CHAPTER XI.—ALEX BECOMES A DETECTIVE.
“It doesn’t seem possible!” Clay exclaimed. “What could have Gran been doing there? Could you hear what they were saying?”
“Not a word,” was the reply; “they talked in low tones.”
“But I thought Gran was on the boat.”
“Well, he left the boat, alone, just after I did. I saw him go across the plank and pass into the canyon. Then he turned in another direction.”
“He was back in the boat when you returned with the rabbit?” asked Clay. “Of course, he must have been. Well, then, he had very little time to visit with that fellow. It is a queer proposition.”
“I should say so!” Alex agreed. “Are you going to say anything to him about it—let him know that we are wise to his doings?”
“I think not,” was the slow reply. “If there is something between the boy and these men, the way to find out what it is, is to keep still and sleep with our eyes open. Strange that we should have a mysterious passenger on this voyage as well as on the one up the Amazon!”
“I hope this one turns out as rich as the other,” Alex grinned.
The breakfast, when finally prepared, was a light one, so the boys had dinner early and then got under way. It was much more convenient cooking when the boat was not trying to turn handsprings in the river. Now and then they came to rapids which any ordinary caution would have warned them to hesitate before entering, but Clay was anxious to get as far away from his pursuer as possible in the shortest time allowable, and so took chances.
In the middle of the afternoon they came to a quiet piece of river some distance above a stretch of rapids, around which the boat would have to be carried. They decided to remain here for the night, making ready during the afternoon and evening to convey the Rambler around the falls early in the morning.
Clay was careful to anchor the boat on the west side of the river. They had come a long distance, and if the unwelcome visitor of the morning had indeed succeeded in keeping up with them by taking to the stream in a light boat, he would have to show himself if he passed, or even if he came within a hundreds yards of the Rambler during the afternoon.
“Now,” said Case, as the boat lay rocking in a small cove, “I’ll go and catch a fish and show you how to cook it. Here we’ve been on the river two days and haven’t had a bite of fish yet. That is what I call a burning shame. Do you think I can ride that log of a canoe to the shore? I’ve got to do my expert cooking under the leafy trees, you see, and so I’ve got to use the canoe.”
“You might try it,” Clay laughed. “Alex went after fish last evening and caught a bear, so there is no knowing what you may get.”
“Perhaps an elephant!” laughed Gran.
“Or a bold train robber!” Alex put in, just to see what Gran would say at the mention of the incidents at the pass.
Gran looked up quickly, but there was no surprise in his face. Instead he smiled and pointed to a grove of tall cedars on the shore not far from the edge of the stream.
“That looks like a fine place to fish for train robbers,” he said. “I have a great mind to go ashore with you to see you get the fish, and help cook it. I know something about cooking fish!”
“Wait until he gets his fish,” Alex said. “When he comes up with a corker, big enough for all of us, I’ll help him cook it. I used to cook in the South Branch until the policeman on the beat came to the cabin and asked for my pies and things. You know I did, eh, Clay?”
“Yes,” replied Clay, gravely, “you used to cook so well that the policeman got the habit of asking who cooked the coffee before he tasted it. If you made it, he had business outside right away.”
“You’re having another dream!” shouted Alex. “If you think I can’t cook, just watch me serve the cold beans to-night.”
“That is where you shine,” laughed Alex, “serving cold beans!”
During this conversation Case had been getting out his fishing tackle and leading the canoe around to the side of the Rambler nearest the shore.
“Are you going with him?” asked Clay, of Gran, hoping to receive an affirmative reply, for he had decided to follow the lad if he went into the forest alone.
He was not taking to this role of a spy kindly, for it was with many twinges of conscience that he had made up his mind to keep a close watch on the boy.
“I think I’ll go,” Gran, in a moment, answered. “I want to see the big woods. While Case is cooking his fish on the bank, I can do some hunting. Another rabbit stew would be about right. I always liked rabbit stew! We’ll need it, too, if Case doesn’t catch any fish.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Case broke in. “I’m the one that put the salmon in the Columbia river.”
“How are you both going to get ashore in that canoe—only half finished as it is?” asked Clay, presently, as Gran brought his gun and one of the searchlights from the cabin. “You can’t swim there, very well, for the water is too cold for pleasure, as Alex discovered not long ago. I don’t think two can ride in that contraption at the same time,” he added.
Alex scratched his head. It was plain to Clay that the boy was on the same line of thought as himself. He, too, wanted Gran to go ashore so that he might be followed.
How was it to be arranged so that the canoe could be brought back to the Rambler after each boy had landed? Then the boy laughed softly to himself, wondering that he had ever given the matter a second thought.
“I’ll tell you!” he cried. “I’ll tie a long rope to the canoe, and when Case gets ashore I’ll pull it back. Then, when Gran gets ashore, I’ll pull it back again, so there will be no chance for any one to steal it.”
“Great head, Alex!” grinned Case, dropping off into the canoe and tying a longer and stronger line to the prow, in order that it might be drawn back to take Gran to the shore. “You’ll be president of some small country town yet. Now, don’t pull on that line, young man,” he continued, as the rope slipped through Clay’s fingers. “Just let her play out easily, and I’ll have no trouble with the old scow!”
He paddled to the shore easily enough, landing on a little sandy spot where hundreds of years of wash of water from the hills had ground soft rock to bits. Back of him ran the forest of cedar, and back of that the western ridges of the Rocky mountains.
“Pull her back, now!” he cried, taking his fishing tackle out of the canoe, “and have Gran bring some matches. I forgot it.”
“Where are you going to get your fish?” mocked Alex. “There are no fishes along that shallow shore.”
