The Rival Campers: or, The Adventures of Henry Burns

“I’m not so sure,” answered Bob. “Those things do get out.”

Jack Harvey, in the meantime, having completed a careful survey of the shore, and either finding or not finding what he sought for, went back to his camp and crew. Toward noon, however, he left his camp, and a little later Tom saw him coming up along the shore.

When he came to where the canoe lay on the beach, Harvey paused and examined it closely. Then, as though to test its weight, he lifted it up on his broad shoulders, and then set it down on the beach again, this time bottom up.

Tom and Bob started down to the shore at this, but, before either they or Harvey had spoken, they had seen plainly that which, perhaps, Harvey had looked for, a long broad scratch upon the bottom of the canoe, near the middle, where the fresh paint had been scraped off.

“Hulloa, there,” said Harvey, as they approached. “That’s a fine canoe you’ve got there. Guess I’ll have to get the governor to buy me one. I saw your tent yesterday, but didn’t have a chance to come around. You fellows got ahead of me, by coming over last night – with the crowd.”

“Yes,” answered Bob. “We expected to find you all blown into the sea. What was the matter over at your camp?”

“Why, between you and me,” replied Harvey, eying them cautiously as he spoke, “I think some one of the crew did it, as a joke. They’re up to that sort of thing, you know. They’d just as lieve do it as not, any one of them. Like as not that young Tim Reardon did it, because I make him lug water, and don’t let up on him when he has lazy spells. To tell you the truth, we had a little powder stored away in a hole under a tree, and I guess one of them touched it off.”

Harvey tried to speak carelessly; but there was an angry light in his eyes and an expression around his mouth which would not be concealed, and which boded no good for somebody, and this was not lost on Tom and Bob.

“Come up to the camp, won’t you?” asked Tom. Harvey first declined, as though it had not been his intention to stop, and then accepted, and the three went toward the tent. On the way there Tom found a chance to say to Bob, “I guess Henry Burns was right, wasn’t he, Bob?” And Bob answered, “Yes.”

“Snug quarters you have here,” said Harvey, as they entered the tent. “Tight and dry, – and bunks, too. We can’t beat these accommodations aboard the Surprise. And here’s camp-chairs, like a steam-yacht or a cottage. You’ll be having pictures on the walls next, and a carpet on the floor, – and then you won’t allow each other to have mud on your boots.”

Harvey was still watching them sharply as he spoke, and may have made the last remark with a purpose, inasmuch as the boots of both Tom and Bob were begrimed and smeared with the clay from the bank near Harvey’s camp, and their clothes, for that matter, were muddy in spots.

“Sure enough,” answered Tom, “we have things as shipshape as we can. We’ve got a camp-kit here that can’t be beaten on the island. Maybe you would be interested to have a look at it.” So saying, Tom deliberately unlocked the big packing-case and threw back the cover.

“There,” cried Tom, pointing to the box that had been stolen, “what do you think of that?”

Harvey drew back quickly, and looked as though he were about to strike Tom a blow, while his face flushed angrily. Bob sprang quickly from his seat on one of the bunks, and he and Tom stood confronting Harvey. If the latter had intended to strike a blow, he changed his mind and did not do it. Instead, he gave a half-laugh and said:

“That’s what I came up to see you about. The fact is, I have known you fellows blew up our cave ever since I saw your face” – looking at Tom – “at the door of our tent last night. Then I found, too, where your canoe had landed on the edge of the shore, and just where that big scratch was made. The paint is on the rocks yet. Now I don’t think you fellows used me square, though I know you did it because you thought we stole your box – ”

“Which you did,” interrupted Tom.

Again the quick flush in Harvey’s face, and again the gesture as though he would strike Tom a blow; but he did not do it, as he had refrained before.

“No, there’s where you are wrong,” he said; “though I don’t deny that one of the crew took it, – not knowing it was yours. They wouldn’t one of them take anything from you.”

“Which is not true,” said Tom, quietly.

This was more than Harvey could stand. With clenched fist, he rushed at Tom, aiming a heavy blow at his face, and crying, as he did so: “I lie, do I? Then take that!”

