# Joe Wayring at Home/Chapter 17

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CHAPTER XVII.
A BATTLE IN THE DARK.
AS OUR three friends and their backwoods companion were old campaigners, they did not spend much time in getting ready for the night. A roaring fire was started, the jack-lamp hung upon a neighboring tree, and by the aid of the light thus afforded them, Joe Wayring, who had by this time got into a suit of dry clothes, cleaned the fish which Arthur and Roy had captured during his absence; Arthur Hastings fried them and made the tea; Mr. Swan prepared the bacon and pancakes; and Roy cut the balsam boughs and arranged the beds. In less than three quarters of an hour after they drew their boats upon the beach, they sat down to a supper that would have tempted any healthy boy to eat, no matter whether he was hungry or not.
"Now, Mr. Swan," said Joe, when the ​dishes had been washed in the clear waters of the pond, and the tin bucket, which contained the supply of fish for breakfast, had been hung up by a string so that the minks that were sure to come around during the night could not steal them, "tell us a story, please."
"About what?" inquired the guide, as he filled his pipe.
"Oh, about the first panther you ever shot."
"Or about the bear you killed with a club while he was running off with one of your pigs," suggested Roy.
Mr. Swan was always ready. After he had taken a few pulls at his brier-root to make sure that it was well-started he began and told not one story, but a dozen or more. He kept his little audience interested until ten o'clock, then the lamp was turned out, the fire replenished, and the campers sought their beds of balsam-boughs. Lulled by the rippling of the waves upon the beach at their feet, and by the low music of the breeze as it toyed with the branches over their heads, their slumber was deep and dreamless. Even the usually watchful Jim seemed to think that there was no ​responsibility resting upon him for this particular night, and that the mere presence of the guide was all the protection the camp needed, for he too slept soundly, and snored while he slept. Consequently he did not see the uncouth object which drew out of the darkness that covered the surface of the pond, and slowly and cautiously approached the camp. The object was Matt Coyle's scow, and in it were the squatter and both his boys. The latter were plying their paddles with noiseless motion, and Matt was kneeling in the bow, waving first one hand and then the other to show them what course to take.
It must have been long after midnight, for there was nothing left of the fire but a glowing bed of coals; but still there was light enough to enable the robber to see the outlines of the skiff, but not sufficient to show him the trim little canoe that had been hauled out on the bank and turned bottom side up. If he had seen that, he would have lost no time in getting away from so dangerous a neighborhood; but believing that the boys were alone, and that they had forgotten their usual caution in ​spite of the warning events of the afternoon, he kept on until he was close enough to the skiff to take hold of it. I saw the whole proceeding, but of course could do nothing to arouse the slumbering campers.
"Now, turn about on your seats and give way the best you know how," I heard Matt whisper to his boys. "We must pull her off into deep water before them fellers can wake up an' get a holt on her."
"Say, pap," whispered Jake, in reply. "Ain't we goin' ashore to give them a good larrupin' before they make up?"
If the guide had not been there, these words would have horrified me; but as it was, I did not feel at all uneasy. I knew very well that Matt and his boys were no match for our party, and that they would all be captured as surely as they put their feet on shore; but I did not want to see them steal that skiff. Oh, why didn't Jim wake up and alarm his master!
"We'll 'tend to them after we get the skiff an' all the nice grub an' things that's into it," said the squatter, as he tightened his grasp. "Now be you all ready? Then give way."
​Jake and Sam laid out all their strength upon their paddles, and the bow of the skiff grated harshly as it moved over the sand. The noise, slight as it was, awoke Jim, who was on his feet in a twinkling. He took just one glance at the marauders, and then danced about the camp in a perfect ecstasy of rage, barking and yelping with all his might.
His first note of angry remonstrance alarmed the boys, who were off their fragrant couches in less time than it takes to tell it. The moment they arose to a perpendicular, they were wide awake and ready to act. They made a simultaneous rush for the beach, and while Arthur and Joe seized the skiff and pulled her back where she belonged, in spite of all that Jake and his brother could do to prevent it, Roy caught up the painter and deftly took a turn with it around a convenient sapling.
"Now, haul away and see how much you will make by it," he exclaimed. "That's once you got fooled."
"Wal, I'll bet a hoss that I ain't fooled yet," said the squatter, in savage tones. "Pull ashore, Jakey, an' we'll get out an' lambast ​them fellers till their own mammies won't know 'em when they go hum. Human natur!" he ejaculated a moment later, as the tall form of the guide came between him and the smoldering fire. "Who's that? If it ain't Swan, I'm a Dutchman."
"Come on, you miserable scoundrel," cried the guide, shaking his huge fist at the astonished and thoroughly frightened robber. "I have been looking for you, and now that I have, found you, I am going to take you back to Indian Lake with me."