“Never you mind about that!” answered Clay. “See that pool just below the rock? Well, there is a big one in there that I’m going to have for supper. When I get him caught, you can come and help get his feathers off, Alex.”
“All right,” Alex answered, pulling the rude canoe back, very glad of the suggestion that he go ashore with the boys, “I’ll be there watching you when you haul him out.”
Gran now entered the canoe and paddled ashore. The new canoe was not much of a craft. It was just a cedar log on the outside and a black trough on the inside. Still, the boys figured that it would save them many a wetting, for there were places shrewd smile on his face, and Alex knew just what that smile meant.
“Do you think he’ll meet our Robin Hood friend again?” Clay asked.
“I think he wants to meet some one,” was the reply. “He never went ashore just to hunt. Who’s to go after him?”
“Perhaps you would better go,” Clay answered, reluctantly, for he was aching for a turn in the woods. “He’ll not suspect you of anything more than a trick if he sees you following him.”
“What did he take that searchlight for?” asked Alex.
“I can’t answer any questions about the boy,” Clay replied, with an expressive shrug of the shoulders. “He appears innocent, loyal, and honest, but he is mixed up in some game which I believe him to be playing under compulsion. You see if it doesn’t come out that way.”
“While I’m away,” Alex went on, “you might take another look for the films. It is quite important that we get them.”
“And when we do,” Clay interrupted, “what do you think we will find there? Just give a guess about it!”
“Unless I’m mistaken,” the other replied, “we’ll find a picture of a tall man with long arms peering out of a canyon back of a campfire.”
“Just my notion! But who is this tall man with long arms, and why does Gran meet him in the forest, and say nothing to us about it? If he is in trouble, why doesn’t he put it up to us to help him?”
“Well, well, well,” chuckled Alex, “here we stand talking about films that never existed, about a campfire that never was, about a pass never on any map, about a pursuer who never lived! And over there on the shore Case is building a big fire. Now, Clay, just remember that there never were any films! We’re not going to have this trip spoiled with any mystery! What is Case building his fire for before he catches a fish?”
“He’ll probably dig a hole in the ground, fill it full of hot rocks, and make a regular oven of it, before he gets the fish. Then, when he has the bird, fresh from the river, he’ll heat up the rocks again, wrap the fish in leaves and put it into the oven, with hot rocks on top of it and under it, and cover the whole outfit up with leaves and earth.”
“Is that the way to bake fish in the woods?”
“That surely is the way,” answered Clay. “Now, you see. Gran has gone into the forest. Perhaps you’d better be getting ashore.”
“I just don’t like this sleuthing business a little bit!” the boy grumbled, as they drew the canoe back to the Rambler.
“It seems to be necessary,” Clay replied. “If we are ever to acquit Gran, in our minds, of all crookedness, we’ve got to know the truth, and the only way to learn the truth, it seems to me, is to find it out for ourselves.”
“That’s just it!” Alex agreed. “If this was to be done to get the kid into trouble I wouldn’t be mixed up in it, but as it is to get him out of trouble. I’ll go to the limit.”
Alex paddled off to the shore, which was not very far away, and Clay saw him stop for a moment and talk with Case then dive into the forest. By this time the sunshine had left the valley of the Columbia. Away over to the west, beyond the ridges, it would shine on the broken country—on a new world in the making—for an hour or more, but here its rays were stopped by the peaks which shone, white and still, above the cedars.
Clay sat for a long time, watching Case angling for the “big one,” he had mentioned, and listening to the call of birds high up in the air. Like all feathered things they were abandoning the lower levels and sweeping in swinging circles up into the sky to catch the latest rays of the sinking sun. Their wings glistened golden in the light and their musical voices came down soothingly.
Case caught his fish, after a time, and proceeded to heat more pieces of broken rock for his primitive oven. Clay sat watching him piling embers on the mound after he had filled it with leaves and earth. It was growing dark there now, and no hint of the return of Gran or Alex had come. Finally Case called from the shore:
“I’m going to bring this fish over to the Rambler directly. Have you got the coffee and potatoes ready?”
No, Clay had not once thought of the coffee and potatoes, he had been so busy watching Case and thinking of what might be taking place in the forest.
He hastened to the cabin, built up a great fire in the heater, set a kettle of potatoes over, switched on the electric stove, put the coffee-pot on, and then turned to the little table.
Captain Joe, who had been asleep when Alex left, which accounted for his being there at all, lay on the floor playing with Teddy. The two had already become firm friends.
The sight of the dog brought a notion to Clay’s mind. Why not send Captain Joe into the forest to look the boys up? He would do it, if told to, and would be sure to come back if he failed to find them.
“Here, Captain Joe,” the boy said, “don’t you want to go and find Alex? Put on your hunting shoes and go find Alex.”
Captain Joe sprang to his feet instantly, tumbling Teddy over in a heap as he did so and, advancing the deck railing, looked over to the woods. Clay took one of Alex’s shoes and one of Gran’s handkerchiefs into his hands and let Captain Joe sniff at them.
“Now you know whom to look after,” he grinned at the intelligent dog, “and won’t go loafing around Case, even if he is cooking supper.”
Clay got the dog into the canoe, though it was a wonder, more than once during the operation, that it didn’t tip over, and, taking up the paddle, started for the shore.
Case saw him coming and ran toward the shore to meet him. Captain Joe arose to get foothold for a spring, and the canoe went over, landing both the boy and the dog in twenty feet of water. It did not take them long to get to the shore, where Captain Joe cleared himself of water by a few vigorous shakes and Clay threw off his outer clothing to dry them by the fire.
“You’re a fine dog!” grumbled Clay, as he stood before the blaze of dry cedar branches. “I give you a chance to have a run on shore, and you go and give me a ducking in the river!”