Tom partially avoided the blow by stepping back and guarding his face with one arm. The blow fell short, striking him near the shoulder. At the same time, however, he tripped over the packing-case, and that, with the force of the blow, sent him over backwards, so that he fell all in a heap in one corner of the tent.

Harvey darted for the door, to make his escape; but Bob sprang at him and the two clinched. Harvey was larger and more than a match for either one of them, and, with a quick twist, threw Bob violently to the floor. But the latter clung to him and brought him down, too. Then, before Harvey could break Bob’s hold, Tom had recovered himself and thrown himself upon him. He rolled Harvey over, and the next moment he and Bob had him securely pinned to the floor.

“Now,” said Tom, as they held him fast, “we are not going to hurt you, Jack Harvey, because we are no such cowards; but I’ve got something to say to you which it will be for your advantage to listen to.

“In the first place, let me tell you that you are a coward and as good as a thief. You didn’t steal our box because one of your crew did it for you and saved you the trouble; but you knew it was stolen from us, and would have taken it yourself if you had had the chance. You need not tell us that your crew would not steal from us, for we know better, and so do you. In the second place, I want to tell you that we blew up your cave without intending to do more than burn some of the things in it. The rest we took out, – though it doesn’t make much difference now what our intentions were.

“And, last of all, let me tell you that neither you nor your crew are going to try to be revenged on us. Why? Because you don’t dare to. It wouldn’t be healthy for any of you, if it became known in the village what was in that cave, and nobody knows that better than you. Not that Bob and I intend to tell, ever, unless you give us cause to. But let me tell you that it won’t do for you to play any tricks on us.

“Please don’t forget that neither you nor a single one of your crew dares to disturb so much as a rope around this camp. Now you can get up.”

Harvey rose, white with rage, and stood for a moment, as though undecided whether or not to continue the unequal combat; but his better judgment prevailed, and he walked slowly out of the tent, pausing at the door long enough to say:

“You need not have any fear of our troubling you or your camp. You have been too smart for us, and we shall steer clear of you after this.

“In fact,” he added, sneeringly, “any little thing we can do for you at any time, just let us know. We shall think a great deal of two such smart fellows as you, I assure you.” And so saying, he left them.

“Sorry we can’t say as much for you,” Bob called out after him, and was half-sorry for the words the next moment; for it was foolish to increase an enmity which could only lead to trouble.

CHAPTER VII.

SQUIRE BRACKETT’S DOG

The island got a respite of at least a week, after the explosion, from excitement of any sort. A calm like that of the primeval days before the “boom” pervaded all the settlement. But it was not to endure. One morning a little fishing-schooner, which had fallen into the hands of Squire Brackett, through a mortgage which he had foreclosed upon a poor skipper across the bay, and which was now lying at anchor in the harbour, was found painted with broad stripes of blood red, and flying the skull and cross-bones at the masthead, a veritable pirate craft.

The squire was never able to discover whether the authors of this piece of mischief were the boys or some of his own townsmen, who, indignant at his seizure of the only means of livelihood belonging to the unfortunate skipper, had roundly denounced Squire Brackett for his meanness. However, the incident resulted in the squire leaving on the boat one day for the city of Benton to make a purchase.

What the squire purchased he brought back with him the next day. And, as it is a matter of passing interest how his purchase arrived at the island and how brief a time it remained there, it shall be here recorded. By the same boat there came to the village an individual whose arrival made no stir, but who remained long enough to create the greatest excitement the village had ever known.

The arrival of the steamer from Benton was an event of great interest daily, for it brought not only mysterious packages, bundles, and messages from fathers whose business kept them in the city, but now and then a new face, which was duly scrutinized and commented upon by the summer colonists before its possessor had crossed the gangplank.

So that on this day when Squire Brackett returned to his native isle there were many gathered upon the wharf, though, it is hardly necessary to say, not for the purpose of welcoming his return. Yet one might readily believe the squire thought otherwise; since, as the steamer neared the wharf, this self-important individual, arrayed in a suit of shining black, with a great deal of staring shirt-front, and with an enormous slouch-hat surmounting his ponderous head, seemed the most conspicuous person aboard.

