"We must leave here at once," he announced in his crisp manner. "Searching parties are out and some of them are likely to call here at any time. Since Noxon worked with his face masked, except when the slip occurred last night, it is not likely, he would be recognized by any of those who are looking for him. But there is a risk which we must avoid."

Mrs. McCaffry made strong objection to their leaving before the dinner hour, but the officer assured her it could not be helped. He and Noxon compelled her to accept liberal tips, but she refused to take the last remaining quarter of Mike.

"The same would bring me bad luck," she said, with a shake of her head.

"How could it do that whin it brought me the bist of luck, being I came to your door?" asked the youth, trying to press it upon her; but she would not consent.

"Ah," he said, "it's mesilf that's of no more account than a naught wid no circle round it."

Instead of following the path that led to the highway and so on to Beartown, Calvert turned into the woods through which his companions had made their way to the humble but hospitable home.

"We'll keep clear of the village," he explained, "for every one there is in a fever of excitement, and although I can do my part in the way of prevarication, I don't wish to be driven to the limit, when it might not, after all, avert trouble."

The fogs which often plague the coast of Maine and vicinity have a habit of sometimes leaving as suddenly as they come. It was a great relief to the party when they dived in among the pines and firs to find that the gloomy dampness had lifted and the sun was again shining from a clear sky. It impressed all as a good omen.

Noxon's rest and care for his injured leg had been of great benefit. The rising inflammation had gone and the pain was trifling. If they did not walk fast, he was sure it would give him no anxiety.

Calvert took the lead, with Noxon next and Mike Murphy at the rear. The last was highly pleased to see his young friend walk without a perceptible limp.

The leader kept his bearings so well that when within an hour he reached the shore of the Back River, it was at the spot he had in mind. There was the runabout in which he and Warner Hagan had come from Wiscasset, and the owner was calmly smoking his brier wood pipe, content to wait indefinitely when he was well paid for so doing. He lay a few rods south of the landing, and just below him was the Water Witch, with Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes on board, wondering what in the world had become of Mike Murphy. The youths had tried to open communication with the master of the runabout, but he had been warned by his two passengers to tell nothing to anyone, and he glumly refused to talk. Chester had set out in quest of the missing Mike, going as far as the village. All he could learn there was that his friend had left a good while before and no one knew anything of him. The second mate went back to his Captain, and the two were so impatient that they were half inclined to leave without him, when lo! he appeared with Calvert and Noxon, coming from among the trees as if he had been absent only a few minutes.

Then followed full explanations, and you can imagine the astonishment of Alvin and Chester. They were sure of the identity of Noxon when he first appeared, but were considerate and said never a word that could hurt his feelings.

"You ran away with their launch," added Calvert. "They ran away with yours, and you and they met as you were coming back. But for the fog you would have seen each other, for you must have passed quite close. The beauty of it is," said the officer, with a flash of his keen eyes, "that while they have gone far away we know exactly where. My friend Hagan and I, with Noxon as our guide, are going to scoop them in."

He thought it best not to affect too much mystery.

"They passed down Montsweag Bay clear to Knubble, through Goose Rock Passage into the Sheepscot, and up that to the Beautiful Isle of Somewhere. Most folks don't know the exact location of that sweet spot, but we know—thanks to Noxon—the latitude and longitude of ours, which the same is the port we are heading for."

The plan was simple. Noxon, who was familiar with the running of the Water Witch, was to act as engineer and steersman. Calvert and Hagan would be the only passengers, and the prize would be Kit Woodford and Graff Miller.

"And phwat's to become of us?" asked Mike.

"That depends upon how you behave yourself. If you grow tired of waiting, take a walk up to Beartown, have dinner with Mrs. Friestone and then come back and wait for a few days and nights till you see us again."

"That's aisy, as I told me taicher whin she asked me how much two and two made and I informed her the same was five."

"But Mr. Hagan isn't here," reminded Chester.

"He will be very soon. Meanwhile, I'll say a word to my man."

He walked to the runabout, where he told its owner he might return to Wiscasset as he was not needed further. He added a dollar to the price agreed upon and the man bade him good-by. Hagan, who had gone off on what might be called a reconnaissance, justified the faith of his partner, for he came forward, and thus the party was complete.

