# Snagged and Sunk/Chapter 18

CHAPTER XVIII
CONCLUSION.
"NOW isn't he a daisy?" exclaimed Roy, who could scarcely have been more pleased if the wheel had belonged to himself. "Full nickeled, ball bearings, adjustable saddle, safety bar, Buffalo tool bag and lamp. Every thing complete, of course, for your Uncle Joe doesn't do things by halves. Now, Joe, you can ride and Art and I will go afoot."
"Say," cried Arthur, who had taken the card from Roy's hand. "What does this mean? 'There are two others like me in town?' There wasn't a bike in Mount Airy when we left."
"That's so. I wonder who have the others. I wish you had, for I don't want to be the only one of our crowd to get my head broke."
"Thank you for being so disinterested," said Roy. "But if it is all the same to you I prefer to have my head as it is. But really, I must go home now. Bring him out this afternoon and let us see him throw you."
When the boys went down stairs Joe stepped into the sitting-room to thank Uncle Joe for his beautiful gift. He came out looking more surprised and delighted than ever.
"Now that's an uncle for a fellow to have," said he. "I shouldn't wonder if you fellows would find mates to my machine when you get home. I am going with you to see."
"What makes you think that?" exclaimed Roy and Arthur in a breath.
"Why, I told Uncle Joe that you two had kindly invited me to come out where you could see me thrown, and he said you had better look out or you might be thrown yourselves. Now what did be mean by that?"
The eager boys did not stop to decide, but hurried back to the skiff and pulled for Roy's home at the top of their speed. There another warm reception awaited them, and sure enough a mate to Joe Wayring's wheel was found in Roy's room; and tied to the brake was a card stating that it was a present from his mother. Of course the other wheel was found at Arthur's home. the three were so nearly alike that if it had not been for the names and numbers engraved upon them it would have been difficult to tell them apart.
You may be sure that coneing, boat-sailing, and every other sport connected with the water was at a discount now. During the next two weeks the three friends were rarely seen upon the streets. They were practicing behind the evergreens on Mr. Wayring's lawn, and every time the clanging of one of the gates gave notice of the approach of a visitor they would seize their wheels and run them around the corner of the house out of sight.
"No; we are not ashamed of them," said Joe, in reply to a question his uncle propounded to him one day. "We are ashamed of our awkwardness, and don't mean to give any of the fellows a chance to laugh at us. Wait until we can ride them ten feet without falling off, and then we will go outside the gate."
It did not take the boys very long to attain to that degree of proficiency, for I am told that riding a wheel is easy enough after you learn to put a little confidence in yourself; but the boys had promised one another that they would not go upon the street until they could "get on pedal-mount," and then they would appear in style, "I bet you."
The satisfaction they experienced, and the good time they enjoyed during their first run about town, amply repaid them for all the trouble they had taken to learn to ride. One bright afternoon, when the pleasant drive-ways of Mount airy were thronged with stylish coupés and road-wagons drawn by high-stepping horses, Miss Arden and two of her girl friends, all handsomely mounted, suddenly appeared among them. By the side of each rode a uniformed wheelman who managed his steel horse with as much grace and skill as any of the girls managed hers. Such sights are common enough now, but it was a new thing in Mount Airy, and the riders attracted a good deal of attention from admiring friends and excited the ire of the drug-store crowd.
"Didn't we say we would come out in style when we got a good ready?" said Arthur as he and his companions dismounted at the post-office after seeing the girls home. "I felt a little nervous at first, but I am all right for the future. Of course I expect to get some falls, but this day's experience has satisfied me that I can stay in the saddle if I only keep my wits about me."
The ice having been broken, so to speak, the boys no longer kept behind the evergreens, but appeared upon the streets every day and enjoyed many a pleasant run. Their wheels proved to be so very accommodating and so easily managed that they wondered they had ever been afraid of them. Of course they began to try tricks. They wouldn't have been live boys if they had not. First, they practiced at making their wheels stand perfectly still; and when they could do that they tried something else. Of course they subscribed for wheelmen's journals, and in one of them read of a rider who could bring his wheel to a stop, get out of his saddle, open his lamp which he had previously lighted, ignite his cigar, close the lamp and mount again without ever touching the ground or tipping his machine over.
They had any number of such examples which they regarded as well worthy of emulation, and Uncle Joe was heard to declare that it was as good as a circus to stand at one of the windows and watch the performances that went on in his brother's back yard.
