The Boys of Columbia High on the Ice/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI
STILL A MYSTERY
"Oh! I see!" exclaimed Frank. "You naturally think that the tramp in that shack on Rattail Island is this man the police are looking for?"
"Same fellow, sure," grunted the disgusted Lanky. "And to think I've been and made myself believe I must have known him some time. Shucks! I'm just too mad to see straight, that's what."
"Hold on," remarked Frank, quietly, "let's see if we've got this straight. Somehow or other it doesn't just strike me that that chap had the look of a real bad man. He was a tramp, and looked shiftless, as all hoboes do; but I wouldn't be in too big a hurry to believe the worst about Bill."
"Why, whatever can you mean? Teaching a budding lawyer how to look before he leaps! Say, do you still believe Bill may be all right?" and Lanky jumped from his chair to seize hold of Frank's arm.
"I don't know about that, but let's investigate a little, and see how he compares in looks. Of course you asked about that?" went on Frank.
"Of course I didn't now, smarty," came the reply, while Lanky looked chagrined. "And there it was on the wall too, right under the reward offered for recapturing this Bill Brockholt, who, it seems, is a dangerous piece of baggage. It was silly of me not to wait and read up, but I was so dead sure, and afraid Chief Hogg might ask me questions that I didn't want to answer, I just cut, and ran all the way here."
"Then you really don't know?" continued Frank.
"Say, suppose you call him up on the 'phone and make a few inquiries. The chief thinks a lot of you, Frank, and will tell you anything you want. You can say I am here and brought the news, and you'd like to hear what this chap looks like, so that if you run across him you can let the chief know. Eh, how's that?"
"Remember that Frank was instrumental in bringing about the capture of the fellow who robbed your house. Lanky, and he let the chief have pretty much all the glory, and the fat reward as well. Oh; yes Chief Hogg is mighty well satisfied to tell Frank anything and everything. It pays him handsomely to do so," laughed Ralph.
Meanwhile Frank had gone over to the desk on which the telephone stood.
Lanky was shaking his head and muttering to himself.
"You see, he was in town last night. I saw him twice, and his actions looked a bit suspicious too. He didn't seem to want anybody to notice him, for he dodged out of sight when a man came along. Now, what did he do that for, I'd just like to know? Even Lef Seller noticed him, for he said so. I don't like it at all."
Lanky did not say anything more, for Frank was speaking, and with his companion he moved closer, expecting to hear what the chief replied, for he was a loud talker over the wire, with a voice that carried like a flute.
"Hello! is this Chief Hogg?" asked Frank.
"It is. Who's that talking—that you, Frank?" for somehow the other had recognized the boy's voice.
"Yes, Frank Allen. Lanky is here, and he's just been telling us something he heard down at your place a bit ago."
"Oh! yes, you must mean about that clever rascal, Bill Brockholt, who escaped from the prison over at Lauderville, and is supposed to have headed this way. We were warned to keep a good lookout for him. He's a smart rascal, and a desperate one, too. What's in the wind, Frank; want to try your hand at rounding up another lag of this kind? You helped us that last time immense, and we'd be glad to have you do it some more," came over the wire, accompanied with a laugh.
"Oh! no, I'm not hankering after another experience, Chief. But Lanky forgot to read the description of the escaped jailbird; and I wondered if you would please tell me what he looks like, so I might know him if I happened to run across such a fellow in my wanderings during holiday week?"
"Will I? Well, I guess, yes, and only too glad to accommodate such a fine fellow as you are. Listen now. He's short and dark-skinned; looks more like an Italian than a German. Has broad shoulders, and an eye that seems to pierce you through and through. Hair black as tar, nose a trifle hooked. Has a scar like a new moon on his right cheek. Weighs one hundred and seventy pounds. Dressed"
"That's quite enough, Chief. Thank you for your kindness. If I meet up with Bill I think I'll be apt to know it."
Frank deliberately hung up the receiver. Then he turned and looked into the face of Lanky, who was standing there, a foolish grin marking his features.
"Get that, Lanky?" asked Frank, raising his eyebrows with the question.
"Every word. I could have heard the chief talk if I'd been in the next room."
"Well, what do you think now?" continued Frank.
"Several things. First that I'm next door to a jackass for pounding over here without making sure," replied the other, shrugging his shoulders in disgust.
