The Launch Boys' Adventures in Northern Waters by Edward Sylvester Ellis (best fiction novels of all time .txt) 📕

behind?"

"We didn't!" replied Woodford, with virtuous indignation. "Me and Graff hunted high and low for you and made up our minds you had run off yourself with the swag."

"A fine lot of swag I had, when I had to scoot just after I got the safe open."

While this snatch of conversation was going on, Noxon, who had cut off the power, was edging nearer. Calvert and Hagan squeezed each other so hard that it looked as if they would push themselves through the hull of the launch.

Graff Miller now put in his oar:

"If we didn't get a haul out of the measly post office we've scooped a mighty fine motor boat. We can sell it and gather in enough to last us till we crack another place."

"That won't be as easy as it looks to you. The whole neighborhood is up in arms and we shall have to lie low for awhile."

"Well, we've got enough to keep us a week or so----_Nox, there's somebody in the boat with you_!" exclaimed Miller, who that instant caught sight of the head of one of the crouching men. The craft was now so close that concealment was impossible. In fact, in the same moment that the _Water Witch_ gently bumped against the other boat, Stockham Calvert and Warner Hagan straightened up and bounded across upon the _Deerfoot_. Each grasped a revolver, and Calvert shouted:

"Hands up, or I'll let daylight through you."

The terrified Woodford turned to run, but a bullet whistled past his ear. Perhaps too he realized in that frightful instant that no place of refuge awaited him. The island was too small to allow him to hide himself. He abruptly halted on the edge of the wood, and facing about sullenly raised his hands.

As for Graff Miller he did not attempt to get away. Accepting the order addressed to his leader as applying to himself, he stood stock still and seemed to be doing the best he could to keep the sky from falling on him.

Knowing that Hagan would look after him, Calvert gave his whole attention to Woodford. Keeping his revolver presented, he crossed the narrow deck of the _Deerfoot_ and dropped lightly to the ground. A few steps took him to the cowardly ruffian. Never lowering his weapon, he ran the other hand over the outside of the man's clothing and twitched a revolver from his hip pocket.

"That will do, Christopher; if you now feel an inclination to lower your dirty hands, you have my permission to do so. Perhaps it will not tire you quite so much."

Hardly had he complied when a sharp click sounded. So quickly that it looked like a piece of magic a pair of handcuffs were snapped upon the miscreant, and Hagan was only a few seconds later in doing the same with his prisoner.

The capture of the two was so easy that it suggested a farce.

"If you had only put up a fight, Kit, it would have been a good deal more interesting," said Calvert, "but you always were one of the biggest cowards that ever made a bluff at being a bad man. Get a move on you!"

As meekly as a lamb the prisoner stepped upon the nearest launch, and, as ordered, seated himself on one of the seats at the stern.

"Do you want me to go there too?" humbly asked Graff Miller.

"Of course; step lively."

Calvert explained what was to be done. The handcuffed prisoners were to be taken to Wiscasset on the _Deerfoot_, their captors bearing them company. In that city they would be locked up, and every step that followed would be strictly in accordance with law.

Noxon was to trail after the launch in the _Water Witch_. There was more than one reason for this arrangement. Since both boats were capable of making good speed, it was better than to have one tow the other. If the _Water Witch's_ gasoline gave out, the _Deerfoot_ could take it in tow, but this would not be done unless the necessity arose.

The separation of Noxon from his former associates would prevent an unpleasant scene. Kit Woodford and Graff Miller could not fail to see that Noxon had given them into the hands of the officers. While they were powerless to harm the young man, they could make it uncomfortable for him despite the restraining presence of Calvert and Hogan.

It is safe to say that none of the steamers and other boats encountered on that memorable voyage up stream suspected the meaning of what they saw. One launch was gliding evenly up the river with a second closely resembling it a hundred yards or more to the rear. In the latter sat a young man. In the former were four persons, two of whom had been engaged for weeks in robbing post offices in the State of Maine. No one observed that they wore handcuffs, or dreamed that the man handling the wheel was a famous detective. In this case he was Calvert, who had a fair knowledge of running a motor boat.

The prisoners were sullen and silent for most of the way. Hagan, seated behind Calvert, could protect him from any treacherous attack with the handcuffs. The detective was too wise to invite an assault of that nature.

When a turn in the course brought the long Wiscasset bridge in sight with the pretty town on the left, Kit Woodford turned his head and looked back at the young man who was guiding the other launch.