You may be sure that these three boys did not long remain alone in their glory. Other wheels of different patterns began making their appearance, and one day Tom Bigden and his cousins rode gaily through the village, clad in a uniform of their own invention, and which, it is needless to say, was entirely different from the one adopted by Joe Wayring and his chums. Did this mean that there were to be other rival organizations in town? It looked like it. Every body talked wheel; and the boy who didn't have one was going to get it just as soon as he could make up his mind which was the best. Canoe literature went out of fashion. The Amateur Athlete and L. A. W. Bulletin were the only papers that were worth reading, and songs of the wheel were the only songs that were worth singing. Even on the school-ground, or when the players were taking their positions in a game of ball, it was no uncommon thing to hear some fellow strike up:
"Away we go on our wheels, boys,
As free as the morning breeze;
And over our pathway steals, boys,
The music of wind-swept trees.
And 'round by the woods and over the hill.
Where the ground so gently swells,
From a dozen throats in echoing notes
The wheelman's melody wells."
Although Joe Wayring and his friends had so many agreeable things to occupy their minds the events of the summer were not wholly forgotten. When Joe saw a canoeist shooting up the lake, with his arms bared to the shoulder and his dripping paddle flashing in the sunlight, he longed to launch his "old canvas-back" and try conclusions with him. And when Indian summer came, and a school-fellow showed him a string of muscalonge or pickerel he had caught in some isolated pond to which he had penetrated with the aid of his light draft canoe, Joe wished most heartily that Matt Coyle had not been such an adept at stealing things.
"I'll never see my canoe again," said he, with a sigh of resignation. "I can't say that I hope he will drown Matt, but I do hope he will duck him so many times and in such dangerous places that the next time he sees a canvas canoe he will run from it. What's become of him any way?"
That was the question that had been in every body's mouth ever since the day when the two constables returned and reported that Matt Coyle and the six thousand dollars and Joe Wayring's canoe must have sunk into the ground or gone up in a balloon, for no traces of them could be found, although every thicket in the Indian Lake country had been looked into. The squatter's wife and boys were luxuriating in New London jail, awaiting the result of the search. As soon as Mr. Wayring and Uncle Joe read the startling article in the Times they offered a large reward for Matt's apprehension, and the former wrote to Joe to start for home without the loss of an hour. But it took a letter a long time to go to Indian Lake by the way of New London, and Joe never received it.
Tom Bigden was in great suspense, and it was a wonder to his cousins how he ever lived through it. He was utterly astounded when he read the papers and saw what his last interview with Matt Coyle had led to. His secret weighed so heavily on his mind that he could not carry it alone, and so he made a clean breast of it to Loren and Ralph, who could not have been more amazed if Tom had knocked them down. Of course they wanted to help him in his extremity, and the advice they gave was enough to drive him frantic. One day they were both clearly of opinion that he had better leave the State for a while and let the trouble blow over. Again, they thought it would be a good plan for him to take his father into his confidence; and perhaps half an hour afterward they would declare that the only thing he could do was to go to a lawyer about it. Tom listened and trembled, but did nothing. How would he have felt had he known that the boy he had tried to get into trouble was the one who was destined to help him out of his?
"Rumor says that the old woman and both the boys have told all they know; and I have sometimes thought, by the way folks look at me now and then, that there is more afloat than we have heard of," Tom often said, rubbing his hands nervously together the while. "Don't I wish I knew whether or not they have mentioned my name in connection with this miserable business?"
"I don't see what possessed you to tell Matt that you had seen the valise in Joe Wayring's basket," said Ralph. "If you had had the first glimmering of common sense you would have known better."
"So I would," assented Tom, who was so frightened and dejected that he could not get angry at any thing that was said to him. "But I didn't suppose he would blunder right off after Joe and do something to get himself into the papers. I am glad he didn't tell Joe Wayring that I put the idea into his head, for it would have been just like Joe and his crowd to spread it far and wide. They are jealous of me, and will go to any lengths to injure me."
The short Indian summer passed away all too quickly for the Mount Airy boys, the autumnal rains put a stop to wheeling, and finally Old Winter spread his mantle over the village and surrounding hills and took the lake and all the streams in his icy grasp. When the boys came out of their snug retreats they brought with them their sleds, skates, and toboggans. Tom Bigden was around as usual, but every one noticed that he did not take as deep an interest in things as he formerly did, or "shoot off his chin" quite so frequently. He permitted Joe's sailboat to rest in peace, and Joe was very glad of that, and often congratulated himself and companions on the fact that they had not once mentioned Tom's name in connection with the events that had happened at the spring-hole.
