“The scoundrel! He was planning to keep you out of the way, I suppose, till he could dispose of some of his loot. He must have planned something to head me off, too. Never mind! his finish is close now. I struck another piece of luck in Ormond. This gentleman,” indicating one of the party whom Tom did not recognize, “is Joe Gillespie, the postmaster there. I used to know him, and he was concerned in the liquidation of the Wilson Lumber Company, so he can testify that I really bought the raft. He’s a magistrate too, so we have the law with us.”
“Good. That’ll fix Harrison!” said Tom, rejoicing. “Let’s hurry ahead.”
“Better not go up lake. Mebbe him lay for us. Go through woods,” put in Charlie.
“I’d take Charlie’s advice on anything now,” said Tom. “He’s right. Better not let Harrison see us coming, though I don’t think he’d make any resistance to so large a party as this.”
First of all it was necessary to cross the river, and Charlie brought up the canoe and ferried them all over. Thence they filed up the shore for half a mile, and then, under the Indian’s guidance, turned into the woods, and made a detour to come around to the narrows at the head of Little Coboconk.
Part of these woods had been swept by the fire, and the walking was bad, choked with fallen timber and half-burned logs. Tom was astonished at his father’s strength. Even after the long tramp he had had that day he pushed through the woods almost as actively as any of them. The familiar atmosphere of the woods and the prospect of action had restored the invalid to health almost magically.
Remembering the doctor’s caution not to overdo the exercise, however, Tom insisted on their stopping for occasional rests. With this slow progress it was almost two hours before Charlie veered to the left. They caught a glimpse of the waters of the lake beyond the scraggly and scorched spruces, and thenceforth they had to move more cautiously.
The shore was a quarter of a mile farther, and by glimpses they saw the white tents, the dark bulk of the raft, and the men’s figures moving about it. Work seemed to be going slowly, however; as they halted at last about a hundred yards from the camp, crouching behind a half-burned clump of willow, Tom thought that operations were entirely suspended.
“Harrison’s found out that I’ve vanished and doesn’t know what to do next,” he chuckled to his father. “Look, that’s Harrison—the man in the brown shirt and soft hat. I don’t know the man with him—some stranger.”
Mr. Jackson took out a field-glass and scrutinized the camp for a few minutes.