The distance was shorter by way of the Narrows and down the Sheepscot than by the route just named. Accordingly, the Water Witch headed north, while the Deerfoot it will be remembered went south. The difference was not much, the real reason why the course was taken being of another nature. If the Water Witch had set out to search for the other boat, with no knowledge of its destination, it would have prowled to the southward, inspecting all likely hiding places on the way, with a strong chance that she herself would be detected and her purpose read before she discovered the fugitive. By taking the northern route this handicap would be avoided. They could make much better progress and not be seen until it was too late for the criminals to escape.

Thus Alvin Landon, Chester Haynes and Mike Murphy were left on the shore of the Back River, near Beartown landing, without any launch and compelled to pass the time as best they could. They decided to spend a few hours in the village.

They appreciated the reason why Calvert would not have their company. He was plunging into a venture where deadly weapons were likely to be used, and their lives would be endangered. The affair was really none of theirs. Besides, their presence would be a serious handicap and might prove fatal to success.

The Water Witch soon shot past Cushman Point, passing the runabout so close that the officers exchanged salutations with the man who had brought them from Wiscasset. Calvert and Hagan sat side by side, both puffing heavy black cigars, the smoke of which as it streamed astern might have suggested that the launch was impelled by steam instead of gasoline. She ran smoothly, and Noxon, with a pale face, his hands grasping the wheel, steered as skilfully as Alvin Landon had directed the swifter Deerfoot. He had done it many times and had no fear. The young man had come to the parting of the ways, and nothing could turn him back. His resolution was due to the wound, which had distressed him so much when he hobbled to the home of Mrs. McCaffry that he believed for a time he was near the end of life, and when one reaches that point he is sure to do some serious thinking.

Just above Clough Point, marking the northern extremity of the large island of Westport, the Water Witch turned eastward through the Narrows and headed straight south down the Sheepscot River to its destination some ten miles away. Noxon seated with his hands upon the wheel remained silent. The officers spoke to each other now and then in low tones, but most of the time left him to his meditations. He held the boat to moderate speed, for there was no call for haste. She was running easily, but a glance by the young man into the gasoline tank showed the supply was low, and he wished to avoid stopping at any of the landings to renew it. Besides, high speed is always a strain upon an engine, and he was nervously anxious to prevent a breakdown at a critical point in the enterprise. His familiarity with the launch made him cautious.

While Calvert and Hagan were following a clearly defined plan, they knew "there's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." They had high hopes of finding the other boat at the spot which Calvert had facetiously named the Beautiful Isle of Somewhere, but it might well happen that they would be disappointed. At the first sign of danger the Deerfoot would run away and her superior fleetness would leave her pursuers hopelessly behind. Above all, it was important that the criminals should not discover their peril in time to get away.

"Noxon," said Calvert, leaning forward, "let us know when we are near the cove."

"We are within less than a mile of it now. It is just ahead on the right."

Each officer flung his stump of a cigar overboard and slipped from his chair to the bottom of the boat. Inasmuch as their interest was centred on one side of the boat, they crowded each other a little. They removed their headgear and permitted only their crowns to show a few inches above the rail as they peered over. They held themselves ready at the same time to duck into complete invisibility.

"The cove is in sight," announced Noxon, slightly turning his head. "Better keep down."

A few minutes later they felt the change in the course of the launch. They were entering the inlet and the officers raised their heads barely enough to peer alongside of the steersman, over the front and beyond the flagstaff with its fluttering bunting.

"There it is!" whispered Calvert to his friend.

"I see it," said the other, "the Beautiful Isle of Somewhere; we are closer to it than I supposed."



CHAPTER XXX

A THROUGH TICKET TO HOME

There it was in plain sight, rising like a giant nosegay of emerald from the crystalline water. It was barely two acres in extent, and, like nearly all islands great and small in southern Maine, the firs, pines and spruce grew to the very edge of the water. It reminded one of the patches of green earth in Europe where the frugal owners do not allow a square inch to go to waste.

"I don't see anything of the Deerfoot," said Calvert in a guarded voice to Noxon.

"We always lay to on the other side. Keep down!"

