Читать книгу Poppy Ott Hits the Trail - Edward Edson Lee - Страница 6

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Young Gummy, as we called him, had a big opinion of himself. And having inherited a piece of land in the northern hills, near Clarks Falls, it was his intention to survey the tract himself. He was dead sure, he told Bid, as I further hugged the near-by bushes, that the Long Lost lead mine was on his property. For he had found an old map among his father’s papers. And he had every reason to believe, he concluded, that it was an exact copy of the map that the Indian had drawn on the ground for the trapper.

I expected next to hear the chesty young prospector say something about a cave under the falls. But he didn’t. And was it ever a relief to me when he finally admitted to his chum that the map was incomplete.

“But I’m positive,” he wound up, “that the lead mine is somewhere near the falls. For that’s where the trail leads to. And that’s where the trapper was killed by a landslide.”

“Evidently,” says Bid, “the trapper must have made two copies of the ground map. For he needed a copy himself, to tell him where to go. And if he was killed by a landslide, as you say, the paper must have been buried with him.”

“I think his wife copied the ground map too,” young Gummy gave his head a wise wag. “But evidently a shower came up before she finished it. For the map suddenly ends just at the most important part.”

“And do you really believe that you can find the lead mine?” Bid spoke excitedly.

“Why not? I’ve got a better chance than anybody else.”

(So he thought!)

“Gee, you sure are a lucky guy!”

“What have you been doing all winter?” Gummy then inquired sociably.

“Oh, fooling around,” Bid shrugged.

“Is Jerry Todd and his gang still on earth?”

“Sure thing. But I hardly ever see them any more. For they’ve learned that it’s wise to keep out of my way.”

“Yes,” Gummy spoke meanly, matching his words with a dark look, “and if they know what’s good for them they’ll continue to keep out of your way. And mine too. For I don’t care to have them snooping around on my property. And that’s what they’d do, all right, if they got wise to my plans.”

“They’ll never find out anything from me,” Bid promised faithfully.

“Jerry thinks that the woods are free. But when I get my signs up I’ll show him that there’s one part of the woods that isn’t free.”

Bid leaned forward eagerly.

“Can you have him arrested for trespassing?”

“Absolutely.”

“Boy, I hope he does butt in on us. For I’d like to see you put him behind the bars. That would take him down a peg or two.”

“Does he still chum around with that big Shaw boy?”

“Sure thing.”

“How about Scoop Ellery?”

“He’s still in the gang. In fact, they’ve got one more in their gang than I have in mine.”

“But you can still lick ’em, huh?”

“Easy,” Bid lied.

And did I ever want to laugh!

“I know very well what will happen,” Gummy proceeded, “if Jerry finds out that I’m fencing in the falls. And until I can complete the survey, and get my signs up, I have no legal right to order him away. But I don’t want him hanging around at any time. So the thing for us to do, I guess, is to round up your whole gang. Then, if he shows up, we can put him out by force.”

“Hot dog!” cried Bid.

“I have one tent in the car. But we’ll probably need another.”

“How about the eats?”

“I’ll furnish the grub. But you’ve got to bring your own bedding.”

“I’ll have everything ready by six-thirty to-morrow morning,” promised Bid.

“Make it ten-thirty. For I’ll need time to buy the grub.”

“Do you know anything about the country up there?”

“Not much.”

“There’s a log cabin near the falls. And the people who live there drive in and out. They’re friends of my grandmother’s. So I can fix it up with them to take care of the car.”

“Who are they?”

“Three old maids by the name of Saucer.”

“Saucer! Haw, haw, haw! Some name. They ought to marry three brothers by the name of Cup. Then there’d be three Cups and Saucers.”

Bid thought that was awfully funny.

“And what would their children be?” he hee-hawed. “Pie plates?”

“Salt and pepper shakers, of course.”

“How many will your car carry?” Bid then inquired.

“As many as we’ve got to put in it.”

“The fellows will yip their heads off when I tell them about this.”

“Well, tell them not to do their yipping in front of Jerry Todd and his gang. We’re going prepared. But I’d just as soon have the woods to myself for a couple of weeks.”

Mrs. Glimme had gone to the kitchen to prepare a lunch for the newcomer. I could see her moving about in the lighted house. And now she called her grandson inside.

