“Nor I,” answered the guide. “They sw’ar they’ll pound him before he goes to jail, and they look to me like fellers that will keep their word.”
“Say, boys,” exclaimed Mr. Swan, as he backed water with his oars and brought his boat to a stand-still at the stern of the skiff, “can’t you stay here till we come back? We want your evidence.”
“We’ll be around, you may depend upon that,” returned Roy. “But we’re not going to stay here, if you will let us take part in the hunt. Joe has gone up to the hotel after a boat.”
“Oh! All right,” said Mr. Swan. “Them’s two of the lads that had the battle in the dark that I was telling you about,” he added, addressing himself to the owner of the lost “scatter-gun”, who was his employer.
“Well, I must say that they are plucky fellows, and that they deserve better luck,” said the gentleman, returning the military salute which the boys gave him from sheer force of habit. “I hope their skiff can be easily repaired, Mr. Morris?”
“No trouble about that, sir,” answered the guide. “She’ll be right and tight before sundown—all except the paint.”
After telling Roy and his companion that if they did not overtake him before, they would find him encamped somewhere on the bank of the creek near the pond, Mr. Swan applied himself to his oars, and a fleet of seven boats, manned by fourteen angry and determined guides and guests, set out in pursuit of Matt Coyle and his thieving crew. Ten minutes later Joe Wayring returned, accompanied by a guide and a small party of ladies and gentlemen. The former was to show him what boat he could take, and the latter were listening with much interest to Joe’s graphic account of his adventures with the squatter. Joe was surprised to learn that Matt’s way of creeping up through the bushes and robbing unguarded camps, had frightened the women and children so badly that they refused to go into the woods until the thief had been captured and safely lodged in jail. That depended upon the evidence Joe could give to put him there.
“That’s all mighty fine,” said Mr. Morris, after listening to what Joe had to say of his conversation with the stranger, “but they don’t give a thought to the hardest part of the business. Matt ain’t caught yet, and there’ll have to be a heap of hard work done before he is shut up so’t he can’t steal no more scatter-guns; you see if there ain’t. I’d like to take a hand in the hunt myself, but I’ve got to go out with the same man I guided for last year, and he’s liable to come along any day.”
Their boat having been pointed out to them, Joe and his companions lost no time in putting their effects aboard of it. Then they bade Mr. Morris good-by, lifted their caps to the party on shore, and rowed down the lake and up the creek in pursuit of the fleet. They overtook Mr. Swan and his party just before they landed to eat their lunch, traveled in company with them during the rest of the day, and went into camp with them at night. I had abundant opportunity to compare notes with the three recovered bait-rods, who corroborated the story that was told me by the canvas canoe, and which I have already given to the reader in my own words. The squatter was fully resolved, they said, that if he couldn’t act as guide in those woods, nobody should; and the worst of it was, he seemed to be in a fair way to accomplish his object. The sportsmen who patronized the hotels came there for fun and recreation; and it wasn’t likely that they could see much of it if their wives and children were to be prevented from accompanying them on their fishing excursions through fear of this man, Matt Coyle. The owners of the Lefever hammerless and Winchester rifle didn’t see much fun in having their fine weapons stolen, and if these depredations were not stopped, and that speedily, it would not be long before the guests would be looking for some place of resort where thieves were not quite so plenty.
“But even that isn’t the worst of it,” continued Joe’s bait-rod, who did the most of the talking. “Every thing seems to indicate that the squatter is going to have a bigger following now than he has been able to boast of in the past. He isn’t the only worthless scamp there is in the woods, by any means. You know, I suppose, that the State fish commissioners have established a hatchery at the outlet of Deer Lake, a few miles from here?”