The squire stood nearest the gangway, and, indeed, it looked from a distance as though the other passengers, in recognition of the greatness of this island magnate, had drawn respectfully back a little distance, to wait till he should have gone ashore ere they approached the railing.

As the steamer came nearer, however, the reason for this seeming deference on their part became apparent. It was plainly not due so much to any awe inspired by the squire as it was to fear, – fear of the squire’s purchase. The squire’s purchase was as ugly and vicious looking a bulldog as ever walked on four legs. The squire held the dog by a stout piece of cord, which was wound several times about his wrist.

The dog and the squire, being each in equally ill-humour, may have found their companionship agreeable. Certain it was that the squire was the only person whom the dog did not snarl and snap at. It growled and snapped at every one, and even snarled and showed its teeth at the good-natured cook aboard the steamer, who had offered it a scrap of meat.

This surliness on the part of his new acquisition had particularly pleased the squire, who argued from it that here was an incorruptible beast, that would meet in the same spirit any such advances upon the part of strangers when it should be duly installed as guardian of his farmhouse.

The squire would be magnanimous on this occasion, however, and, despite the fact that the crowd on the wharf looked to him, as it always did in his eyes, like invaders of his domain, he gave a bow accompanied by a sweeping gesture of his hand, presumably intended to be a patronizing greeting, which should include everybody, and nobody in particular, at once.

Then the steamer made its landing. It was not always an easy matter here, for the tide at certain times ran swift, and seemed to strive fiercely to drive the boat away from the wharf. Therefore, when the steamer was as yet at some distance from the wharf, a deck-hand at the bow skilfully let fly a coil of small rope, which unwound in the air and was caught by a man standing on the wharf. To an end of this rope was attached the usual heavy hawser, which was then drawn on to the wharf by means of the small rope, and the bight thrown over a spiling. In like manner the other big hawser was drawn up astern on to the wharf.

When things were done shipshape, it was the rule of the steamer that the small rope should be coiled again and at once thrown back to the boat while one end was still fast to the wharf, so that when the hawser was cast off from the spiling it could be drawn aboard by the small rope, without its splashing down into the water and getting wet.

But things were more often done hurriedly than shipshape at the Southport landing. The steamer’s crew had all they could do usually to land freight and get it out quickly enough, so that the boat could go on down the bay without losing time. The line thrown to the wharf was usually caught by the village storekeeper, who had little time to spare, or by whatever man or boy happened to be standing near at hand. The boat’s rule was seldom obeyed. Scarcely any one ever took the trouble to coil up the small rope and throw it back. When the hawsers were cast off they fell into the water, regardless of the fact that they thereby got wet and became heavier, dragging the small ropes after them, and were hauled aboard as the boat steamed away.

The steamer having, on this occasion, been made fast to the wharf and the gangplank put out, Squire Brackett crossed it, dragging his purchase behind him, – the purchase skulking very unwillingly across the plank and showing its teeth at the crowd upon the wharf.

The squire hated and despised boys, and made it a point to ignore them whenever it was possible. For this very reason they delighted to annoy him by hailing him whenever they met him. Young Joe Warren had a way of driving the squire nearly into fits by pretending to mistake him for one Captain Kendrick, who was the bitterest enemy the squire had, and then always apologizing for his mistake by explaining to the squire that he could not tell them apart.

“Good morning, Squire Brackett, glad to see you back again!” cried Henry Burns, in the heartiest fashion imaginable, as the squire stepped on to the wharf.

“Humph! Morning – morning,” grunted the squire, as he eyed Henry Burns suspiciously.

Henry Burns smiled most affably, as though the squire had been his dearest friend and adviser.

“Why, how do you do, squire?” said George Warren, cordially.

Squire Brackett scowled angrily at him, but answered, “How d’ye do?” as short as he could.

Just then young Joe made his appearance.

“How are you, Captain Kendrick?” he bawled, loud enough to be heard all over the wharf.

The crowd began to smile, and young Joe added, hastily:

“Oh, I beg pardon, Squire Brackett – always take you for Cap’n Kendrick – strange how you do look so much alike.”

