CHAPTER XIX
LOST IN THE BLIZZARD
“I’ve got nothing against the lads,” explained the sheriff, sitting sideways on the front seat after bringing the horses down to a more quiet pace, and speaking so the girls on the back seat could hear him. “But some things I have heard make me suspicious.”
“They seem to have had something to do with a boy called ‘the Dummy’—he’s been to their house, you know. You told me so yourself, Parker.”
Mildred flashed Lettie a sharp glance and the red-haired girl had the grace to blush. So it had been her chattering to her father of what the Speedwell boys had told them about the island, and Dummy, that had set the sheriff to looking up Dan and Billy.
“This dummy seems to be the important link in our case against Steinforth and his co-operators. Most of the gang were arrested months ago by the Federal officers. But the engraving plates they worked from and a lot of finished notes, as well as a coiner’s outfit, were cached by the outlaws before their arrest.”
“Now, this Biggin, and the dummy, who is his nephew——”
“Oh! is he really dumb?” cried Lettie, curiously.
“No. Dreadfully tongue-tied, I believe. A good person to trust a secret to, for he couldn’t tell it easily,” and the sheriff laughed.
“But is the poor boy really a criminal?” asked Mildred, faintly.
“Why—as to that——No! I fancy he is attached to Biggin. And Biggin was never really a member of Steinforth’s gang. Biggin drinks—that’s his failing. He used to go off into the woods on lonesome sprees. That’s how he fell in with the counterfeiting gang, he told me.
“Well, when the Federal officers got close on the trail of the outlaws they hid the plates and other things I mentioned, and sort of left Biggin in charge of the camp. But at once all the sheriffs in the State got busy. There’s a good, big reward offered for the discovery of the evidence the authorities need to convict the gang.
“After Biggin talked with me, he got scared. He wrote me he’d send the dummy to lead me to the place where the plates, and so forth, were cached. But he never came to me—the dummy didn’t, I mean.
“Now, what you tell me, Parker, about the Speedwells meeting and being friendly with Biggin’s nephew, has made me suspicious——”
“I’m sorry if it made you suspicious of Dan and Billy,” said the county clerk. “No need.”
“That may be. But they go out to that island—and I believe the dummy is on the island part of the time. It may be, from what you tell me about the paper the Speedwells say he dropped, that the engraving plates and the other stuff is hidden on that Island Number One.”
“You haven’t any reason to suspect Dan and Billy, just the same,” declared Mildred, promptly.
Both the sheriff and Mr. Parker laughed. “Now, don’t you put me in your bad books, Miss Milly,” begged Sheriff Kimball. “I don’t mean to cause the boys any trouble. I am hoping to-night to catch Harry Biggin and make him talk plainly. That’s the object of this trip—although it is a pleasure to take you young ladies for a drive,” and he laughed again.
He spoke to the horses then, and the blacks switched their tails and “let out a notch” in their speed. They seemed as eagerly desirous of covering the distance to the Biggin farm in a short time as their master.
The girls cowered down behind the high back of the front seat, and so had the wind broken for them. But it was awfully cold. Now and then a flake of snow slanted down upon them, and the girls’ shoulders were nicely powdered before the sheriff turned the horses’ heads toward the far side of the river, and they found an easily sloping bit of bank up which they could drive.
This was beyond the last of the string of islands, and the lights of Meadville—on the other bank—were in sight. Just ahead, as the horses struggled into a well traveled highway, where the runners gritted on the half-bare ground, was a lamp in a window.
“Biggin’s place,” said the sheriff. “And the folks are up yet.”
The snow was gathering by this time, for it had taken them more than two hours to drive from Riverdale, spry as the horses had been. And, without doubt, the blacks were glad of the breathing spell promised them when the sheriff drove directly under the wind-shelter beside the farmhouse. This shed offered a warm spot even to the guests the sheriff had brought.
“Don’t want to take you to the house till I find out how the land lies,” he whispered, handing the reins to Mr. Parker, and slipping out from under the robe.
“O-o-o! doesn’t it make you feel de-lic-ious-ly shivery?” whispered Lettie to the doctor’s daughter. “Just like being on a regular man-hunt with the sheriff? We’re his posse.”
“Goosey!” returned Mildred. “I’m on the point of shivering, all right. But only from cold.”
“Are you well wrapped up, girls?” asked the county clerk.
“Oh, yes, sir,” answered Mildred. “And the bricks are still warm at our feet. But I’m afraid it’s going to snow dreadfully hard.”
“What’s a little snow?” demanded the careless Lettie. “Who’s afraid?”