But Matt and his boys were not as anxious to go ashore now as they had been. Without saying a word in reply they bent to their paddles, and made all haste to get out of sight in the darkness.
"Now, Joe," said Mr. Swan, who never got excited even under the most trying circumstances, "shove off and take after them. You can go faster than they can, so if you will get ahead of them and keep them from reaching the opposite shore, I will come up on this side, and we will have them bet ween two fires."
Joe and his companions were prompt to act ​upon this suggestion. He and Roy pushed the skiff into the water, and when she was fairly afloat Arthur sprang aboard with the jack-lamp in his hand. A moment later its strong light flashed out over the pond, telling the fleeing squatter in language as plain as words that the darkness could not conceal his movements.
"There they are, not more than forty yards," said Arthur, who stood erect on the stern locker, steadying himself with the boathook. "Roy, let me have that oar, and you stand here with the lamp and open fire on them with your potatoes."
"I can't," was the answer. "I took the potatoes ashore to-night and washed some for breakfast; and the bag is in camp at this moment."
"Then we shall have to come to close quarters with them," said Arthur, "for I have no idea that they will give up when they find themselves cut off from shore."
"If we can only manage to detain them for two minutes, we shall have all the help we want," Joe remarked. "Look behind you."
Arthur glanced over his shoulder, and was ​surprised to see the guide in less than a stone's throw of the skiff. How he had managed to put his canoe into the water and get her under way with so little loss of time, was a mystery.
"A fellow would have to look out for Mr. Swan in a hurry-skurry race, wouldn't he?" said Arthur. "Just see how he makes that little craft of his get through the water! If you two don't let out a section or so of your muscle, he will overtake the scow before we do."
Just then Matt Coyle's hoarse voice was heard calling warningly to them. "Don't come no nigher," it said. "If you think that we are sich fules as to go down to Injun Lake when we want to stay here, you are the biggest kind of fules yourselves. I'll break the head of the fust one of you that comes within reach."
"Matt has crawled back to the stern of his scow, and is standing there with his paddle in his hand," said Arthur, who could see every move the robber made. "I wonder if he thinks that we are 'fules' enough to give him battle before Mr. Swan comes up to help us."
​That was just what Matt was looking for, and he did not know what to make of it when the skiff dashed by his scow, keeping so far beyond reach that he could not have touched any of her crew with his paddle if he had tried, and deliberately placed herself across his path. Then his eyes were opened to the details of the plan that had been laid to entrap him, and the promptness with which he went to work to extricate himself was surprising. He said a few words in a low tone to his boys, then put his own paddle into the water, and the scow shot ahead with greatly increased speed, never swerving from her original course by so much as a hair's breadth.
"Does the old villain mean to run us down, or does he intend to come alongside and capture us and the skiff?" said Roy, who was alarmed as well as amazed by the squatter's offensive tactics. "Back water, Joe, while I give way. It looks as though we had got to run now."
The scow was so close to them that they had no time to get out of her way. They saw at a glance that all they could reasonably hope to accomplish was to turn their boat slightly, so ​that if the scow struck her at all, it would be a glancing blow. But they had miscalculated the speed of Matt's clumsy looking craft. She seemed to glide over the top of the water instead of passing through it, as other boats do. On she came with terrific force, and although Joe and Roy worked hard to slip out of her way, she struck the skiff fairly in the side, ripping off two of her planks, smashing in as many more, and making a hole that Mars could have crawled through with all ease. At the same instant darkness settled down over the scene as if by magic. Arthur Hastings had been knocked off his perch on the stern locker, and he and the jack-lamp went into the pond together.
"Whoop-ee!" yelled Matt, triumphantly. "Will you git outen our road the next time you see us comin'? Take that fur your imperdence in gittin' before your betters," he added, making a vicious blow with his paddle at the place where he had last seen Joe Wayring's head.
Joe's head was not there now, however, for he had been sharp enough to put it somewhere else; but Matt was speedily made aware that ​the boy was not far away, for as the blade of his paddle whistled harmlessly through the air, he received a punch in the ribs with an oar that brought from him a yell of pain, and came very near sending him into the water. At the same moment, a howl of agony from the unlucky Jake announced that Roy was taking a hand in the rumpus.
The fight that followed was a very short one, but it was warm while it lasted, and gave Matt and his boys some idea of what a couple of brave young fellows could do when they were cornered. Joe, while defending himself against the muscular squatter, managed to get in several good blows; Roy pounded Sam to his heart's content, Jake having dropped out of the contest at the very beginning of it; and Arthur clung to the side of the skiff and called lustily for Mr. Swan.