“You little idiot,” yelled the choleric squire, “I’d Cap’n Kendrick you with a rawhide, if I had the say of you, – insulting an honest man with a name like that, – every one of you ought to be in State prison. And you, you’re the worst one of all, Jack Harvey,” pointing to the latter, who had just come upon the wharf. “And you, too!” shaking his fist at Tom and Bob. “You’re sly, but you’ll get caught yet. You’re a pack of young rascals, every one of you. Don’t any of you come around my house, if you don’t want to be chewed up. Here, you brute! Quit that!”

The dog had snapped viciously at a child that ran past, causing her to scream with fear.

Just then the freight-agent called out to the squire:

“You’ll have to come in here and see about this freight of yours,” he said. “It’s all mixed up. And don’t bring that dog in here, or the crew may take him for a piece of freight and run a truck against him.”

At one corner of the freight-house on the wharf was a big iron ring, to which the squire tied the dog.

“I wouldn’t advise anybody to meddle with him,” he said; but the advice seemed hardly necessary, for the dog showed its teeth and sprang savagely at any one who ventured to come near.

There were some expressions of indignation that such a dangerous brute should be brought to the island.

Every one did keep as far out of the dog’s way as possible, excepting Tim Reardon, who, after a whispered consultation with Jack Harvey, after which the latter disappeared behind the freight-house, seated himself just out of the dog’s reach, and caused that animal to froth at the mouth and nearly strangle itself in trying to get loose, by pointing a finger at the dog and making a loud hissing noise between his teeth.

Not content with this form of annoyance, Tim Reardon varied it now and again by darting a hand out at the dog, as though in an attempt to seize him by the throat. To which the maddened animal, with true bulldog ferocity, responded with savage rushes as far as the rope would permit, his wide-open jaws fairly dripping with rage and disappointment.

If there was any design on the boy’s part to distract the dog’s attention from what Jack Harvey was doing at the corner of the freight-house, to which the dog was tied, it succeeded admirably. Moreover, it is certain that, when Harvey reappeared, Tim stopped teasing the brute, and he and Harvey walked around to the rear of the freight-house.

The freight-house was situated almost at the end of the wharf on its seaward side, so near to the edge of the wharf that there was only room for a single person to walk along on the outside, and that at the risk of losing one’s balance and falling off the wharf. The ring to which the dog was tied was on the side near the end, and was not visible to those standing on the front of the wharf. Any one going around to the further side of the freight-house at this moment might have seen Harvey and Tim standing there, – Harvey nearest the ring and holding a knife in his hand.

The steamer in landing had made a complete circuit in the harbour, and had come alongside the wharf with her head pointing out into the bay, so that now, as Captain Chase called out “All aboard,” and gave orders to cast off bow and stern lines, the boat was ready to steam directly away from the wharf. The gangplanks were drawn in. There was a tinkling of bells; a great commotion as the steamer’s wheels began to revolve rapidly; a general waving of handkerchiefs from the wharf to those who were bound farther down the bay; the steamer began to glide away from the wharf, when suddenly somebody shrieked:

“The dog! The dog! Run! Run! He’s broken loose.”

And before the crowd had time to scatter, the dog, infuriated with the tormenting it had received at the hands of Tim Reardon, dashed toward it. Men, women, and children fled in terror. Squire Brackett, who came running out of the freight-house, did not dare face the dog, but dodged back into the freight-house and slammed the door shut, in a cold sweat of fear.

The boys, most of them, rushed for points of safety, clambering up the ends of the spiling that jutted above the floor of the wharf, and young Joe and Tom Harris, being at the very edge of the wharf, and having no other means of escape, and nothing to defend themselves with, dropped off the wharf into the water and swam to shore. Several of the other boys and some men scrambled about for clubs to ward off the brute’s fierce rush.

Among these latter was Henry Burns. Realizing on the instant that to attempt to flee was worse than hopeless, he had glanced about for something to defend himself with, and had seized upon a broken piece of oar. Grasping it with both hands, he stood, calmly awaiting the attack. The dog, seeing him right in his path, rushed at him, and when within a yard of the boy suddenly gave a spring, as though to seize him by the throat.

