The Gun Club Boys of Lakeport

“No, it wasn’t large enough for that. Come on,” and now Harry urged Bart along. A little while after this they came within sight of the light in a farmhouse kitchen, and then both boys felt much relieved.

Going up to the door of the house they knocked, and a burly farmer answered their summons.

“Good evening,” said Harry, politely.

“Good evening, lad, what can I do for you?” questioned the farmer, gazing at both boys curiously. He saw that they had guns, but no game, and concluded they were hungry and wanted supper.

“Will you tell us where we can find a constable, or some other officer?”

“Want a constable, eh? Did somebody steal your game?” And the farmer smiled, quizzically.

“No, we want the constable to arrest three tramps who are wanted for stealing.”

“Shoo! You don’t say!” Farmer Libby was all attention. “Where are the tramps?”

“Over to Ike Slosson’s house. They have taken full possession.”

“Where is Slosson?”

“We don’t know. The tramps must have done something to him.”

“I always said somethin’ would happen to Ike,” put in the farmer’s wife. “It hain’t human for him to be a-livin’ alone as he does. Samuel, you must help in this.”

“Guess I must,” said Samuel Libby. “But I’ll have to tell Constable Peabody, and big Jim Bowman, too. Jim’s a powerful fellow when there’s trouble to be met.”

The farmer wanted the two boys to tell their tale, and they did so without delay. While they talked he put on his overcoat and got down his shotgun; and five minutes later all three were on their way to where Constable Peabody resided, in the center of the village.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE LAST OF THE TRAMPS

The constable was found in the village store, comfortably fixed on a soap box, and narrating for probably the fiftieth time how he had once caught two lumber thieves on the lake single-handed. The crowd had heard the tale many times, but as the constable always added fresh particulars at each telling, they were willing to listen again.

“So you want me, do you?” he said to Samuel Libby and the two young hunters. “All right, I’m your man. What is it, fire away?”

When he was told what was desired he looked grave.

“This ain’t no ordinary case,” he argued. “Them tramps must be des’prit characters. I’ll have to take a posse along.”

“No posse needed, Peabody,” said Farmer Libby. “Take Jim Bowman and myself. Remember, old Joel Runnell is a-watchin’ ’em with four young fellows. Ten men and boys ought to be enough to capture three good-for-nothing tramps.”

“Are you going back with us?” asked the constable of Bart and Harry.

“Certainly we are,” answered Harry. “My brother and I want to learn what became of his watch, if we can.”

It was not long after this that big Jim Bowman was found, a lumberman reputed to be the strongest fellow for miles around. He said he would go willingly, and took with him a stout club.

“Don’t much need it,” he said to the young hunters. “When I get in a mix-up I like to use my fists.”

“Well, it’s a good thing to know how to use your fists sometimes,” answered Bart.

The late moon was now coming up, so the roadway was lighter than it had been. Both Bart and Harry were tired because of all the tramping they had done, yet they did their best to keep up with the others. Jim Bowman led the way, taking strides that no one could have equaled.

“He must know how to handle lumber,” whispered Harry to Bart. “Just notice how muscular he is.”

“It is the constant outdoor life that has made him so strong, Harry.”

On they went until the bypath was gained. The constable had brought along a lantern, but this was not lit, for the rising moon was making it lighter every minute.

At last they halted and Harry gave a low whistle – a signal which had been agreed upon. A low whistle came in return, and almost immediately Joel Runnell came into view. He knew the constable by sight and Samuel Libby personally and nodded to them.

“Haven’t heard anything more out of ’em,” he said. “I’ll guess they think I went away.”

“Any light in the place?” asked the constable.

“Yes, a candle light in the kitchen. I wanted to crawl up and take a peep inside, but thought I wouldn’t risk it, for fear they’d spot me and try to dust out.”

After this the others were called up and a regular council of war ensued. Constable Peabody took charge, and he asked all to march up with him and surround the house. Then, taking Jim Bowman with him, he knocked loudly on the back door.

“Who’s there?” asked a rough voice, and then the voice was changed to an imitation of Ike Slosson’s and the speaker continued: “Go away! I want no strangers here. Go away!”

“Look here, this Tom-foolery won’t do!” cried the constable. “Open the door, or I’ll have it broken down.”

At this there was an added commotion in the house. Two men came to a window and peeped out.

“Hullo! there are half a dozen men out there,” muttered one.

“And they have got guns,” growled the other. “Muley, I reckon de jig’s up.”

“Who are you?” asked Noxy, the man at the door.

“An officer of the law, and I demand that you surrender,” shouted Constable Peabody, pompously.

“Boys, we must skip,” whispered the tramp called Stump. “If we don’t we’re sure to do time.”

“Are you going to open up or not?” demanded the constable.

To this there was no answer.

“Jim, I reckon you had better try your strength,” went on the officer.

The big lumberman was only too willing. He put his shoulder to the door and it went in with a crash.

“Now come out of that, one at a time,” sang out the constable. “And remember, we are ten to three, so it won’t do you any good to fight.”

“Are there ten o’ ’em?” gasped Noxy.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” growled Stump. “That feller who was here before must have told the sheriff. Say, wot are we goin’ to do?”