Scott Burton and the Timber Thieves

by Edward G. Cheyney

“Dark don’t bother one of those infernal hounds much,” Murphy grumbled. “They’ll find us easy enough and pull us out of here like a couple of rats.”

A lump popped up into Scott’s throat so hard that it almost choked him. The thought of the keen-nosed hounds with which almost every southern camp is infested had never occurred to him, but he tried to put a bold face on it. “Well, we’ll have to take a chance on that. We can fight if we have to, but we won’t unless we do.”

He was conscious that Murphy was eyeing him curiously with a trace of contempt and he knew that he was being suspected of cowardice, but his judgment told him that his was the wiser plan and he stuck to it, hard as it was.

They had not much more than covered up their tracks and settled down to watch developments when they saw a man riding leisurely from the direction of the camp. He was trying to look unconcerned, but he rode directly toward the clump of bushes where the boy had been hiding. They were both rejoiced to see that the almost inevitable hound was lacking so far, and they were not a little relieved that the rider was on the other side of the canal. He wore the usual overalls, cotton shirt and old felt hat, and was a total stranger to both of them. An old thirty-thirty Winchester was balanced carelessly across the horn of his saddle.

He drew rein on the opposite side of the canal, glanced at the clothes which the boy had left, and ran his eye carefully along the banks in both directions as far as he could see. Evidently it had not occurred to him that the bateau might have been taken out of the water, for his examination was too rapid to take account of anything as inconspicuous as footprints. Without any apparent suspicion he turned toward the river and rode rapidly away down the tow path and out of sight.

“If he keeps that gait up long it will be dark before he gets back,” Scott chuckled.

Evidently the boy had been keeping pretty close watch on the man. The horseman had hardly disappeared from view when the boy came running toward the canal. He moved more cautiously as he approached the clump of bushes and stopped to examine them minutely. Satisfied that there was nothing there he pounced on his clothes and proceeded to change them for the old pair of his father’s overalls which he had on. His curiosity was not so easily satisfied as the man’s. He examined the shore foot by foot to see if the boat had landed, scanned the surrounding country suspiciously every now and then, and once glanced curiously across at the brush pile which concealed the spies. Finally he, too, trailed away down the bank of the canal.

Already the sun had begun to dip below the treetops on the horizon, but it seemed to Scott as though it must have stuck there. Instead of the sudden darkness which usually came with the setting of the sun in that country, the twilight held on and on. They both heaved a sigh of relief when the rim of the sun finally disappeared behind the trees and the dusk settled rapidly over the forest.

“What do you suppose they will think when they don’t find anything?” Murphy grinned.

“Probably lick the kid for ‘seeing things’ and let it go at that,” Scott chuckled.