November Joe/Chapter 13

Such, then, was the story of our coming to Kalmacks, and for the next two or three days we spent our time fishing in the streams, the only move in the direction of the main object of our visit being that Joe, whom Linda insisted upon accompanying, walked over to Senlis Lake and had a look at the scene of Worke's accident. The old tracks, of course, were long since washed away, and I thought with the others that Joe's visit had been fruitless, until he showed me the shell of an exploded cartridge.

"The bullet which went through Bill Worke's leg came out of that. I found it on the hill above. It's a 45–75 central fire Winchester, the old '76 model."

"This is a great discovery you and Miss Petersham have made."

"She don't know nothing about it," said November. "It's best she should n't, Mr. Quaritch."

​"Do you mean to say you found this and never told her?"

Joe smiled. "There's nothing much to it, anyway; she lost her brooch somewhere by the lake, and was lookin' for it when I found this." Joe indicated the exploded shell. "The mountains is full of 45–75 Winchesters, 1876 pattern. Some years back a big ironmongery store down here went bust and threw a fine stock of them calibre rifles on the market. A few dollars would buy one, so there's one in pretty nigh every house, and two and three in some. Howsoever, it may be useful to know that him that shot Bill Worke carried that kind o' a rifle; still, we'd best keep it to ourselves, Mr. Quaritch."

"All right," said I. "By the way, Joe, there's a side to the situation I don't understand. We've been here four days and nothing has happened. I mean Mr. Petersham has had no word of where to put the five thousand dollars blackmail these criminals are demanding of him."

"Maybe there's a reason for that."

"I can't think of any."

"What about the sand?"

​"The sand?" I repeated.

"Yes, have n't you noticed? I got Mr. Petersham to have two loads of sand brought up from the lake, and laid all round the house. It takes a track wonderful. I guess it's pretty near impossible to come nigh the house without leaving a clear trail. But the first rainy night, I mean when there's rain enough to wash out tracks. . ."

"They'll come?"

"Yes, they'll likely come."

But as it happened Joe was wrong. I believe that his reasoning was correct enough, and that it was the fear of leaving such marks as would enable us to gather something of their identity that kept the enemy from pinning upon our door the letter which finally arrived prosaically enough in a cheap store envelope that bore the Priamville postmark. The contents of this letter were as follows:—

Petersham, you go alone to Butler's Cairn 11 o'clock Friday night. Take the dollars along; youl be met their and can hand it over.

Petersham read the note out to Joe and myself.

"Where's Butler's Cairn?" he asked.

"I know it," said November. "Butler's Cairn is on a hill about two miles west of here."

"I suppose you won't go?" said I.

"With the money? Certainly not!"

"You can hardly go without it."

"Why not?"

"You would be shot down."

"I'd talk to the ruffians first, and then if there was any shooting, I guess I'd be as much in it as they would."

"I suggest that we all three go," I said.

But Joe would have none of this plan.

"There's nothing to be gained by that, Mr. Quaritch. You bet these fellas'll keep a pretty bright lookout. If they saw three of us coming, they'd shoot as like as not."

"We can shoot also, I suppose!"

"That's true, Mr. Petersham, but it ain't likely we'd hit any one. These chaps'll hide in among the rocks. They'd see us plain, for there ​is a bit of a moon, but we would n't get an eye on them. No, we can't do no good that-a-ways," said Joe.

"How can we do any good, as you call it, at all?"

"I was thinking I might slip right along to Butler's Cairn and maybe get a look at the fellas."

"No!" said Petersham, decidedly. "I won't allow it. You say yourself you would be shot."

"I said we would get shot, not me alone. Three men can't go quiet where one can."

"You think they will be at Butler's Cairn whether I go there or not?"

"Sure. They want to know if you're giving in, and they won't be able to tell unless they go and see. Now, Mr. Quaritch, you tell Mr. Petersham there ain't much danger for me, seeing I've learnt to move quiet in the woods. I'll try my luck to-night."

And so finally it was arranged, though not without a good deal of argument with Petersham.

The evening fell wild and windy, but with a clear sky save for occasional fleecy clouds ​that raced across the face of the moon. Joe took advantage of one of these dark intervals to drop out of one of the back windows, and was immediately swallowed up into the night.

