Not until Frischette was in the act of picking up the box, preparing to go, was Sandy able to determine about the lock. A key would not be necessary. The small but formidable-looking chest could easily be opened. Sandy smiled to himself.
All that remained to be done now, he reasoned, was to follow Frischette and learn where he kept his treasure. Then, when the opportunity arose, they would ransack the box. It would not take long to solve the mystery surrounding Dewberry’s priceless poke.
CHAPTER V
A MIDNIGHT PROWLER
To follow a man through Arctic twilight, to slink from tree to tree and cover to cover, to keep hid always and make very little sound—is not an easy accomplishment. At least, the three boys found that it was not. They stole stealthily along about fifty yards behind Frischette, attempting to keep within that distance, neither advancing too quickly nor too slowly.
The wood they had entered was exceedingly dense, in places almost impassable. Underbrush grew so thick that it choked out even the grass. So thick indeed was the undergrowth, through which Frischette hurried, that it was utterly impossible always to keep within sight of him. Now and again they would see his hurrying form, only to lose it a moment later. Sometimes the crackling of the underbrush would reveal his whereabouts. At other times the boys would be in doubt as to where he was, and would come to the conclusion that perhaps they had lost him. Then they would hesitate about pressing on for fear that they might walk boldly out in plain view of him.
Yet always they contrived to pick up his trail, either by finding his footprints or by hearing some slight sound ahead. As they continued their pursuit, their astonishment grew. Why did the Frenchman seek out a hiding place so far from the house? Had his greed completely unseated his mind? Already, Dick estimated, they had come at least two miles, and yet Frischette showed no sign of stopping. He was walking at a furious pace now, his nimble legs darting along over the uncarpeted forest path. He hugged his treasure-box to him and fairly plunged through thicket and across the open spaces, occasionally muttering to himself.
To the boys’ amazement, the chase ended abruptly. They had come out to a small clearing in which stood a cabin. Frischette’s fingers stole to his lips and a peculiarly soft, bird-like whistle sounded through the forest. Then the Frenchman remained standing where he was until the door opened and a slouching figure emerged.
At sight of the occupant of the cabin, the boys gasped in wonder. Never before had they seen so unusual a person. He was bent and old, and hobbled as he walked, in one hand a cane to guide him. His head was hatless, covered with a thick, straggling crop of hair, some of which fluttered into his face and over his shoulders. His beard was long and heavy—of a peculiar reddish tinge, streaked with gray.
He approached Frischette, pausing a few feet from him, and looked up at his visitor with eyes that peeped out from the shadowed depressions between his beard and eyebrows like two black beads. The Frenchman was the first to speak:
“I bring back ze box again, M’sieur Creel. You will take et an’ watch over et. You are a faithful guardian, my friend. I weesh to compliment you. Ever’zing ees here: ze money, ze treasure—ever’zing.”