloike ye'd betther go to th' city.' 'Ye'll not!' sez Oi, moindin'what McClusky said about a rainy day. An' Oi put back th' bills an'covered thim wid th' board. Th' nixt day ut wuz cloudy an' cowld, an' Oiset be th' stove an' counted me bills. 'Th' loights is bright av anavenin' in th' city, Dinny,' Oi sez, 'an' there's shows an' what not,an' min av yer koind to palaver. Ut's loike a mink ye'll be livin' inyer hole in th' woods av ye stay. There's too much money, an-nyhow,' Oisez; 'av ye don't git sick, ye don't nade ut, an' if ye do, 'twilloutlast ye, an' whin ye die, who'll have th' spindin' av thim clane newbills? They's prob'ly O'Sullivans lift unhung yit in Oirland,' sezOi--though av me mimory's good, they's few that aught to be--'Oi'llspend 'em mesilf.' Th' wind wailed t'rough th' trees loike th' banshee.Oi looked out th' windie--'twuz rainin'. ''Tis a token,' sez Oi; ''tizth' rainy day thot McClusky said w'd come.'" The old man chuckled. "'Tizloike thot a man argys whin ut's himself's th' judge an' jury.
"So Oi put th' bills in me pocket an' tuck th' thrain fer St. Paul. Oiseen Moike Gillum on th' thrain an' Oi show'd um me money. 'Go back toth' woods, Dinny,' he sez. 'There's no fool loike an owld fool, ye'llmoind, an' they'll have ut away from yez.' 'They'll not!' sez Oi. 'An'Oi'll be betther fer a year av rist.' He thried to argy but Oi'd havenone av ut, an' Oi put up wid th' Widdy MacShane, 'twuz half-sister to acousin av a frind av moine
Oi know'd in Brainard in nointy-sivin. Foivedollars a week Oi paid fer board an' room an' washin'--Oi'd live instyle wid no thought fer expince. Oi bought me a hat an' a suit widbrass buttons t'w'd done proud to Brian Boru himsilf."
The old man paused and looked out the window. "To make a long storyshort, be Christmas Oi wuz toired av me bargain. Oi've lived in th'woods too long, an' Oi'll lave 'em no more. Oi stuck ut out 'til th'spring, but, what wid th' frinds Oi'd picked up to hilp me spind ut,an' th' clothes, an' th' shows ut costed me three av me clane new bills.Comin' back Oi shtopped off at Riverville, an' showed Mike Gillum thesivin Oi had lift. 'Yez done well, Dinny,' sez he. 'An' now will yez goto th' woods?' 'Oi will,' sez Oi, 'f'r Oi'm tired av ristin'. But Oi'mglad Oi wint, an' Oi don't begrudge th' money, f'r sivin is aisier thintin to count an-nyway an' Oi've enough av ut rains f'r a year.' So Oicome back an' wuz snug as a bug in a rug, 'til ut's mebbe two wakes ago,an' snowin' that day, an' they comed a Frinchy along, an' he sez, 'Oi'vea noice fat deer hangin'; ut's a matther av a couple av moile from here.Av ye'll hilp me cut um up, Oi'll give ye th' shoulders an' ribmate--f'r ut's only th' quarters Oi want.' Oi wint along an' we cut upth' deer, an' he give me th' mate an' Oi packed ut home. Whin Oi gotback Oi seen somewan had be'n here. Ut wuz snowin' hard, an' th' thrackswuz drifted full loike th' wans me an' th' Frinchy made whin we startedoff to cut up th' deer, so Oi know'd the other had come jist afther welift. I dropped me mate an' run in an' pulled up th' board. Th' tobaccytin wuz impty! Th' thracks headed narth, an' Oi tuck out afther th'dirthy spalpeen, but th' snow got worse an' Oi had to turn back. Whin utquit Oi wint to Willow River where Mike Gillum is runnin' a Syndicatecrew, but he said they wuzn't none av his men gone off th' job. 'Oi'lldo all Oi kin to thry an' locate th' thafe,' sez he; 'but yez sh'd putyer money in th' bank, Dinny.' Well, Oi hurd nawthin' more from him, an'this marnin' Oi wint up there ag'in. He'd found out nawthin', an' he sezhow he don't think ut wuz wan av his min--so Oi comed back, an' th' nixtthing Oi knows yez two comed along--ye've th' whole story now, an' ye'llknow av th' rainy days comes, Dinny O'Sullivan's a-goin' to git wet."
"What d'ye think of yer fine friend, Mike Gillum now?" asked Saginaw Ed,breaking a silence that had lasted while they had travelled a mile or sothrough the woods from Denny O'Sullivan's cabin.
"Just the same as I did before," answered Connie, without a moment'shesitation. "You don't think Mike Gillum swiped the old man's money, doyou?"
Saginaw stopped in his tracks and faced the boy wrathfully. "Oh, no! Idon't think he could possibly have swiped it," he said, with ponderoussarcasm. "There ain't no chanct he did--seein' as he was the only onethat know'd the money was there--an' seein' how the tracks headednorth--an' seein' how he denied it. It couldn't of be'n him! The oldman's got his own word fer it that it wasn't."
"If those I. W. W.'s wer'n't locked up safe in jail, I'd think they gotthe money. I know it wasn't Mike Gillum," maintained the boy, stoutly."If you knew Mike you wouldn't think that."