"Well, we won't try to dispute the assertion of a gentleman who ought to be the best judge about his own standing. What else?" asked Frank, smiling broadly, and winking toward Ralph as he spoke.
"Second, that I'm in for another spell of thinking, for if Bill ain't Brockholt, then he must be somebody else."
"Bright idea. It would seem reasonable, anyway. And you mean that it's still up to you to lie awake nights trying to remember where you could ever have met a fellow who looks like our tramp of Rattail Island; is that it?" continued Frank.
"More than ever. I didn't tell you this morning who it was warned me that Lef Seller and his crowd meant to play so as to disable some of the Columbia Seven in the hockey game," Lanky remarked, seriously.
"That's a fact, you didn't. I meant to ask you later on, but it slipped my mind, so many things happened. Then that crack on the head upset me more or less. From the way you talk I imagine you're going to unbosom yourself of that secret now. Look here, was it that Bill?" demanded Frank, suddenly jumping at conclusions.
"Just who it was," returned the other, coolly.
"Then you saw him this morning?" went on Frank.
"No I didn't. He called me up to tell me."
"What, on the 'phone? Has he got a private wire up to Rattail Island?" asked the third member of the group.
"Bosh! he was here in town. Just stepped into the drug store, told Socrates Jones he wanted to 'phone, walked into the booth, planked down his little nickel, and used the whole outfit like he was to the manner born. Think of a hobo doing that, would you?" cried Lanky, triumphantly.
"Huh! that's nothing. A lot of these tramps have been workers once. Perhaps Bill may have been a telephone wireman, or something like that, in his palmy days, when he got his food by the sweat of his brow, instead of begging it at back doors," remarked Frank, immediately.
"Say, now, that reminds me that Socrates said he acted like he knew all about a telephone—in fact, from his manner, Socrates had an idea he belonged to that crew you remember we saw around here last week fixing the wires along the road to Bellport. Perhaps that was were I met him. It might be, you know; but it seems to be impressed on my mind that I knew the man, once on a time," continued the persistent Lanky.
"Then he told you over the wire—said that he knew Lef and his cronies were planning to do us a rough deal—was that it, Lanky?" Frank asked.
"Something like that. Said he chanced to hear 'em talking. I guess that Bill don't seem to hanker much after Lef. He soured on him after that meeting up the river, and perhaps Lef threatened to have him hauled in if he dared show up here in the town. But Bill came, anyhow, for I saw him myself."
"Well, since it was a false alarm you rang, suppose you let poor Bill rest for a while, now, and pay attention to me. I've got something I want to talk with you about, and which concerns our work at hockey," ventured Frank, anxious to divert his friend's attention from the subject which seemed to be getting such a tremendous hold upon Lanky's mind.
"Just as you say. All in good time I'll know who Bill is. I haven't lost any brother that I know of, so he couldn't step in to do me out of my rightful inheritance. So fire away, Frank. What's the dodge you've got now. Something we can run out together in the game, that will astonish those smarties of Clifford, who imagine that they're the whole shooting-match?"
Frank laughingly disclaimed any intention of paralyzing their opponents with a brilliant play. He simply wanted to talk over certain matters connected with the line of defense that Lanky, as the rover of the seven, could bring to bear better than any one else.
It was nearly ten o'clock when the two visitors started up to leave.
"No chance of our being kidnapped to-night, I guess, Frank?" laughingly suggested Lanky.
"Hardly. Clifford is too sure of winning that match to want to weaken our poor team. They think we've only got our nerve to go on; and that they can make circles around us when it comes to a show-up. If I don't see you again, Ralph, remember you promised to spend the whole day with me Monday," said Frank.
"I'm not apt to forget. If it's half way decent we'll skate as far up the river as we can in the morning. I wish Lanky was to be along," returned the other.
"Wish so too, but they made other arrangements for me on Christmas, you see," grunted the one addressed, with a look of disgust on his face.
"We don't have dinner until evening on that day, so father can get home in time; so you see the whole day is before us. Good-night, fellows. You might keep an eye around you on the way home. Queer things happen around here sometimes; and after the way Lef acted this morning I wouldn't put anything mean past him. If he couldn't cripple us enough in a hockey game he might take a notion to go about it some other way."
"Let him try it on, that's all," declared Lanky, gritting his teeth, and clenching his fist aggressively, as he went out of the door into the cold wintery night.