"That's a fine fellow," remarked Petersham.

I nodded.

"The kind of fellow who fought with and bettered the Iroquois at their own game. I wonder what he will see at Butler's Cairn."

It was past midnight when Joe appeared again. Petersham and I both asked for his news.

November shook his head. "I've nothing to tell; nothing at all. I did n't see no one."

"What? You mean that no one came after all?" exclaimed Petersham.

"Not that I saw."

"Where were you?"

"Lying down on top of the Cairn itself. There's good corners to it."

"You could see well round, then, and if any one had come you would not have failed to observe them."

"Couldn't be too sure. There was some dark ​times when the moon was shut in by clouds. They might 'a' come them times, though I don't think they did. But I'll know for certain soon, unless it comes on heavy rain. . . . There's a fine little lake they calls Butler's Pond up there. You take your fishpole, Mr. Quaritch, and we'll go over at sunrise and you try for some of them trout, while I take a scout round for tracks."

This we did, but search as Joe would, he failed to discover any sign at all. He told me this when he joined me at breakfast-time.

"Evidently no one came," I said, as I watched him fry the bacon over a small fire.

"That's so."

After I had caught a nice string of trout, we walked back to Kalmacks, circling round the house before we entered it. The sand lay undisturbed by any strange footstep, but when we got in we found Mr. Petersham in a state of the greatest excitement.

"One of the blackmailers has had a long talk with Puttick!" he told us.

"What?"

"Incredible as it sounds, it is so."

​"But when was this?"

"Early this morning, some time after you and Joe started. This is how it happened. Puttick had just got up and gone down with a tin of rosin and some spare canvas and tin to mend that canoe we ripped on the rock yesterday. In fact he had only just begun working, when he was startled by a voice ordering him to hold up his hands."

"By Jove! What next?"

"Why, he held them up. He had no choice. And then a man stepped out from behind the big rock that's just above where the canoe lies."

"I hope Puttick recognized him?"

"No; the fellow had a red handkerchief tied over his nose and mouth, only his eyes showed under the brim of a felt hat that was pulled low down over them. He carried a rifle that he kept full on Puttick's chest while they talked. . . . But I'll call Puttick, he can finish the account of the affair himself. That's best."

Puttick answered to the call, and after running over the story which was exactly similar to that we had just heard from Petersham, he continued:—

​"The tough had a red hanker tied over his ugly face, nothing but his eyes showing. He had me covered with his gun to rights all the time."

"What kind of a gun was it?"

"I did n't see; leastways, I did n't notice."

"Well, had he anything to say?"

"He kep' me that way a minute before he started speaking. 'You tell Petersham,' says he, 'it's up to him to pay right away. Tell him unless he goes at once to Butler's Cairn and takes the goods and leaves them there on the big flat stone by the rock, he'll hear from us afore evening, and he'll hear in a way that'll make him sorry all his life. And as for you, Ben Puttick, you take a hint and advise old man Petersham to buy us off, and he can't be too quick about doing it either. If he tries escape we'll get him on the road down to Priamville.' After he'd done talking, he made me put my watch on the canoe—that I'd turned bottom up to get at that rent—and warned me not to move for half an hour. When the half-hour was up, I come right away and tell you."

​"How was the chap dressed?" inquired Joe.

"Like most of 'em. Dark old coat and ragged pair of trousers and moccasins."

"What colour was his socks?"

"Could n't see. He had his trousers stuffed into them kind o' half-boot moccasins that buckle at the knee. The stores to Priamville are full of them."

"Tall or short was he?"

"Medium-like."

"Which way did he go when he left you?"

"West; right along the bank."

"You followed his trail after the half-hour was over?"

Puttick opened his eyes. "He did n't leave none."

"Left no trail! How's that?" cried Petersham.

But Joe interposed. "You mean he kep' to the stones in the bed o' the brook all the time?"

"That's it. And, anyway, if I'd got fooling lookin' for his tracks I'd 'a' got a bullet in me same as Bill Worke," ended the little man. "They're all watching for us."

