Dave Porter and the Runaways: or, Last Days at Oak Hall

“Now you must close your eyes and sit perfectly still while I place the crown on your head,” said the money-lender’s son. “I will have to do it from behind, for that is the way they do it in England and Germany.”

“Do they do it in Russia that way, too?” demanded the wild man, and his eyes took on a glowing look as he gazed at the brass crown.

“Of course.”

“Then let it be so.” And the wild man sat back on the bench and closed his eyes, and stroked his straggly beard.

Quickly Nat stepped behind the man, and while he fumbled with the crown with one hand, he brought out the rope with the other. He was greatly excited and his hands trembled.

“Now sit perfectly still while I count fifty,” said the money-lender’s son. “Then when I–”

He did not finish, for at that instant the wild man let out a sudden yell and leaped to his feet. He ran to the doorway; and the next moment came face to face with Dave and Roger.

CHAPTER XXI

SOMETHING OF A CLEW

“Ha! ha! you are the army sent to capture me, are you? But I am not to be captured! Take the cannons away! Bring up the artillery! Forward the light brigade! Victory for the King of Sumatra! Oh, if only I had a company of trained monkeys I would show you how to fight!”

Thus speaking, the wild man danced around before Dave and Roger, swinging his wooden sword close to their heads. Indeed, our hero had to dodge back, to keep from being hit.

“Hello, you here?” cried Nat, coming from the cabin. “You followed me, did you?” He scowled deeply. “It’s just like you, Dave Porter!”

“Nobody shall follow the King of Sumatra!” went on the wild man, with a cunning look at the three students. “Away! Out of my sight!” he yelled.

He dashed past Dave and Roger, moving towards the rustic bridge. Our hero caught him by the arm, but received a blow in the face that staggered him. Roger also tried to catch the man, but he was too quick, and a second later was on the bridge.

“Come back!” bawled Nat. “Come back, Uncle Wilbur! Don’t you know me? Come back, please! We won’t hurt you!” And then he set off after the wild man, who was running along the road beyond the bridge.

“Dave, did you hear that?” gasped the senator’s son. “He called the wild man Uncle Wilbur!”

“Yes, I heard him,” returned our hero. “No wonder he has been after him, Roger. Come on, let us see if we can’t catch him.”

The chums started after the wild man and the money-lender’s son. The way was along the road, but presently the wild man turned into a stretch of woods. He could run like a trained athlete, and easily outdistanced Nat, who kept calling after him.

When Dave and Roger came up they found the money-lender’s son leaning against a tree, out of breath and much disgusted.

“Couldn’t get him, eh?” queried Roger.

“No, you fellows scared him off,” growled the money-lender’s son.

“I am sorry if we did that,” said Dave.

“You had no right to butt in,” grumbled Nat. “What did you follow me for, anyway?”

“Because we thought you were after the wild man, that’s why,” answered Roger.

“Humph!”

“So he is your Uncle Wilbur,” went on our hero, after a pause, and he turned a look of sympathy at Nat as he spoke.

“Who told you that?”

“You called him Uncle Wilbur.”

“I – I guess you are mistaken,” stammered Nat, growing red in the face.

“No, we heard you as plain as day,” put in the senator’s son.

“You haven’t any right to pry into my affairs, Roger Morr! You nor Dave Porter either!”

“Perhaps not,” answered Roger.

“Look here, Nat, if we can help you we’ll do it,” came from Dave. “I suppose, if that man is your uncle, you wish to get him back to the – er – the sanitarium as quickly and as quietly as possible; is that so?”

“Wouldn’t you want to do that, if he was your uncle?” asked the money-lender’s son, flushing deeply.

“Certainly. But it looks, now, as if you couldn’t do it alone.”

“I might have done it, if you hadn’t come up and queered my game.”

“He didn’t see us until he ran out of the cabin,” said Roger. “He just got a wild streak on, that’s all. I don’t think you could have managed him alone. He wouldn’t let you tie him up with that rope.”

“Well, he’s gone, that’s sure,” grumbled Nat. “I’m going back to the cabin for my valise.”

“He may come back,” suggested Dave.

“I don’t think so. But I’ll wait and see. I hung around once for him – on that island – but he never came back. It isn’t often he visits the same spot twice. That’s the reason the authorities around here haven’t caught him.”

“What is his name, Nat?”

“Wilbur Poole, if you must know. He is my father’s half-brother.”

