CHAPTER XIII THE HEAD HUNTER
When the searchlight from the water had been switched off, Florence sawthe dark gray power boat approaching the camping ground.
"Greta," she groaned, "we should have gone up the ridge at once! There'sno peace or privacy anywhere!"
As the boat came nearer they read in large letters across the prow oneword, "CONSERVATION."
This brought momentary relief to the startled girls. Conservation men aregovernment men and these, Florence believed, could be trusted.
Pulling in close to shore, the boat dropped anchor. A sturdy, sun-tannedman leaped into the small boat they had in tow, and rowed rapidly towardland.
"Who's the man who went into the bush just now?" he demanded the instanthis feet touched land.
"M--man?" Florence stammered. "There is no man."
"So I see," the newcomer grumbled. "There was one, though. Don't try todeceive me! I saw him! He's short, stoutly built, rather dark, with aweek's beard. Now then! Does that convince you?"
"Yes." Florence found her knees trembling. "Perhaps," she thought, "theseConservation men have saved us from trouble without knowing it."
"Yes," she repeated, "I believe you are telling the truth. You did see aman. But--but he doesn't belong to us. Truly he does not! Wait! I'll tellyou about him."
"Tell me about yourself first. What are you doing here?" The man did notsmile.
"Why--we--we--we--" Florence was greatly disturbed. "We came over herefrom the wreck. We--"
"Oh!" her inquisitor broke in as a smile overspread his face. "You're thegirls living out there on the wreck. That--er--I owe you an apology.We've heard of you. You're O. K. You see, we're the Conservation men onthe island, Dick and I. Got to see that no game is killed, no trees cut,no fires started, all that.
"But tell me now--" His voice took on an eager note. "Tell me about thatman."
Florence told him all she knew. He was, she felt quite certain, the manwho had intended murdering Old Uncle Ned, the veteran moose, and the manwho had fought with her that battle of oars. She trembled now as shethought what might have happened had not these Conservation men happenedalong.
"God seems to be keeping an eye on us," she was to say to Jeanne sometime later. And Jeanne was to reply reverently, "He notes the sparrow'sfall."
"Excuse me," the Conservation man said when the story was done. "My nameis Mell. As man to man, I'd like to shake your hand. The way you savedthe old moose was keen. You're the right sort. I--I'll get you a job onour force." He shook her hand warmly.
"But this fellow--" his brow wrinkled. "We'll have to look after him.He's a head hunter, beyond a doubt. Fellow can get good money for a finepair of moose antlers. These rascals come over here and kill our bestfriends of the wildwood, just for a few sordid dollars. Watch us go afterhim!"
Leaping into his boat, he was away.
"He's--he's all right." Florence was enthusiastic. "Question is, shall wecamp here or try a return trip to the ship?" For a moment all thoughts ofthe treasure hunt were forgotten.
"Moon will be out by ten o'clock," she said after a moment's thought. "Besafer on the water then. We'll make a fire and have something to eat."
Their evening lunch over, the girls curled up side by side with the wallof their small tent at their back and the glowing fire before them. Allabout them was blackness. Not a gleam came from the surface of darkwaters. Not a break appeared in the wall of bottle-green that was theforest at their back. For all this, they were not afraid. Swen's riflelay across Florence's knees. Their ears were keen. No intruder could slipupon them unannounced.
"Gold!" Greta whispered. "We found a tiny bit. I wonder if there can bemuch more."
"Who knows?" Florence murmured dreamily.
Presently the big girl's head fell forward. She slept, as the wild peoplebefore her had slept, sitting before the fire.
Greta did not wake her. "I will hear in time if there is any danger," shetold herself. She liked the feel of it all, the warmth of the fire on herface, the little breezes playing in her hair, her sleeping comrade, thenight, the mysterious forest--all this seemed part of a new world to her.She smiled as she thought of her own soft bed at home with its brightcovers and downy pillow. "Who would wish to live like that always?" sheasked herself. "Who--"
Her thoughts snapped off like a radio singer who had been cut off. Windwas beginning to come down the bay and, wafted along by it was a sound,faint, indistinct but unmistakable.
"The phantom violin!" she whispered.
This time the sound came from so great a distance that it was but ateasing phantom of sound.
She wanted to slip away into the forest and follow the sound. But shedared not.
* * * * * * * *
Petite Jeanne was with her wild, free friends of other days. In the palelight of Japanese lanterns she danced with the bear the old fantasticdances of those other days. When it was over and she passed thetambourine for Bihari, a great weight of silver coins thumped into it.For a moment she was deliriously happy. When it was all over and she hadrowed alone in a small boat out to the center of the narrow bay, herfeelings changed. For one short moment she wished herself back on thewreck with Florence and Greta.
"But I must not!" She pulled herself up short. "Bihari and his peoplehave done much for me. I must not fail them now.
"Ah! But this is beautiful!" she breathed a moment later. "And I shallsee it all--all this marvelous island!"
The scene before her was like some picture taken from a fairy book. Adark circle of forest with only a pale light gleaming here and there likea star, and at the center of all this the lights of a long, low roomcasting mellow reflections upon the water.
Figures moved about like gay phantoms in this light. To her ears came thelow melody of guitar and violin.
"It is so beautiful!" She felt her throat tighten with the joy of it all."And yet--"
She was thinking of the black schooner that had slipped away into thegreat unknown lying away beyond the shrouds of night.
"The diver was on that schooner," she assured herself. "What if theyreturn to our home, our poor wrecked ship! They may set fire to it! Theymay blow it up with dynamite!" She shuddered. "They came there to lookfor something. I wonder what it could be? Florence is a famous diver.When we are back at the wreck--if we ever are," she murmured dreamily,"she shall dive into that place and see. She--"
But someone was calling her name. She must return to the shore. Her briefhour of revery was at an end.
* * * * * * * *
On the camping grounds at Duncan's Bay for two hours Florence slept. Whenshe woke the moon was out. The wind too had risen.
"Waves will be too high," was her instant decision. "We must stay herefor the night."
"And tomorrow," Greta whispered eagerly, "tomorrow at dawn we will go upthe ridge."
"Why so soon?"
Greta told of hearing that faint thread of music.
"We shall see," said Florence, and began preparation for the night.
Their tent was small, only seven feet square. It had a floor of canvas.Once inside with the flap buttoned tight, they were as securely housed asthe caterpillar in his chrysalis.
Greta was not slow in creeping down among the blankets. She went to sleepat once.
As for Florence, she drew on her heavy sweater, thrust her feet under theblankets, propped the rifle against the tent wall and, folding her armsacross her knees, sat at half watch the night through.
The sun had not cleared the tree tops when the Conservation boatappeared. It had a small black power boat in tow.
"We waited for him all night, that head hunter," Mell explained. "Didn'tshow up. Hoofed it back into the hills, I guess. The boat was stolen.We're taking it back.
"No good, his hiding in the forest," he concluded. "We'll get him, you'llsee. Tell every ship captain to watch for him."
"I hope," said Flo
rence when they were gone, "that they get him verysoon."
A half hour later, with packs on their backs, the two girls headed up therocky slope.
"Treasure hunt can wait," was Florence's comment. "We can go after thatwhen Jeanne is back. Now we're going to explore Greenstone Ridge."
This course, she had thought during the night, might seem a bit dangerouswith the head hunter still at large. "But the ridge is a tracklesswilderness," she had reassured herself. "He will never come upon ourtrail." Which, as you will see by what follows, was a fair conclusion.
The events that followed the climbing of Greenstone Ridge on that brightand beautiful day were strange beyond belief.