​We were silent for a moment. Then Petersham turned to Puttick.

"What do you think of it, Ben? You have some experience of these squatters up here. Do you think they mean business?"

"There ain't much fooling about these mountain men," Puttick answered bitterly. "And now I says this to you, Mr. Petersham, and I can't never say nothing stronger. If you're minded to stay on here at this place, you must pay."

"You know well enough I don't intend to pay."

"Listen a bit, Mr. Petersham. Here's my notion. You'd best pay if you don't want . . ." the warden paused.

"What? What? Go on!"

"If you don't want Miss Petersham hurt or killed."

"My daughter?"

"That's how I read it. What else could he mean? He said you'd be sorry all your life."

"Good Heavens! Even the most hardened ruffians would not hurt a woman. You don't think it possible?" Petersham turned to me.

​"I think that Linda runs a very great risk by staying."

"Then she shall go."

But when Linda was called and the facts made clear to her, she absolutely refused to leave Kalmacks.

"You will force me to pay the money then," said Petersham, "though I am well aware that this demand will only be the first of many. Whenever these blackmailers want a thousand dollars, aye, or ten thousand dollars, they know they will only have to ask me to supply them. But I can't risk you—I'll pay."

Joe turned to Petersham. "If you climb down now, I'll be right sorry I ever come with you. I don't hold with backing down under a bluff."

I, who knew Joe, was surprised to hear him offer so definite an opinion in such strong terms, but Linda clapped her hands.

"It's all nonsense, is n't it? Why, if any one attempted to hurt me, Joe would make him regret it; would n't you, Joe?" She flashed him a glance of her glorious eyes.

"I'd sure try to hard enough," replied November. "And now, Mr. Quaritch, I'll ask ​Ben here to show me just where the fella stood when he held him up this morning."

So Joe went down to the brook, and I went with him. We were soon beside the canoe which Puttick had been mending.

"Here's where I was, and there's where he stood," said Puttick, pointing to a small mass of rock close by. "And there's the place I set down my watch."

November glanced over the details and then followed the bank of the brook for some distance. Presently he returned.

"Did you strike his trail?" asked Puttick.

"No, the stones lead right away to the lake, and like as not he came in a canoe."

"Like as not," agreed Puttick, and resumed his work on the canoe which had been so rudely interrupted earlier in the day.

We found Linda in the living-room arranging some fishing-tackle. She at once appealed to Joe.

"Oh, Joe, I want to try some of those English lures Mr. Quaritch gave me. I'm going to fish and I want to use this two-jointed pole; will you fix it for me?"

​Joe took the rod and, as he examined it, said:—

"I'd like you to make me a promise, Miss Linda."

"What is it?"

"Not to go out at all to-day."

"But, Joe, it's such a lovely day and you know you thought all that man's talk with Ben Puttick was bluff; that there is really not any danger."

"I did n't say that, Miss Linda."

Linda looked at him in surprise. "But you advised father not to send me away!"

"I know." Joe smiled. "And Mr. Petersham is that angry, he won't speak to me."

"You don't think I'm in danger?"

"You're in great danger, Miss Linda."

"From whom?"

"It's hard to say."

"But I can't stay indoors indefinitely. And anyway, I don't believe they would attack a woman, though if they did you would catch them, Joe."

"I dunno—and it would n't be much good after they'd hurt you—perhaps hurt you bad."

​"Then you must go out with me, Joe. If you are with me, they will not dare. . ."

Joe had fixed the fishing-rod by this time. He handed it back to Linda.

"Look here, Miss Linda, if you'll stay in the house just over to-day, I would n't wonder but it might be quite safe for you to go out to-morrow and ever after."

"Joe! You mean you have discovered—"

"No; I ain't discovered nothing, but if you stay in the way I ask, maybe I shall." Joe took up his hat.

"Where are you going, November?" I asked.

"Over to Senlis Lake, Mr. Quaritch. Will you see Ben Puttick and tell him I won't be back till lateish and will he cook the potatoes and the cornflour cakes, if I don't get back to time? Miss Linda, will you please tell every one, even your father, that you have a mighty painful head and that's why you're staying in?"

"Yes, Joe," said Linda.