“Where did he come from?”

“From the Blossmore Sanitarium, in New York state. It’s a private place, near Lake Erie. He lost a lot of money several years ago in a speculation in Sumatra tobacco and that made him crazy, and that is why, I suppose, he calls himself the King of Sumatra.”

“Did you know he was missing when you heard of the wild man?” questioned Dave, with interest.

“No, I did not, for the sanitarium people did not notify us that he had gotten away. I suppose they thought he would stay near the institution and that they would be able to get him again. I can’t imagine what brought him away out here, excepting that I went to see him once, when he was somewhat better, and I told him about Oakdale and our school. I knew he called himself the King of Sumatra, and that is why I got interested in the wild man as soon as I heard you mention that name. Then, when the handkerchief was found, I was sure the man was my uncle.”

“And you put the hole in the handkerchief,” said our hero.

“Yes, because – well, I didn’t want folks to find out from the Blossmore authorities that the man was my uncle,” answered Nat, casting down his eyes. “I thought I might be able to catch him and send him back on the quiet. I didn’t want the whole school talking about it.”

“I can understand your feelings, Nat,” said our hero, kindly. “And if I can help you in the matter, I’ll do it.”

“I suppose you’ll tell everybody he’s my uncle,” came bitterly from the money-lender’s son.

“No, I won’t. But I think Doctor Clay ought to know it.”

“And what of your folks?” asked Roger. “Do they know?”

“I sent my dad a letter about it last week. But he is away on business, so I don’t know when he’ll get it or what he’ll do. I didn’t let the Blossmore folks know because I don’t think my uncle ought to go back to that place. He ought to be put in an institution where they are more strict, so he can’t get away again.”

“You are right there,” said Dave.

“Nat, don’t you know it is highly dangerous to allow that man at large?” asked the senator’s son, after a pause, during which the three boys turned their footsteps towards the island cabin.

“Oh, I don’t think he is as dangerous as some folks imagine,” was the reply. “He has never actually harmed anybody yet. But he scares ’em.”

“He may have committed some deeds of which you know nothing.”

At these suggestive words from the senator’s son Nat turned pale.

“What do you mean? Have you heard anything, Roger?”

“I hate to hurt your feelings any further, Nat, but I must be honest with you. Dave and I have an idea that he was the one who blew up the dining-room of Sparr’s hotel.”

“Oh, impossible!”

“What Roger says is true,” said Dave, gravely. “I am sorry for you, Nat, but that is the way it looks to us. He was seen around the old stone bridge when it was blown up, and around the shanty where the dynamite was kept, and he has been in Oakdale several times, so we have heard.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t do such a thing! He couldn’t!” cried the money-lender’s son, in genuine distress.

“An insane man is liable to do anything, Nat,” said Roger. “Why, he might have set off that dynamite without realizing the consequences. The best thing we can do is to organize a regular search for him, and round him up as quickly as possible.”

“I suppose that is so,” groaned Nat. “But, oh, how I do hate the exposure!”

“You mustn’t take it too hard, Nat,” said Dave. “Remember, neither you nor your family are responsible for his condition of mind.”

It did not take the three students long to reach the little cabin. While Nat was packing up the things he had brought along, Dave and Roger looked over the place. The wild man had had but few things, none of them worth mentioning. There was a newspaper and an old magazine, showing that Wilbur Poole occasionally indulged in reading.

“Hello, look here!” cried Roger, as he turned the magazine over. “Well, I declare!”

“What is it?” asked Dave and Nat, in a breath.

“Here’s a picture, drawn in blue pencil. It is marked Fort, but it looks like Sparr’s hotel.”

“And look what it says!” cried Dave, eying the crude drawing. “‘Powder House to be blown up’! That’s the dining-room, as plain as day!”

“And down here it says, ‘Dynamite will do it easily,’ and signed, ‘King of Sumatra.’ Dave, he did it, and this proves it.”

“It certainly looks that way, Roger.”

“Let me see that drawing!” burst out Nat, and would have snatched it from Roger’s hand had not Dave stopped him.

“You can look at it, Nat, but you must give it back,” said our hero.

“What for? My uncle drew that and I have a right to it.”

“No, I am going to hand this over to Doctor Clay and then to the Oakdale authorities. It may be needed to clear Phil, Ben, and Buster.”