Bid started for the street, but stopped abruptly, and then screeched bloody murder, when a huge ungainly object crossed his path.

It was old Davey!

I later took the turtle home. And then I went back to Poppy’s house. Surely, I told myself, he’d be home by midnight. And wondering what he’d do, when he learned of young Glimme’s plans, I settled myself on the front porch.

I had time now to think of that odd conversation between the two women. And I found myself wondering what Mrs. Glimme had done that made it necessary for her to buy the other woman’s silence. There had been mention of a love match between the Glimme boy and the Saucer woman’s younger sister. This match seemingly had been opposed by the wealthy Tutter woman. She finally separated the pair. And then something had happened.

I knew, of course, that the Glimme boy had disappeared. But I still didn’t believe that his own mother had secretly put him out of the way—not even to separate him from an undesirable girl. For at the time of his disappearance he was married! It stood to reason that the mentioned separation had occurred long before that. No, I told myself, Bardwell Glimme’s disappearance was a puzzle in itself. There might be a crime there. But it wasn’t the thing that the mean country woman had referred to. There was something else. And slowly it percolated into my bean that whatever that “something else” was, it led directly to the unhappy boy that Poppy had met at the falls.

The boy’s aunts were getting hush money from Mrs. Glimme. I knew that to be a fact. And maybe, the conclusion formed itself in my head, the money was pay for keeping the poor kid out of sight.

It didn’t seem possible that Mrs. Glimme would do a thing like that. Yet the facts of the case were against her. And I found an ugly feeling toward her growing up inside of me. I’m a boy myself. I want a square deal. I want other boys to have a square deal. And in this particular case I was ready to fight for the boy who wasn’t getting a square deal.

Mrs. Glimme’s money wouldn’t save her. If she was selfishly ruining the country boy’s life, I intended, with Poppy’s help, to expose her. And then the law could take care of her.

But granting that my theory was correct, who could the boy be? And what would Mrs. Glimme benefit by keeping him out of sight?

It sure was a puzzle, all right.

I grew sleepy as the lights around me went out one after another. And finally I lit out for home, figuring that when I woke up in the morning, at the regular time, Poppy would be there to tell me his story.

“Is that you, Jerry?” came sleepily from mum’s bedroom, when I tiptoed up the stairs.

I stopped to give her a good-night kiss.

“I hope,” says she, “that you won’t feel compelled to stay up many nights like this to accommodate your new chum.”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” I confessed.

“Who is he?” she spoke curiously.

“His name is Saucer,” says I.

And then I asked her if she knew anything about the three old maids who lived near the falls. She had heard of them, she said. But she acted kind of funny when I told her that they had a boy in the family. He couldn’t be a real nephew, she declared, for none of the sisters had a husband. Which gave me something more to think about.

Maybe, I considered, as I got into bed, the boy had been left at their house in a basket. Such things do happen. Or possibly they had gotten him at some orphans’ asylum.

But why should they take him out of an asylum and then hide him in the woods? That was the part that stumped me.

My thoughts then jumped to the cave under the falls. And a queer tingle stole over me as I pictured its probable riches. Good old Poppy! It was like him, I told myself, to want to share his good fortune with me. And yet, the troubled thought shoved itself at me, we were liable to lose everything if young Gummy’s survey turned out as he anticipated.

His unexpected appearance on the scene didn’t help our case a-tall. And I found myself wondering what Poppy would do when he learned of the rich kid’s intentions. Would we race the cocky young surveyor to the falls? And would we later drive him off? That would be fun. But if he really owned the land we’d be the losers in the end. For once he had proved his claim to the tract, he could drive us off and keep us off.

Gosh! There was need for prompt action, all right. I could see that. And for a moment or two I was tempted to get quietly out of bed and go back to Poppy’s house. But I finally decided to stay where I was, hopeful that my chum would show up early in the morning.

Mum got me out of bed at six-thirty.

“Did you know,” says she, as she put out a clean shirt for me, “that Poppy Ott has disappeared?”

“Huh?” says I sleepily, unable at first to comprehend what she was talking about.

Then, as I got my wits together, I gave the bed covers a throw.

