Unfortunately an incident happened that very afternoon which made it comparatively easy for the three schemers to carry out the plans they proposed. It was, in fact, a fight between a squatter and the Mount Airy authorities, to whom he had made himself obnoxious. Tom and his cousins were witnesses of the preliminary skirmish, that is, the serving of the notice of ejectment, and when they heard a full report of the matter from one of the boys to whom Prime introduced them, their delight was almost unbounded. Tom danced a horn-pipe in the excess of his joy, and repeatedly declared that nothing could have happened that was so well calculated to further their designs. It came about in this way:
Mr. Wayring’s summer cottages were all located on the opposite shore of the lake. The road that led to them ran down the hill, around the foot of the lake, and through a little settlement which bore the euphonious name of “Stumptown.” Why this name had been given to it no one seemed to know. It certainly was not appropriate, for there was not a stump to be seen in any of its well-cultivated gardens, from which the Mount Airy and Lambert Houses drew their supplies of vegetables and small fruits.
The male members of this little community were licensed guides and boatmen—the only ones, in fact, who had the right to serve the guests of the hotels in that capacity. They lived on Mr. Wayring’s land, and in neat little cottages which the liberal owner had erected for their especial benefit. When the season was over and the guests returned to their homes in the city, these men hunted and trapped in the mountains, and entertained the village boys, with whom they were great favorites, and who often invaded their humble abodes during the long winter evenings, with thrilling and amusing tales of life in the wilderness. They taught the boys woodcraft, and made themselves so useful in other ways, that the young Nimrods of the village had never been able to decide how they could manage to get on without them.
Into this settlement there came one day an unkempt man, with a red nose and a very forbidding face, who brought with him a large punt, into which he had crowded all his worldly treasures, including his wife and two stalwart sons, not one of whom was one whit more prepossessing than the husband and father. Without saying a word to any body the red-nosed man, who answered to the name of Matt Coyle, took possession of a piece of ground that had been cleared but not fenced in, and began the erection of a shanty with boards which formed a part of the punt’s cargo. While he and his sons were at work Mr. Hastings, who was one of the village trustees, rode by. He did not at all like the appearance of the new-comers, but he had nothing to say to them. There was room for more guides and boatmen, and Matt and his family might turn out better than they looked. If they proved to be honest, industrious people who were willing to work for a living, Mr. Hastings was perfectly willing that they should stay, and he knew that Mr. Wayring would provide a house and garden for them. If they proved to be objectionable in any way, it would be an easy matter to get rid of them.
Shortly after Mr. Hastings passed out of sight Matt Coyle wanted a drink; and he found it—not in the lake, or in the ice-cold spring from which the guides obtained their supply of water, but in a jug which he fished out from a lot of miscellaneous rubbish in the punt. After he had quenched his thirst he passed the jug over to his wife and boys, the whole proceeding being witnessed by Nat Clark, the oldest man and best guide and boatman in the settlement, who was getting his skiff ready to take out a fishing party from one of the hotels.
“Look a yer, friend,” said Nat. “What you got into that there jug o’ your’n?”
“The best kind o’ whisky,” answered Matt Coyle, cheerfully. “An’ I’ve got as much as half a bar’l more in the punt. Want a drop?”
“Not much,” replied Nat, emphatically. “An’ if you’re goin’ to stay about yer, you’d best knock in the head of that there bar’l an’ smash that there jug without wastin’ no time.”
“What fur?” demanded the red-nosed man, who was very much surprised.
“’Cause why, it’s agin the law fur stuff of that kind to be brung into these yer grounds.”