“I wouldn’t want to be caught out on the river in a heavy storm—would you, sir?” asked Mildred of Mr. Parker.
“It’s a straight road home,” said the gentleman, quite as careless as his daughter. “The river ought to be better than the road, as far as that goes.”
“But just suppose we got turned around in this snow?” Mildred objected, turning her head to watch the flakes falling thicker every moment. “Did you ever see it snow so hard, Lettie?”
“Lots of times—sure. Don’t be a ’fraid cat, Milly.”
The doctor’s daughter kept her fears to herself thereafter. Mr. Parker produced a vacuum bottle filled with hot milk. He had been thoughtful enough to supply himself with that before leaving the house for this long ride. The hot drink helped the girls immensely.
“Now I can stand anything,” declared Lettie, happily. “When are we going to be called into action by the sheriff, Pa?”
“He does seem a long time; doesn’t he?” returned her father, as the horses stamped, and shook their heads, and tinkled the bells on the harness.
Finally they heard a door shut, and in a moment Sheriff Kimball appeared. He looked pretty serious in the light of the sleigh lamps.
“What do you know about that?” he said, crossly. “They swear Harry hasn’t been here, and invited me to search the house for him. And I did it, too. I’ve got it in for that boy, when I do catch him. He’s only scared; but he knows more hide-outs in the wild country between here and Barnegat than anybody else. He’s run wild in the woods most of his life.
“He left a message for me, though. Tells me to go to Island Number One and see the dummy. Now, I’ve been there—twice. I couldn’t find hide nor hair of that boy either time.”
“We might stop going back?” suggested Mr. Parker.
“I mean to. But, I declare! it’s come on to snow hard.”
“Oh, a little snow won’t hurt us. We’re neither sugar nor salt,” cried Lettie. “And chasing outlaws is awfully interesting,” and she giggled again, seeing her chum’s serious face.
“I guess we won’t wait long at that island to-night,” observed Sheriff Kimball, when he had backed the sleigh out of the shed and got the impatient horses headed around again.
“Will you go back by the river, or the road?” asked Mr. Parker.
“Oh, the river. This road is half bare yet, you see,” as the runners scraped over a “sand-bar.” “We’ll slip along on the ice twice as fast, you know. Come up, Dandy! Steady, Poke!”
The blacks got into step and they spun away along the short stretch of road and then down upon the river. At first they did not realize how hard the wind was blowing, being sheltered to a degree by the high bank. But when Mr. Kimball headed out into the middle of the stream, intending to cross to the Riverdale side of the river, the travelers quickly discovered that they were in the heart of a severe storm.
“Some blow—eh?” shouted Mr. Parker, into the sheriff’s ear.
“This is a bad storm, Parker. I—had—no—idea——”
He was having trouble with his spirited team. The gusts of wind which drove the snow down upon them, fired the blacks with a desire to run. They ran in the right direction for a while; but soon they were winded, for the sleigh pulled heavily through the gathering drifts.
There were flaws in the gale. Suddenly the wind shifted from point to point of the compass. The two men could not see a light upon either bank of the river. Indeed, before long it was difficult to know whether the horses were dragging them down the stream, or up.
The snow fell faster and faster. The girls, locked in each other’s arms on the rear seat, were covered with a fresh blanket. They did not know that the men in front robbed themselves to do this.
The cold was penetrating—horribly so! Now and then a swirling, whirling eddy of wind and snow fell upon the sleigh, the horses, and all, and well nigh turned them around. The men were choked by the storm; the horses snorted and plunged, and were able to move on but slowly.
“Dickens of a mess we’ve got into, Kimball!” shouted Parker in the sheriff’s ear.
“I’m sorry I ever suggested taking these children with us. It’s awful, Parker,” said the worried sheriff.
At that instant there came a sudden lull in the storm. The wind fell, and the soft “sh-sh-sh” of the snow seemed rather soothing. But there was a sharper sound discernible, now that the tempest was lulled.
“Put! put! put-a-put!”
“What d’ye know about that?” cried the county clerk, seizing the sheriff’s arm. “It’s a motor—what?”
“It is. It’s that motor-iceboat. I heard it to-day when the Speedwells were trying it out.”
“Then it’s Dan and Billy,” declared Mr. Parker. “Well, now! what do you think of that? Out on the river in such a storm. Shall we shout to them?”
“My goodness, do!” cried Lettie, poking her head over the back of the seat. “If Billy Speedwell is out there, he’ll know the way home—sure. Let’s all shout, Pa!”