“Hurrah, Dave, that’s the talk!” cried Roger, with sudden enthusiasm. “I didn’t think of it, but that is just what is needed to clear ’em! We’ll knock Jason Sparr’s accusations into a cocked hat!”

“You let me see that drawing!” shouted Nat, making another grab for it. “I’ve got a right to it – if my uncle made it.”

“You can look at it, but you can’t handle it,” said Dave, and he gave Roger a look that the senator’s son well understood. Both knew that the money-lender’s son could not be trusted with such an important bit of evidence.

The drawing was held up, but Nat was not permitted to get too close to it. He looked it over carelessly and then his lip curled.

“Huh! I don’t think my uncle drew it,” he said.

“And we think he did,” returned Dave.

There was a sudden silence after this. Each boy was busy with his thoughts. Dave felt particularly light-hearted.

“This ought to clear Phil and the others,” he reasoned. “And they can come back to school without delay and finish the term and graduate.”

Having packed up his things, Nat got out his bicycle and prepared to ride back to Oak Hall, and the others did the same.

“Going to give me that drawing?” asked the money-lender’s son, just as he was ready to start off.

“No, we are going to turn it over to Doctor Clay,” said Roger.

“All right, have your own way,” growled Nat.

As in coming to the cabin, the money-lender’s son took the lead in the return to Oak Hall. Dave and Roger kept close behind and occasionally spoke of the happenings in guarded tones. When the school was reached all left their bicycles in the gymnasium.

“Going to Doctor Clay now?” demanded Nat.

“We might as well,” said Dave. “The sooner he knows of this, the better for everybody.”

“All right.”

Doctor Clay was somewhat surprised to see the three boys, dusty and tired-looking, enter his private office. He listened with close attention to their tale of visiting the cabin and encountering the wild man, and looked completely astonished on learning that the man was Nat’s uncle.

“I am sorry for you, Poole,” said he, kindly. “But such things will happen and you must make the best of it. It is not your fault.”

Then Dave and Roger told of the finding of the old magazine with the drawing and writing, and Doctor Clay shook his head sorrowfully.

“Too bad! Too bad!” he murmured.

“But this clears Lawrence, Basswood, and Beggs,” cried Dave. “And it clears Roger and myself.”

“Yes! yes! so it does, Porter!”

“Don’t you believe it, Doctor Clay!” cried Nat, leaping to his feet. “It does nothing of the sort! That paper is no kind of evidence at all!” And thus speaking, the money-lender’s son glared defiantly at Dave and Roger.

CHAPTER XXII

AFTER THE RUNAWAYS

“Why, Nat, what do you mean?” demanded Dave.

“I mean just what I say!” declared the money-lender’s son. “This is a frame-up, nothing more! I understand it all now, although I didn’t at first.”

“What do you mean by ‘a frame-up,’ Poole?” demanded Doctor Clay.

“I mean that they took this magazine and the drawing to the cabin, that is what I mean, Doctor Clay. They found out somehow that my – er – that the wild man was there, and they got up this scheme to make it look as if he had blown up the hotel, – and they did it just to clear their cronies and themselves.”

“Nat, you know that is not true!” exclaimed Roger. “I found the magazine with the drawing on a shelf in the cabin.”

“Yes, that is what you said, but I don’t believe it, Roger Morr. I think you put the magazine there yourself – you or Dave Porter.”

“We did nothing of the kind,” cried our hero.

“I think you did – and I think Jason Sparr will think so, too, when he hears the story. It’s a frame-up, just to clear yourselves and your cronies,” added Nat, with a sneer.

“Nat, you ought to be–” began Roger, in high anger, when Dave stopped him. Our hero looked at Doctor Clay.

“What Roger says is the absolute truth, Doctor Clay,” said our hero. “He found that magazine on a shelf in the cabin where the wild man was staying, and that drawing and the wording were on it, just as you see. More than that, we can prove that the wild man was around the old shanty where the dynamite was kept, and that he was seen in Oakdale several times.”

Dave was interrupted here by Nat, and a wordy war lasting several minutes followed. Finally Doctor Clay said he would take the magazine and keep it, and that he would notify the authorities in what locality the wild man might be found, provided he had not gone away further than expected.

“I am inclined to believe the story told by Morr and Porter,” said he somewhat sternly to Nat Poole. “But this matter cannot be cleared up until we find your uncle. When captured, the unfortunate man will most likely speak of the blowing up in some way or another, if he is guilty.”