It was wise advice, though not needed. The two crouched so low in their crowded quarters that a person a hundred feet away would not have seen them. Each instinctively felt of his hip pocket. The little weapon was there.

The officers had now to depend upon Noxon, who for the time was director of the enterprise. He could make himself heard over his shoulder without drawing attention to himself, provided he was under the eye of his old associates. He was never more alert.

Veering to the right, where there was a hundred yards of clear water between the islet and the mainland, he slowed down and began gradually circling the exuberant patch of earth. It will be remembered that he had been there before and knew the habits of Woodford and Miller. By and by, he had glided far enough to bring the western shore into his field of vision. Before that moment he had discerned the stern and flagstaff of a launch. A second glance told him the truth, which he cautiously made known to the crouching forms behind him:

"The Deerfoot is there! Don't stir till I give the word!"

Neither of the criminals was in sight, but it was evident they were near, else the launch would not be lying where it was. Noxon gave a series of toots with his whistle, though the noise of the exhaust must have been noted before. In response, Kit Woodford and Graff Miller came out from among the trees, halted at the side of the launch and stared at the Water Witch and its single occupant.

Could they believe their eyes? They saw before them their own boat and the young man whom they had cowardly deserted in his extremity. What was the explanation to be?

By this time the parties were so near that they could talk with only a slight raise in their voices. Kit Woodford was the first to open his mouth. With a profane expletive expressing his surprise, he demanded:

"Where did you come from?"

It was on the tongue of Noxon to make a biting reply, but he did not forget the part he had to play.

"I found this boat at the wharf at Beartown and thought I'd hunt you up. How came you to have that launch?"

"Some one had run off with ours and left that. So we made a trade and I rather think we got the best of the bargain. I don't understand how ours was found by you."

"Maybe the owners of that wanted to trade back. I say, Kit, I would like to know something—why did you and Graff run off and leave me 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 and daughter in the State of Maine. Anyhow, there is none kinder and more loving. The name of the daughter, who isn't out of short dresses yet, is Nora Friestone. Send her a fine first class piano—no second-hand one—with about a bushel of music. Select any stuff you choose, not forgetting a copy of 'The Sweet Long Ago,' published by C. W. Thompson, Boston. I wish you could have heard Mike Murphy sing that for them. He has one of the finest voices in the world. If he would only study and cultivate it, he would be a second Caruso. I will send an explanatory letter to Mrs. Friestone, so you needn't bother to write her."

And the Steinway duly reached its destination. Mother and daughter were overwhelmed. They would have insisted that a tremendous mistake had been made had not a letter reached them at the same time from the bungalow. This was signed by Chester Haynes, Mike Murphy and Alvin Landon. It begged Miss Nora to accept the present as a token of their appreciation of the hospitality received by them, and in memory of an interesting night they had spent in the Friestone home not long before. Nora wrote one of the most delightful replies that goodness and innocence could pen, and assured the donors that the prayers of her mother and herself would follow the three as long as mother and daughter lived.

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

"You must understand that the expense of these presents, including that which follows, is borne by you and Mr. Haynes. He knew all about them and is as ardent as we. He says he is sure you will be as glad as he to help in so good a cause.

"One more trifling gift and I shall be through. About a half mile from Beartown lives a poor Irish day laborer known to every one as Tam McCaffry. Chester and I did not have the pleasure of meeting him, but Mike spent some time at his home, where his big, jolly wife proved herself the soul of hospitality. She is Irish through and through. Mr. Calvert saw her and says the great attraction of the woman, aside from her natural goodness, is that she is the only person he has yet met who in the way of repartee and wit could give Mike as good as he sent. It was a treat to hear the two spar, and Mike admitted that he had met his match.

"Send her a pianola. Her hands are too big and untrained to master the keys of a piano, but there is nothing the matter with her feet, which is all she needs to work one of those contrivances. Don't forget to include a whole lot of music, which should be of the Irish vintage, such as Moore's melodies, 'Sweet Mavoureen,' 'The Rocky Road to Dublin,' 'St. Patrick's Day in the Morning,' 'Rory O'Moore,' and so on. Be sure that the expense is prepaid all the way to the McCaffry door. Mike is specially interested in this present and contributes more than both of us, for he gives his all, the same being twenty-five cents, and to him we have assigned the duty of explaining things to the good woman."