“Isn’t Poppy home yet?” I inquired excitedly.

“No. And if you have any idea where he is, you better get up and talk with Mr. Ott. For he just telephoned. And he’ll be here in a minute or two.”

Poppy had a bad woman to deal with. I realized that. And I wondered, with a sinking heart, if he had gotten into trouble. He had set out to do the rescuing act. But it wasn’t improbable, I told myself, that he needed rescuing himself.

Mr. Ott came in grumbling.

“Hen scratchin’,” he spoke in his odd sputtering way. “Nothin’ but hen scratchin’. An’ him stayin’ out all night too. Humph! I ought to use a switch on him.”

“Jerry himself was out till midnight,” mum informed.

“Thar you be, Miz Todd!” the old man spoke triumphantly. “Thar you be! They’re two of a kind. One stays out till midnight. An’ the other stays out all night. We ought to switch the both of ’em.”

Mum smiled. For she knew very well that the old man’s savageness was all put on. As a matter of fact he thinks that the sun rises and sets in his son. And I doubt if Poppy ever got a switching in all his life. Instead of switching him, as threatened, Mr. Ott backs him up in everything he does.

Now the glowering old man handed me a paper.

“Hen scratchin’,” says he again. “Nothin’ but hen scratchin’.”

I gave an excited cry.

“It’s a note from Poppy.”

“The farmer I buy milk from found it tied to his back door when he got up this morning at daybreak to milk his cows. It had my name on it. So he got me out of bed to deliver it.”

Mum glanced over my shoulder.

“It does look like hen scratching,” she declared.

“It’s written in code,” I explained, with continued excitement.

Poppy should have been home hours ago. And the fact that he had written to his father in code (realizing, of course, that the puzzled parent would promptly bring the secret message to me), proved that something unusual had happened, as I suspected.

Mr. Ott hung over me nervously as I deciphered the secret message word for word.

“Evidently,” he grunted, “you an’ Poppy must ’a’ made this up between you.”

I nodded, too busy at the time to tell him that my chum had gotten the simple code out of a book.

In order to decipher the message I first made three diagrams like this:

Here is the message as it was brought to me:

And here is what I got out of it:

Meet me at the falls as soon as possible. Bring Red’s diving outfit and Davey Jones. Sammy Saucer just told me something that almost knocked my eyes out. I was right about the cave. To save time I will send this note to town with our milkman who lives near here. Tell dad I will be home as soon as possible. Try and get here by noon. Bring Sammy some candy as he never had any. We are hiding from his aunts. If you see them in the woods do not let on to them that you know anything about us. Your excited pal Poppy.

“Whar is he?” Mr. Ott inquired, when the completed note had been read to him.

“At Clarks Falls,” I informed.

“Doin’ what?”

“Searching for the Long Lost lead mine.”

“Fol-de-rol!” the old man sputtered.

“I doubt if I can get there by noon,” I spoke thoughtfully. “But I ought to make it by night.”

“If—” mum put in pointedly.

“If what?” says I, searching her face.

“If your father and I decide to let you go.”

But there was nothing in that to yap over. For I could tell by her manner that she had no intention of keeping me at home. Dear old mum! She just said that to remind me that she had a claim on me.

Mr. Ott started off, still sputtering to himself, but came back to take another look at the deciphered note.

“Divin’ outfit,” says he, scowling at the message. “What does he mean by that?”

“Evidently,” I dropped the hint, “he has to use a diving outfit to get into the lead cave.”

“Humph! They hain’t no lead cave. That’s just a tradition.”

“We may surprise you,” says I.

Mum took the note.

“But what in the world is Poppy going to do with Davey Jones?” she inquired.

“Old Davey,” I spoke nonsensically, “is a diving machine in himself. And who knows but what Poppy is going to teach him to swim into the cave and come out with hunks of lead in his mouth?”

That was too much for old Mr. Ott. And he went off shaking his shaggy head. Boys were a queer mess, he said.

Later he sent a whole raft of camping supplies to the house. Which proved in itself that he had a lot of confidence in us, even if he did think we were queer!

I knew, of course, that Poppy never intended to use old Davey to lift the lead in the submerged cave. My clever chum had some other important use for the unusual turtle.

And I wondered myself what was coming.