“I don’t think so,” answered Nat; but his manner showed that he was much disturbed. Then Dave and Roger were dismissed, and the master of the school took Nat with him to Oakdale, to see what could be done towards rounding up Wilbur Poole in the near future.

“Well, Dave, what is the next move?” asked the senator’s son, as the two were alone in the lavatory, washing up after the long bicycle ride.

“I wish I could find Phil and the others and get them to come back here,” responded our hero. “It is a great mistake for them to stay away.”

“I believe you – it looks just as if they were guilty. I wonder that they don’t come back on their own account, now they have had a chance to think it over.”

“I think they saw that article in the newspaper, Roger, and it scared them worse than ever. Maybe they imagine the officers of the law are waiting to gobble them up.”

“If we only had some trace of them!”

“I’ve got an idea I am going to follow up.”

“What sort of an idea?”

“I was thinking of that baggage that left here. Maybe it was shipped to some point.”

“You’ll have a job tracing it up.”

“I can try it, anyway,” answered our hero.

A day slipped by and nothing more was said about the affair by Doctor Clay or Nat Poole. Then Nat left the school, telling some friends he was going home for a week’s rest.

“Most likely he is after his uncle,” was Roger’s comment, and Dave agreed with him.

As soon as he could get the time Dave went to Oakdale to see if he could find any trace of the baggage belonging to Phil and the others who had run away. He made many inquiries but without success, and was on the point of returning to the school when he happened to think of an old man named Dowling, who did some trucking and who knew Buster Beggs very well.

“We’ll go around to Dowling’s place,” said he to his chum.

They found the old man in a little shanty behind his house which he called his office. It had an old easy-chair and a desk, and on the wall was a telephone.

“How do you do, boys,” he said, politely. “What can I do for you? Want some baggage shipped?”

“No, I came for some information, Mr. Dowling,” said Dave. “Have you shipped any baggage for Buster Beggs lately?”

At the mention of the fat student’s name the old expressman started.

“What do you want to know that for?” he demanded.

“I’ve a very good reason, Mr. Dowling. I want to do Beggs a favor.”

“Reckon you want to find him, eh?”

“Yes.”

“So do some other folks;” and the old man chuckled.

“Well, we are his friends, and we want to find him for his own good.”

“Who be you, if I may ask?”

“I am Dave Porter, and this is Roger Morr. Buster Beggs is our friend, and so are Phil Lawrence and Ben Basswood. They ran away and it was foolish for them to do it. Now we want to find them and get them to come back here.”

“It was foolish for ’em to run away – I said thet all along,” murmured the old expressman.

“Then you know where they are?” put in Roger quickly.

“No, I don’t.”

“But you took their baggage away, didn’t you?” questioned Dave, for he could see that the old man was holding something back.

“I allow as how I moved some things for ’em, yes,” was the cautious reply.

“When they ran away?” pursued Dave.

The old expressman nodded.

“Who got those bags from Oak Hall?” asked Roger.

“Thet’s a secret,” and now the old man really chuckled, as if he thought it was a good joke.

“You did!” declared Dave, bound to get at the truth.

“No, I didn’t. Buster did – carried ’em down on his back, one at a time, in the middle o’ the night, an’ nobuddy knew it! Say, they could walk off with yer hull school if they wanted to!” And the old expressman chuckled again.

“You were waiting for him?” continued Dave.

“Might be as I was.”

“And you took the baggage to the depot?”

“Maybe I did.”

“And had them checked on railroad tickets?”

“No, Buster went one way, and the bags went tudder – leas’wise so I was given to understand. Maybe he done it to put me off the track,” continued Isaac Dowling.

“But where did the bags go to?” demanded Dave. “Come, out with it, Mr. Dowling. I give you my word that I am acting for Buster’s good. I wouldn’t get him into trouble for the world. He is my chum, and so are those other boys my friends.”

“Well, you look honest, boy, so I’ll tell ye. The baggage was sent by express to a place called Camptown Falls, in Maine.”

“Camptown Falls!” cried Roger. Then he looked at Dave, who nodded, to show that he understood.

“Did Buster say he was going elsewhere?” queried Dave.

“He didn’t say so, exactly. But he mentioned Boston, an’ I thought he was goin’ there.”

“He left on the train?”

“No, he didn’t! He went off in the darkness, an’ that’s the last I see o’ him,” concluded Isaac Dowling, as a hail came for him to come into the house.

