Arthur and Roy readily agreed to the proposition, and on the day I was restored to my lawful master the arrangements for the return trip had all been completed. They were only waiting for Fly-rod, whose broken joint was being repaired by a skilled mechanic. He came the day after I got home, and you may be sure I was glad to see him once more. We passed the night in relating our adventures and exploits, and daylight the next morning found us on the wharf, waiting for Arthur Hastings to bring up the skiff.
The trip down the river, through the pond where the “battle in the dark” took place, and thence to Indian lake, was made without the occurrence of any incident worthy of note, and in due time the skiff was run upon the beach in front of the Sportman’s Home. We did not see Matt Coyle or any of his family on the way, but we heard of them in less than ten minutes after we arrived at the lake. While Joe and his chums were overhauling the stern locker, in search of the letters they had written the night before, Mr. Swan came up.
“You’re here, ain’t you?” said he, in his cheery way. “Now you are off for that spring-hole, I suppose.[suppose.] Well, if you will go into the woods without a guide to take care of you, No-Man’s Pond is the safest place for you. But you want to watch out for Matt Coyle, no matter where you go. He’s down on all you Mount Airy folks, and Rube Royall heard him say that he was intending to tie you to a tree and larrup you.”
“Does Matt carry an insurance on his life?” inquired Roy. “If not, he’ll think twice before he tries that.”
“Who is Rube Royall?” asked Arthur.
“He is acting as watchman at the State hatchery, but he is really in Hanson’s employ,” replied Mr. Swan. “Of course Rube keeps poachers away from the outlet of nights, but he was hired to watch Matt Coyle. He’s too lazy to be a guide, Rube is; but he’s honest, and hates Matt as bad as I do.”
“Why does Mr. Hanson want to have Matt watched?” asked Joe.
“You remember about the Winchester rifle and Lefever hammerless that were stolen a while back, don’t you?” asked the guide. “Well, the men who own them guns are worth anywhere from twenty-five to fifty dollars a day to the hotel they put up at, because they always bring a big crowd with them. They went home madder’n a couple of wet hens, saying that they would never come to this lake again till their guns had been found and Matt put in jail. We could have arrested Matt long ago, for he’s been living with Rube ever since we burned him out; but if we’d done it we should have lost the guns, for Matt would stay in jail till he died there before he would tell where the guns were hidden. He’s just that obstinate. However, Rube don’t need to watch him any more. Hanson’s got the guns, and who do you think brought them to him. It was Tom Bigden and his cousins.”
Although I was closely packed in my case I caught every word of the conversation I have recorded, and I assure you I was surprised to hear this. Had Tom complied with Matt’s demands and paid him fifty dollars for the guns? Why didn’t Joe ask the guide to go into details? Probably he didn’t think it worth while, for all he said was—
“I wish those fellows had stayed at home.”