The holidays drew near, and Roy Sheldon proposed something that had not been thought of for two or three years—a three days' camp in the woods between Christmas and New Year's, and pickerel fishing through the ice. Sherwin's Pond would be a good camping ground, and the mouth of Indian River was the place to go for pickerel. The idea was no sooner suggested than it was adopted; and on the 27th of December the three boys set off down the twelve-mile carry, walking in Indian file, and dragging behind them a toboggan which was loaded to its utmost capacity with extra clothing, blankets, provisions, cartridges, and every thing else they were likely to need during their stay in the woods. By two o'clock that afternoon they were snugly housed in a commodious lean-to, whose whole front was open to a roaring fire, and debating some knotty points while they rested from their labors. Who would put on his skates, cut a hole through the ice, and catch a fish for dinner? who would cook the fish after it was caught? and who would cut the night's supply of firewood?
"I wouldn't mind catching the fish, but I don't much like the job of cutting through ice that must be all of ten inches or a foot thick," yawned Roy. "But somebody must do it, I suppose, so I'll make a try at it. Nothing short of a sight of Matt Coyle coming around the point could put much energy into me."
"I was thinking about him," said Joe, as he picked up an ax and whet-stone. "We thought we were safely out of his reach when we made our camp at No-Man's Pond, and yet he found us easily enough. I wonder if we shall have a visit from him to-day."
"Hardly," replied Arthur. "Tom Bigden isn't around to tell him that we've six thousand dollars stowed away among our luggage."
Having mustered up energy enough to get upon his feet, Roy fastened on his skates, took a "water-scope" under his arm, put an ice-chisel on his shoulder, and disappeared behind the point of which he had spoken, leaving his companions to cut wood for the night. The mouth of Indian River, so turbulent and furious the last time Roy saw it, was now a sheet of glaring ice, over which he moved with long, graceful strokes. He stopped a hundred yards or so below the pond, and went to work with his chisel. It was a twenty minutes' task to cut a hole through the ice and bail out the pieces, and when that had been done Roy pulled the cape of his heavy coat over his head to shut out all the light, and brought the water-scope into play. It was a wooden box two feet long and six inches square at one end, while the other widened out sufficiently to admit a boy's face. In the smaller end was a piece of window glass, which Roy was careful to wipe with his glove before he put it into the water. These contrivances, made of heavy tin and japanned, are kept on sale now at most gun stores, and you can buy one for a dollar and a quarter; but this one, which Roy made himself, answered every purpose. With its aid he could locate a bright button at the bottom of a stream that was twenty feet deep, provided, of course, that the water was tolerably clear.
Throwing himself flat upon the ice, and drawing the cape of his coat over his head as I have described, Roy thrust the small end of the box into the water and buried his face in the other. There was a deep hole somewhere along that bank in which muscalonge were known to congregate, and Roy wanted to see if he had hit it. He looked at the bottom for about five seconds, and then threw back the cape, jerked the water-scope out of the hole, raised himself upon his knees, and sent up a yell that was so loud and unearthly that it brought Joe and Arthur around the point in great haste. They probably thought that Roy had been attacked by some wild animal, for they held their guns in their hands and were pushing the cartridges into them.
"Whoop-la!" shouted Roy. "I've struck it rich. Joe, I've found your canoe. Don't believe it, do you? Well, look through that box and tell me what you see."
Joe complied without saying a word, and one look was quite enough to excite him too. Then Arthur took a peep and said:
"Yes, sir; that's the canoe, and there's a rifle lashed last to one of the thwarts. That's my blanket—the red one with a blue stripe on the end. Wow what's to be done?"
"There's something in that blanket, boys," said Joe, after he had taken a second look, "and it is also tied to the canoe. How came those things at the bottom of the river, and where's Matt Coyle?"
"And the money," added Roy.
"We can talk about it while we go back to camp and bring another chisel, and an ax to enlarge the hole so that we can get the canoe out, and a rope to haul him up with," said Arthur. "The sooner we get to work the sooner we may be able to settle some things. I think that with three of our largest and strongest fish-hooks fastened into him we can pull him up so that we can get hold of him."
The others thought so too, and lost no time in putting the matter to a test. By their united efforts the hole was quickly enlarged to four times its original size, the ice was baled out, and in a few minutes more the campers were angling for a bigger prize than they thought. Not only three, but half a dozen hooks, two in the hands of each boy, were fastened somewhere, either in the sides of the canvas canoe or in the thick blankets that were tied to it, and by careful handling the whole was brought so near the surface of the water that Roy seized it and held it fast. Then with a "pull all together" and a "heave-yo!" the canvas canoe and its valuable cargo, which for four long, dreary months had lain at the bottom of the river, were hauled upon the ice.
"Now, let's see what we've got," said Joe, drawing his knife from his pocket. "Here's Matt's rifle to begin with." As he spoke he cut the weapon loose and flung it behind him.