“Camptown Falls,” said Dave, when he and Roger were alone. “Can they have gone to that out-of-the-way spot?”

“It would be the place Buster would pick out, Dave. He has often spoken of going camping up there.”

“He must have mentioned Boston just to throw old Dowling off the track.”

“More than likely. And to think he took those bags away while we slept!”

“I wonder where Phil and Ben were at the time?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they were at that camp.”

Much excited over what they had learned, Dave and the senator’s son returned to Oak Hall. They had expected to interview Doctor Clay and were chagrined to learn that he had gone to New York on important business and would not return for two days. Mr. Dale had been left in charge of the school.

“Roger, do you know what I think of doing?” said our hero. “I’ve a good notion to get permission to leave the Hall and go after Phil and the others. I think I can get them to come back.”

“Want me to go along?”

“That will hardly be necessary. Besides, I’d like somebody to stay here and watch Nat Poole, if he comes back. Do you know, I’ve a notion that Nat knows more about this affair than he would like to tell.”

“He certainly acts that way.”

“I am going to see Mr. Dale.”

Our hero had a long talk with the head assistant, and the upshot of this was that he got permission to go to Maine, to look for the runaways. He was to be gone no longer than was absolutely necessary.

It did not take our hero long to prepare for the trip. He packed a few things in a suit-case and then he was ready. He consulted a map and some timetables, and found he could leave Oakdale on the first train in the morning, and by making two changes, reach Camptown Falls about two o’clock in the afternoon. Nobody but Roger and Mr. Dale knew that he was going away.

“Got money enough, have you, Dave?” questioned the senator’s son.

“Yes, Roger.”

“It’s a wild kind of a spot, so Buster told me.”

“I am not afraid of that – if only I can locate the boys,” answered our hero.

“How are you going to look for them?”

“I don’t know yet – I’ll find out after I get there.”

It must be confessed that Dave slept but little that night. His mind was filled with what was before him. He felt that he had quite a mission to perform, first in locating the runaways and then in persuading them to return to Oak Hall to face the music.

He had an early breakfast, Roger eating with him, and then the buggy, driven by Horsehair, was brought around and he got in, and a minute later he was off, the senator’s son waving him an adieu from the porch of the school.

Dave found the first train he rode on but half filled with passengers, and he had a double seat to himself. He changed at the Junction, and about noon reached Lumberport, where he was to take the train on the little side-line for Camptown Falls. At Lumberport he got dinner, at a hotel frequented by lumbermen. He sat at a long table with half a dozen men and listened to their talk with interest when he heard Camptown Falls mentioned.

“Yes, they tell me there is great danger of the dam giving way just above Camptown Falls,” one of the men said. “Doxey reported it hasn’t been safe for a week.”

“Say, if that dam gave way it would do a lot of damage below the Falls,” said another.

“It certainly would,” replied a tall lumberman. “It would wipe out some of those camps on Moosetail Island. I rather guess the water would cover the whole island.”

“Somebody ought to warn the campers,” said another.

“Oh, I guess they know it already,” was the answer.

Dave arose from the table feeling very uneasy. He remembered the name, Moosetail Island, now. Buster had once mentioned it, stating he had camped there and would like to go again. Were the runaways there now, and in danger of the dam, should it break?

CHAPTER XXIII

AT THE CAMP

At last the train came that was to take our hero to the railroad station of Camptown Falls. It was merely a flag station, but the conductor said he would stop there for any passenger who might wish to get off. The railroad was a single-track affair, running through the woods and across the country stretches, and the train consisted of one passenger car and several freights.

Dave looked at the passengers and counted them. There were just an even dozen, and of these, ten were men, farmers and those in the lumber business. One, a bright young fellow, sat near our hero, and Dave resolved to ask him if he knew anything about Camptown Falls and the summer camps in that vicinity.

“Yes, I know all about the Falls,” said the young lumberman. “I work not over three miles from there – at Cropley’s – the station this side of Camptown. There ain’t any town, not since the Jewell Lumber Company busted up. Some folks camp out there, down along the river and on Moosetail Island, but there aren’t near as many as there used to be.”

“Somebody said the dam above Camptown Falls was dangerous?” said Dave.

“I think it is myself, and I can’t understand how they allow folks to camp along the river and on that island. If that dam ever broke it would be good-by to anybody on the island, I’m thinking.”