Alvin had his father well trained, and he cheerfully granted every request of his son. He smiled and remarked to his wife after reading the letter to her:

"Alvin has never caused us an hour of anxiety. He would not ask these things without good reason. I shall give orders when I go to the office that everything he wishes shall be done."

"That was rather nice on the part of Mr. Haynes to say what he did of you, Gideon."

"Yes, Franklin hasn't anything mean in his nature."

"Don't you think it a pity that while his boy and ours are so fond of each other their fathers are not on speaking terms?"

"Perhaps so, but there must always be two persons to a quarrel."

"And you are one of them in this case. I mean to call on Sophia this very day."

"Haynes flew up before he had time to understand all the facts in that little affair of ours. If he had waited he would have found that he had no cause for grievance."

"Suppose you call on him."

The banker shook his head.

"That is asking too much; it would be humiliating."

Now when a sensible wife makes up her mind that her husband shall do a certain thing, and when that husband wishes to do it, but allows a false pride to hold him back, you may make up your mind that the aforesaid thing will be done with no unnecessary delay.

So it was that Gideon Landon went to Franklin Haynes and they had not talked ten minutes when the cloud between them vanished. Friendship and full trust were restored and can never be broken again. It was another illustration of the good that often flows from small deeds and even smaller words.

(Mike Murphy's letter to Mrs. McCaffry.)

"MY DEAR AUNT MAGGIE:

"I'm thinking that about the time this luv letter raiches ye, an insthrumint will do the same, which the name is peeanoler, or something like that. I beg ye to accipt the thrifle as a prisent from Captain Landon, Second Mate Haynes and First Mate mesilf. I know Misther Noxon would crack his heels togither fur the chance of j'ining wid us, but he forgot to lave his card and I suspict he's sailed for Europe not to be back fur fifteen or twinty years, as was the case wid me great uncle whin he sailed for Botny Bay.

"The peagnoluh—I'm thrying all ways of spelling the name of the blamed thing so as to get the same right wunst any way—is played wid the feet. You slide the sheet wid the holes punched into 'em into the wrack over the keeze and then wurrk the feet up and down like yer husband Tana used to do at home in the treadmill.

"Don't try to sing along wid the music for somebody might hear ye. Me worry is that yer teeny Sinderilla feet won't be able to wurruk the peddles, and if ye put on the shoes ye wore whin hanging out the clothes, there wont be room in the house for the peanholler, so ye might try the same widout yer shoes and stockings.

"Wid regards to Tam and much love to yersilf I am ever

"Yer devoted, "Mike Murphy."

(Mrs. McCaffry's reply to the foregoing.)

"My darlint broth of a boy:

"It tuk me and Tam 2 nights and 3 days to understand the maaning of the action of Jim Doogan the carter in drawing up his taam to our risidence and tumbling out a big shiny box wid the remark that there wasn't a cint to pay. Tam hadn't got home and Jim carried the purty thing into the parler and leaned it aginst the flure. He had obsarved something of the kind in his travels and he showed me how to wurruk it wid me faat. Whin he slipped in one of the shaats of paper, wid hundreds of little kriss-kross holes through it, sot down on the stule and wobbled his butes, and 'Killarney' filled the room, I let out a hoop, kicked off me satan slippers, danced a jig and shouted, 'For the love of Mike!' which the same is thrue, that being yer name.

"My number 10 shoes fit the peddlers as yer snub nose fits yer freckled face. Tam and me spind the time whin we aint slaaping or eating or working in playing the thing and thinking of yersilf and the byes you spake of.

"Me darling Mike, may the birds wake ye aich morning wid their swaat songs of praise and soothe ye to slaap in the avening; may the sun shine fur ye ivery day through; may yer draams be of angels and no man or woman spake anything but wurruds of love to ye; and whin old age bows yer head and the time comes to lave us all, may ye be welcomed to heaven wid the blessed graating: 'Well done, good and faithful servant!'

"Do you and the other byes come soon and see what a happy home ye have made for Tam and me.

"Lovingly, "Aunt Maggie."

THE END