"I'm coming." replied the guide, who was doing all he could to bring himself alongside the scow. "Keep them there just a minute longer."
Roy and Joe would have obeyed if they could; but when Matt heard Mr. Swan's voice ​sounding so close to him, he pushed his piratical craft away from the skiff, and the darkness shut him out from view. When the guide arrived a few minutes later, he found the boys supporting themselves by holding fast to the sides of their boat, which was full of water. They had relieved her of their weight just in time to keep her from going to the bottom of the pond. She would not sink now, for she had no cargo aboard to speak of, and besides, the air that was imprisoned in the lockers assisted in keeping her afloat.
"Well, if this don't beat the world!" exclaimed Mr. Swan, as soon as he had taken in the situation. "Somehow or other those villains always manage to come out at the top of the heap, don't they? Did you have a fight with them? I heard sticks a clashing and somebody yelling. I hope none of you ain't hurt."
"Don't be uneasy on that score," replied Roy. "Joe and I had a scrimmage with them, but you didn't hear either one of us yell. It was Matt and Jake. Sam was good grit. He never said a word, although I punched him ​with the blade of my oar the best I knew how. Arthur was standing on one of the lockers when the scow struck us, and he and the lamp made a plunge of ten feet in the clear before they touched the water."
"Do you mean to say that they ran into you a purpose?" exclaimed the guide.
"Of course they did. We cut them off from the shore, as you directed, and that old scow of theirs came at us like a battering-ram. Matt heard Joe tell us to-night to sink the canoe, and that was what put it into his head to run into us."
Meanwhile Arthur Hastings had worked his way around to the bow of the skiff and secured the painter, one end of which he made fast to a ring in the stern of the canoe. The chase was over, of course. They could not continue the pursuit in the dark, for the squatter could easily elude them in a hundred different ways, and neither would it be prudent to follow him in the canoe. The little craft was intended to carry only one person, with a very limited allowance of camp equipage, and the added weight of one of the boys would have sunk ​her so deep in the water that no speed could be got out of her. The only thing they could do was to go back to camp and finish their sleep.
"But what shall we do to-morrow?" was the question that Joe and his comrades asked themselves and one another. "Our boat is badly stove, and if we can't patch her up, how are we going to get back to Mount Airy?"
Mr. Swan towed the disabled skiff to the shore, her crew swimming alongside or trying to assist him by pushing behind, and the fire was started up again to aid them in making an examination of the injuries she had received. They were fully as severe as the boys expected to find them, and it was a wonder to them that she was so long in filling.
"There's plenty of guides down to the lake that can fix her up for you in good shape," said Mr. Swan.
"Of course," replied Roy. "But the lake is twenty-five miles from here, and there's no way to get her down there."
"Mebbe there is," answered the guide. "For a shilling I'll agree that she shall go ​down there, and carry you into the bargain. But we can't do nothing with her to-night. You boys get on some dry clothes and go to bed again."
Joe and his companions were quite willing to act upon this suggestion, but they were in no hurry to go to sleep. Neither was Mr. Swan. They sat around the fire for a long time, talking over the incidents of their battle in the dark, and as I listened closely, I have been able to give you the story in the same way that it was told to Mr. Swan. The squatter's extraordinary luck and the skill he exhibited in eluding arrest seemed to astonish the mall. How I longed for the power of speech so that I could tell them that robbing camps and smoke-houses was not the only business to which Matt Coyle intended to devote himself, now that the offer of his service as guide and boatman had been declined by the managers of the Indian Lake hotels. But they found it out for themselves, and before long, too.
It was three o'clock before the campers again sought their blankets. The boys slept much later than usual, but the guide was stirring at ​the first peep of day. He piled fresh fuel on the fire, put Roy's potatoes into the ashes to roast, made the coffee and pancakes, and took time while the fish were frying to give the skiff another good looking over. Then he picked up Joe's camp ax, and disappeared among the trees, returning a few minutes later with several large slabs of birch bark. By this time the fish were done, and the guide announced the fact by calling out—
"Tumble up, you sleepy heads. You've just two seconds in which to take a dip in the pond and get ready for breakfast."
Having had as many "dips" as they wanted already, the boys contented themselves with washing their hands and faces; after which they sat down to their homely breakfast with appetites to which the dwellers in towns and cities are, for the most part, strangers. Of course the squatter was still uppermost in their minds, and he and his exploits formed the principal topic of their conversation.
"By the way, Mr. Swan, you forgot to tell us what Matt stole at those camps," said Arthur, suddenly.