"I don't know him, an' I don't want to know him! It's enough that I knowHurley. An' anyone that would claim Hurley was crooked, I wouldn't putit beyond him to do nothin' whatever that's disreligious, an' low-down,an' onrespectable. He done it! An' him writin' like he done aboutHurley, _proves_ that he done it--an' that's all they is to it."
Connie saw the uselessness of arguing with the woodsman whose devotedloyalty to his boss prevented his seeing any good whatever in the manwho had sought to cast discredit upon him. "All right," he grinned. "ButI'm going to find out who did do it, and I bet when I do, it won't beMike Gillum that's to blame."
Saginaw's momentary huff vanished, and he shook his head in resignation,as he returned the boy's grin. "I've saw a raft of folks, take it firstan' last, but never none that was right down as stubborn as what you be.But, about findin' out who got the old man's money, you've bit off morethan you kin chaw. You ain't got enough to go on." A partridge flew upwith a whirr and settled upon the bare branch of a young birch a fewyards farther on. Saginaw took careful aim and shot its head off. "I gotone on you this time, anyhow. That's five fer me, an' four fer you, an'it's gittin' too dark to see the sights."
"Guess that's right," admitted the boy. "But I'll get even, when I showyou who raided the old man's cabin."
"'Spect I'll do a little projektin' 'round myself, if I git time. Itmight be such a thing I'll git _two_ on ye." Thus they engaged infriendly banter until the yellow lights that shone from the windows ofthe camp buildings welcomed them across the clearing.
The next day Connie hunted up Frenchy Lamar. He found him in the stablecarefully removing the ice bangles from the fetlocks of his belovedhorses. He had spent the morning breaking trail on the tote road.
"Why don't you get yourself some real horses?" teased the boy. "One ofthose log team horses will outweigh the whole four of yours."
"Log team! _Sacre!_ Dem hosses fat, lak wan peeg! Dey go 'bout so fas'lak wan porkypine! Dey drag de log 'roun' de woods. Dey got for have deice road for haul de beeg load to de rollway. But, me--I'm tak' ma fourgran' hoss, I'm heetch dem oop, I'm climb on ma sleigh, I'm crack mawheep, an--monjee! Dem hoss she jomp 'long de tote road, de bells deyring lak de Chreestmas tam, de snow fly oop from de hoof, an' dem hossdey ron t'rough de woods so fas' lak de deer! Me--I ain' trade wanleetle chonk ma hoss's tail for all de beeg fat log team w'at ees een dewoods."
"You're all right, Frenchy," laughed the boy. "But, tell me, why didn'tyou slip me a chunk of that venison you brought in the other day?"
The Frenchman glanced about swiftly. "_Non!_ W'at you mean--de_venaison_? I ain' keel no deer--me. Hurley she say you ain' kin keelno deer w'en de season ees close."
"Sure, I know you didn't kill it. But you brought it in. What I want toknow is, who did kill it?"
"I ain' breeng no _venaison_ een dis camp since de season git shut."
"Oh, you took it to Camp Two! Slue Foot shot the deer, did he?"
"How you fin' dat out? Hurley ain' lak I'm tak' de _venaison_ to CampTwo, no mor' lak Camp Wan. She fin' dat out she git mad, I'm t'ink shebus' me wan on ma nose."
"Hurley don't know anything about it," reassured the boy. "And I'll giveyou my word he never will find out from me. I just happen to want toknow who sent you after that meat. I won't squeal on either one of you.You can trust me, can't you?"
"_Oui_," answered the teamster, without hesitation. "You pass deword--dat good. Slue Foot, she keel dat deer wan tam, an' hang heem oopto freeze. Wan day she say, 'Frenchy, you go rat ovaire on de wes' linean' git de deer wat I'm got hangin'.' I ain' lak dat mooch, but SlueFoot say: 'She startin' for snow an' you track git cover oop. Me an'you we have wan gran' feast in de office, an' Hurley she ain' gon findat out. Wan leetle ol' man she got cabin 'bout two mile nort' of wherede deer hang by de creek where four beeg maple tree stan' close beside.You git de ol' man to help you cut oop de meat, an' you breeng de hinequa'ter, an' give heem de res'. He ees poor ol' man, an' lak to git som'meat.' I'm t'ink dat pret' good t'ing Slue Foot lak to giv' som' poorol' man de meat, so I gon an' done lak he says."
"It was snowing that day, was it?"
"_Oui_, she snow hard all day. I'm git back 'bout noon, an' ma tracksees snow full."
"Was Slue Foot here when you got back?"
"_Oui_, an' dat night we hav' de gran' suppaire. Slue Foot say datbetter you ain' say nuttin' 'bout dat deer, 'cause Hurley she git madlak t'undaire. I'm tell you 'bout dat 'cause I'm know you ain' gon' tryfor mak' no trouble. Plenty deer in de woods, anyhow."
Connie nodded. "Yes, but orders are orders. If I were you I wouldn'thave anything to do with deer killed out of season. Suppose Hurley hadfound out about that deer instead of me. You'd have been in a nice fix.When Hurley gives an order he generally sees that it's obeyed."
"Dat rat," agreed Frenchy, with alacrity. "Dat better I ain' got Hurleymad on me, ba goss!"