Henry Burns, summoning all his strength, aimed a terrific sweeping blow at the dog, but it missed its mark. Meeting no obstruction, the force of the blow swung the boy completely around, so that he lost his balance and fell sprawling upon the wharf, while the piece of oar flew from his hands and landed far out in the water.

A strange thing had happened. The crowd, pausing breathlessly in the midst of flight, had seen with horror the dog spring at Henry Burns; but the animal’s leap had a most extraordinary termination. All at once the dog was jerked violently backward through the air, and fell heavily on the wharf, yelping with surprise and fright. Then it was dragged rapidly across the wharf, and the crowd yelled with derision as they saw that the rope by which the dog had been tied to the ring had been unfastened or cut from the ring, and had been fastened to the rope which had been thrown from the steamer, and the other end of which was made fast to the steamer’s hawser.

As the boat steamed away it drew the rope after it. There was no possible escape for the dog. Struggling as best it could, barking and yelping, and snapping madly at the rope, it braced itself for one instant on the edge of the wharf, and then was dragged over and fell, still struggling, to the water below. The steamer kept on its way a short distance, and then stopped. The rope was drawn in by a deck-hand and the dog hauled to the railing of the steamer, but it was not taken aboard, for nobody on board wanted a dead dog. The deck-hand cut the rope, and the body splashed into the water.

Thus perished the squire’s bulldog, unmourned, save for the squire himself, who raged about the wharf, looking for some boy whom he might accuse of the trick, and vowing untold vengeance upon the perpetrators of it. But, one and all, they had wisely dispersed, the guilty and the innocent alike, and the squire was soon left alone in his wrath.

Who had done the thing? The crowd did not know, for it had been too excited to notice that Jack Harvey and Tim Reardon had emerged from behind the freight-house just at the critical moment when the dog had sprung at Henry Burns.

As for Henry Burns, he was the hero of the hour.

There had been on the whole so much excitement attending the squire’s arrival that few had noticed a stranger who had come ashore soon after Squire Brackett. He had not waited on the wharf, but had gone directly to the hotel. There Henry Burns met him later; for the man sat at Colonel Witham’s table, as that was the only one then available.

The new arrival was the sort of guest to please the colonel, for he was extremely quiet. He walked only with the aid of a cane, and then, apparently, with great effort, stopping frequently to rest. He told them he had been very ill; that his health had broken down with overwork, and he had accordingly tried cruising along the coast. His friends had left him up the river some days before, and would call for him.

He was a man a little under middle age, of medium height and thick-set, with black hair and a pale, smooth-shaven face. He was evidently somewhat a man of the world and had travelled abroad, for, seated before the fireplace in the office that evening, he talked for some time of his travels.

But there were other things of more interest to the boarders than this quiet, reserved stranger, who did not play cards and who hobbled about with a cane. There was, above all, a morning paper from town, which bristled with startling head-lines, descriptive of a robbery of the residence of one of the richest men in the town. It told how the thieves, three in number, had entered the house where Mr. Curtis, the owner, was sleeping alone, in the absence of his family; how they had put a pistol to his head and made him get up and open a safe, from which they had taken several hundred dollars in money and a jewel-case containing a diamond necklace and other gems to the value of several thousand dollars.

The jewels, it said, were the property of Mrs. Curtis, and most of them had been bridal presents. A reward of $500 was offered for their return or for information leading to the arrest of any one of the robbers.

The article stated further that Mr. Curtis was positive he could identify the man who subsequently bound and gagged him, his mask having but partially concealed his face. He was, he said, a man of about medium height, with black hair, black moustache, and heavy black beard, broad-shouldered, thick-set, and unusually active and powerful.

All this, as it was read aloud, threw the guests into the greatest possible excitement, as a great part of them were from the very town and knew the Curtis family, by reputation if not personally.

It did not, of course, interest the stranger guest, for he nodded in his chair and nearly dozed off several times during the reading. Still, when the guests had dispersed, he picked up the paper from a chair and took it with him to his room.

It was the very next night following that of his arrival that Henry Burns met with a surprise.