​"Did I? Well, in my camp he took a Lefever hammerless that cost the owner three hundred dollars; and from a gentleman who had Bob Martin for a guide, he stole a Winchester worth fifty dollars. Not satisfied with that, he took every thing in the shape of grub that he could lay his hands on, and me and my employer had to live on trout while we were making a journey of more than a hundred and fifty miles. Trout's good enough once in a while; but I swan to man, if I want it for a steady diet. Bob Martin said he eat so much of that kind of food that he wanted to snap at every fly that came near him."
"Matt and his family are always on the lookout for grub, and I should think that the sharp edge would be taken off their appetites after a while," Arthur remarked. "Did you try to follow his trail?"
"Bless you, no. There ain't a country in Ameriky that is so well provided with water courses as this Indian Lake country is, and what's the use of trying to follow the trail of a boat? You might as well think of tracking a bird through the air."
​"What do you suppose Matt intends to do with those guns?" inquired Roy. "Of course he wouldn't be so foolish as to offer them for sale around here, and they certainly will be of no use to him unless he took a big supply of cartridges at the same time he took the weapons."
"I've got my own idea about that," replied the guide. "It's only an idea, mind you, but I have good reason for holding to it. A year ago last spring, Matt got to acting just as he's acting now, because the hotels wouldn't send him out with their guests, and me and the rest of the guides tracked him down, and told him that he'd got to clear himself. He allowed he wouldn't do it, and that he'd make it hot for the fellers that tried to make him go, so we went to work and burned up everything he had, except his clothes and we'pons. Then he had to dig out; but before he went, he sent us word that if he couldn't do guiding for the hotels none of us should, for the reason that there wouldn't be nobody to hire us."
"What did he mean by that?" exclaimed Joe.
​"You're pretty sharp fellows," said the guide, in reply. "What's your opinion of his meaning?"
"He doesn't intend to kill off the guests as fast as they arrive, does he?" said Arthur.
"Probably not," said Joe. "But he means to steal them poor, and bother them in every way he can, so that they won't come here to spend their summer vacations."
"That's the very idea," said the guide, approvingly. "That's what he was up to, and that's what he is trying to do now; but we ain't going to let him stay. Now, then," he added, as he arose to his feet and produced his ancient brier-root, "if one of you will help me while the others tend to things about the camp, we'll be on our way to the lake in less'n half an hour by Joe's Waterbury."
"Are you going with us?" asked Arthur, who was delighted at the prospect of spending the day, and perhaps another night in the company of so famous a story teller.
"I reckon I might as well," replied the guide. "I know where to find Matt's trail now, but I can't do nothing with him and his ​family all by myself, so I will go back and get some of the boys to help me."
"Well, see here, Mr. Swan," said Joe. "If you have to burn him out again, don't forget to save my canoe from the general destruction. I know it isn't a very valuable thing, having seen its best days long ago, but still I shouldn't like to think that I had lost it for good."
"I'll bear it in mind," said the guide. "Now, don't let the fire go out. We shall need it to toast the bark."
"What do you want to toast the bark for?"
"Why, to make it straighten out and stay somewhere. Don't you see how it curls up in all sorts of ways? Summer bark isn't as good as winter bark for this sort of work, but I reckon we can make it keep the water out of the skiff till we get to the lake."
Arthur and Joe made all haste to wash the breakfast dishes and collect their "duffle", so that there would be no delay in loading the skiff when the repairs were completed, and then sat down to keep the fire going, and to watch the guide, in whose proceedings they were much interested. They wanted to learn how it ​was done, so that they might know what to do in case a similar misfortune befell them when there was no accommodating backwoodsman near to help them. Fortunately they never went into the woods without taking with them some strips of canvas, a supply of tallow and rosin, and a paper of copper tacks. By the aid of the tacks, the birch bark, after it had been toasted over the fire so that it would "stay somewhere", was fastened upon the gaping wound which the sharp corner of Matt's scow had made in her side, the seams were thickly coated with melted rosin and tallow, then the canvas was tacked on, and Mr. Swan declared that his task was finished.
"She'll leak a little water, of course," said he, as he filled up for another smoke, "but not much after the bark has a chance to swell a trifle. Now I reckon we are ready to be off."
It was the work of but a few minutes to pack the provisions and cooking utensils away in the lockers, and as soon as that had been done, the boys shoved the skiff into the water and followed Mr. Swan, whose canoe was moving ​toward the creek which connected the pond with Indian Lake. The boat didn't leak as much as they thought it would. Five minutes' bailing every half hour kept her comparatively dry.
The boys camped that night within less than five miles of the lake, and of course had the pleasure of listening to more of the guide's stories. They made an early start the next morning, Mr. Swan being impatient to obtain assistance and resume the pursuit of the man who had despioled the camp of his employer, and at seven o'clock the two boats were run up on the beach in front of the Sportsman's Home.