"And here's my blanket," said Arthur, "And as I shall never use it again I'll just—"
Arthur made a vicious cut with his knife as he said this, and the result was so astounding that the boys were struck dumb and motionless. A small leather valise slipped out of the rent he made, and falling upon the ice with considerable force flew open, scattering a shower of money before their astonished gaze. Roy Sheldon, being the first to recover himself, danced about like a crazy boy; Arthur thrust his wet hands into his pockets and whistled softly to himself; and Joe leaned against the canoe and looked. Then he wheeled about, made the hole in the blanket larger, and found the other valise. While he was doing that he discovered and pointed out a gaping wound in my side which neither he nor his friends had noticed before.
"To my mind that explains every thing," said Roy, bringing his wild war-dance to a close and acting more like his sensible self again. "Matt Coyle braved something that we were afraid to tackle, and got himself snagged and sunk by it. He tried to get into the pond and went to the bottom instead. You can see that he expected a capsize, for he's got every thing tied fast."
"Did Matt go to the bottom with the canoe?" inquired Joe.
"That depends upon whether or not he was a good swimmer," answered Roy.
"I should say it depended more on whether or not the river was as ugly on the day he came along here as it was when we saw it," replied Arthur. "If it was, the chances are that he was drowned; for not one swimmer in ten could get away from that current after it got a good grip on him. Now, let's pick up the money, unload the canoe, and get him to the fire before he freezes stiff."
"This is the second time our fishing has been broken up," said Joe. "Well, the winter isn't half over yet, and it will be easy enough for us to come back at some future time. But we'll never catch another prize like this in Indian River."
This made it plain to me that my master, whose honest, cheerful face I was glad to see once more, intended to start for home as soon as he could get ready. I was glad of it, for if I had been in his place I should not have cared to camp in so wild a region with six thousand dollars of another man's money in my keeping. It made the boys a trifle nervous, and during the night one of them kept watch while the others slept. They broke, camp after eating breakfast by firelight, and hardly stopped to rest until the money had been handed over to the officers of the Mount Airy bank, who straightway telegraphed to the Irvington people the gratifying intelligence that their missing funds, which they had given up for lost, had been fished out of the river. Every one said it was a "lucky find," and Tom Bigden wondered if any thing would come of it. If he had been in the bank a day or two afterward, he might have heard something to astonish him. A messenger came from Irvington to claim the money, and Joe and his two friends were invited to meet him. They were able to give him a very accurate description of the adventures through which the valises had passed since they left his bank on the third of August filled with stolen coin, and answered a question or two that was asked them.
"I don't know what kind of a case we shall be able to make out against Sam Coyle and the old woman," said the messenger, "but it's my opinion that Jake will have a hard time of it. Are you going to prosecute any body for stealing your canoe?"
"No, sir," answered Joe. "Matt was to blame for that, and he is dead; got drowned when the canoe was snagged and sunk."
"The boys and the old woman all contend that they wouldn't be half as guilty as they are if one Tom Bigden had not advised and urged them on to commit crime," continued the messenger. "Do you believe it? We mean to sift the matter to the bottom, and want to know how to go about it."
"If I were in your place I'd let all such talk go in one ear and out at the other," replied Joe, earnestly; "Tom Bigden has too much sense to do any thing of the sort."
"But I have heard it from more than one source."
"That may be. So have I; but I don't believe it."
And this was the boy who was "jealous" of Tom Bigden and his cousins, and who was ready to "go any lengths to injure" them, was it? You know how close Tom was to the truth when he made that assertion.
I can not begin to tell you how glad I was to find myself in my old familiar quarters once more, or give yon even an idea of the interest and curiosity with which I regarded the handsome stranger, the Expert Columbia, who occupied the recess with me. He wasn't a bit stuck up because he had on more nickel than the rest of us could boast of, and during my time I have found that those who have done great things, or who are capable of them, seldom are stuck up. This new-comer was as common as an old shoe, and as ready to talk to me as I was to talk to him. I wasn't jealous of him for crowding me out of Joe's affections for a while, for I knew that Joe would come back to me when he wanted to run the rapids into Sherwin's Pond or go a-fishing.
Under my master's skillful care my wound healed rapidly, and in a few days I was ready for service again; but of course I was not called upon. Even when spring opened I was not in demand, but the bicycle was. He began running the very minute the roads would admit of it, and kept it up during the entire season, covering an astonishing number of miles, and saving valuable lives. He met some adventures, too; and what they were and how he came out of them he will tell you in the concluding volume of this series, which will be entitled: "The Steel Horse; or, The Rambles of A Bicycle."
THE END.