"What are you going to do with _him_?" he asked, with a black scowl.

"Nothing," replied Hagan.

"Why haven't you got the bracelets on him?"

"He has done us too valuable service. That isn't the way we reward our friends."

Calvert, who had overheard the words, looked round.

"We may need his evidence to land you and Graff in Atlanta."

The remark was so illuminating that the prisoner said never a word. The occasion was one of those in which language falls short of doing justice to the emotions of the persons chiefly involved. It was Graff Miller who snarled with a smothered rage which it is hard to picture:

"I'll get even with him if I have to wait ten years."

"You'll have to wait all of that and probably longer," said Calvert, "and by that time I don't think Orestes Noxon will care much what you try to do."

The detective pronounced the name with emphasis, to learn whether it attracted any notice. It did not so far as he could judge, whereat he was glad.

The criminals were put behind bars, and the young man strolled through the street to the railway station. On the way, the elder said:

"It looks to me as if you have a clear title to the _Water Witch_. What do you wish to do with it?"

"Sell it to someone so I shall never see it again."

"If you will turn the boat over to me I think I can dispose of it for you. Have you any price in mind?"

"Sell the launch for whatever you can get, if it isn't more than twenty-three cents."

"All right; I'll fix it. Here is the railway office. You have enough funds?"

"Plenty. I shall a buy a through ticket to--_home_."

"Of course. I shall call upon you this autumn. Good-by, Horace."

"Good-by to one of the best friends I ever had. God bless you!"


CHAPTER XXXI

GATHERING UP THE RAVELLED THREADS

The records show that not long ago there were a number of post office robberies among the towns and villages in that section of Maine to which some attention has been given in the preceding pages. Not all the guilty parties were captured, but we know of two, or rather three, who were caught in the toils. Two of them, Kit Woodford and Graff Miller, were convicted in the United States Court at Portland, for, to use a common expression, they were caught with the goods on them, and sentenced to long terms in the Atlanta penitentiary. There they are sure to stay for an indefinite time to come, provided they are not soon released on parole, or pardoned on the ground of poor health. Let us hope for better things.

During the trial of the criminals inquiries were heard for the third member of the gang, but he seemed to have vanished as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed him. Possibly the Judge learned all the facts from Detective Calvert and saw that justice would be best served by winking at the youth's offence. Moreover, an officer of the law cannot be punished for the escape of a prisoner unless gross carelessness or collusion is proved, which was not easy in the case named. Be that as it may, Orestes Noxon no longer exists. In his place rises another young man, "redeemed and disenthralled"--a brand plucked from the burning. The grandest work of our penal institution is that of reforming instead of wreaking revenge upon the erring ones. It certainly proved so in the instance named. The parents of the youth knew he had strayed from the narrow path, but it will be a long time before they learn how far his wayward footsteps led him. There is no need of their ever knowing the painful truth. Detective Calvert simply told the grateful father that his boy had gotten into bad company, but the error could never be repeated, nor can I believe it ever will be.

One day Gideon Landon, the wealthy banker and capitalist of New York, received a characteristic letter from his son Alvin. He said his motor boat _Deerfoot_ had been housed for the winter, there to remain until next summer, and he and Chester Haynes had had the time of their lives, for which they could never thank the kind parent enough. The son meant to prove his gratitude by acts instead of words, for he intended to buckle down to hard work and not rest until he was through West Point and had become General of the United States Army. He added:

"And now, my dear father, I want you to do a favor or two for me,
Chester and Mike Murphy, who is one of the best fellows that ever
lived. Some time I shall tell you all our experience after you left
the bungalow on Southport Island. I know you will agree with what I
say.

"Please send to 'Uncle Ben Trotwood,' Trevett, on Hodgdon Island,
Boothbay Township, Maine, a big lot of fine smoking tobacco. While
you are about it you may as well make it half a ton, more or less.
In his old age, he doesn't do much else but smoke, eat, sleep, and
talk bass, but he was very kind to Chester and me. He kept us
overnight and fed us, and was insulted when we wished to pay him."
(No reference was made to Uncle Ben's frugal wife.)

The genial old man would never have solved the mystery of the arrival of the big consignment of the weed had it not been accompanied by a letter from the two boys in which all was made clear.

(Another paragraph from Alvin's communication to his father.)

"In the little town or village of Beartown live the sweetest mother