XV
Chicken Thieves
Next morning, although the boys kept a sharp lookout, there was no sign of the marauder.
“We’re not going to let him spoil our holiday,” declared Frank. “If he decides to come back for his notebook we’ll be ready for him, but we don’t have to sit around waiting.”
“What say we go back and call on Amos Grice?” suggested Joe. “He may be able to tell us some more about Elroy Jefferson and the stamp collection.”
“Good idea!” declared Biff. “I’d like to meet the old chap.”
Chet said nothing. He was already struggling into his coat. The prospect of a jaunt in the iceboats appealed to the boys strongly, for it was a bright, sunny morning and the air was keen.
In a short time, the lads were ready, and went scrambling down the slope toward the little cove where the iceboats were sheltered. Chet, who was anxious to learn how to manage the craft, seated himself at the tiller of Biff’s boat.
“Guess I’d better take out some insurance, if you’re going to steer,” said Biff.
“Don’t worry about me, my lad,” Chet advised. “Hang on to your cap, for you’re in for a swift ride, with plenty of fancy twists and curves.”
The Hardy boys got into their own boat, the sails flapped in the wind, then filled out, and the boats sped out of the cove into the open bay.
Chet soon found that steering was not the simple thing it had seemed. He was in difficulties before he was more than a few hundred yards away from the island. Then, essaying a sharp turn, he almost upset the boat.
Frank and Joe could see Biff remonstrating with him, but Chet evidently refused to give up the tiller.
“He means to learn how!” laughed Frank. “I’ll bet Biff is sweating. He’s afraid Chet will wreck the boat.”
“I’m just as glad I’m not riding with them, myself,” returned Joe.
At that moment they saw the other boat veer sharply around. The sails bellied in the stiff breeze and the iceboat came plunging across the bay toward them.
“What’s the matter now?” exclaimed Frank. “Is he trying to run us down?”
The boat boomed on, without changing its course. They had a glimpse of Biff Hooper standing up and waving his arms wildly.
“Guess we had better get out of the way.” Frank, who was at the tiller, swung the boat to leeward, and at the same instant the other craft changed its course and was still heading directly down upon them.
Then, to their astonishment, the oncoming boat swerved again, this time with such violence that Biff Hooper lost his balance, staggered, and tumbled out on to the ice. Chet, the amateur, was left alone at the tiller of an iceboat which was out of his control.
Then ensued a weird game of tag. Chet’s boat was at the mercy of the shifting winds. It dodged to and fro, plunged from side to side. No one could tell where it was going next. Most of the time, it seemed to be plunging directly at the Hardy boys’ boat, and Frank was kept busy steering out of the way.
Once it seemed that a collision was inevitable. The runaway boat swung sharply about, seemed to gather speed as the wind caught it, and then came on with a rush. Frank desperately tried to maneuver his craft out of its course. The other boat was rushing down on him.
“Jump!” shouted Joe.
“Stay where you are!” Frank yelled. There was still a chance. He bore down on the tiller. The iceboat swung into the wind just as the other craft went flashing past. They could see Chet, a look of comical fear and amazement on his face, frantically trying to get the boat under control.
Out on the open ice, Biff had scrambled to his feet and was madly pursuing the fleeing craft. Chet managed to get the boat back against the wind, it turned wildly and raced directly at Biff. Then Biff turned and fled. He might have been run down had he not leaped to one side just in time. As the boat was speeding past he watched his chance and jumped.
Biff clambered over the side and crawled over Chet, who gladly moved over to allow him to take the tiller. In a few moments the boat slackened speed. Shortly afterward, Biff had the situation well in hand, turned the boat about, and drove alongside the Hardy boys.
“Are you satisfied?” said Biff, glaring at Chet.
“Must have been something wrong with the steering gear,” Chet explained weakly.
“Steering gear, nothing!” snorted Biff. “Something wrong with the fellow who was steering, that’s all. After this, I’ll take charge of the boat myself.”
“You’re welcome. I’ve had plenty.”
“Thank goodness!”
“What was the big idea?” shouted Frank. “Trying to wreck us all, Chet?”
“No harm done. We’d better forget it,” muttered Chet sheepishly. “I can’t seem to get the hang of this steering business. I’d rather be just a passenger, anyway.”
“That suits everybody,” growled Biff. “When I go out iceboating I don’t care to spend half of my time chasing the boat.”
Joe snickered. The recollection of Biff slipping and sliding across the ice in pursuit of the runaway craft, and then slipping and sliding with the boat in pursuit of him, appealed to Joe’s sense of humor. That snicker was like a match touched to gunpowder, for Frank also laughed, then Chet, and finally Biff himself had to grin. So, in high good humor again, the lads got back into the boats and resumed their journey toward the village.
They reached the little place about ten o’clock and made their way up through the snow to Amos Grice’s store, where they found the proprietor sitting beside the stove, munching crackers from the barrel, just as they had last seen him.
“Howdy, boys!” he greeted them. “Come to pay me a call? Sit down and make yourselves at home. Help yourselves to the crackers. I keep ’em here to sell, but somehow it seems I never sell any, although the barrel keeps gettin’ empty all the time just the same. I’ve been always intendin’ to put a cover on that there barrel but I just can’t seem to get around to it.”
“We found our supplies, Mr. Grice,” Frank told him.
“You found ’em, eh? Where were they?”
“Somebody had hidden them on us, as a joke.”
“Just this mornin’ I was thinkin’ about you lads,” said Amos Grice. “There’s been a couple of thieves around here, too, and I was wonderin’ if it was the same ones that swiped your supplies.”
“Thieves!” exclaimed Chet.
“Yep. They paid me a visit last night. Stole a lot of my chickens.”
The boys looked at one another. Amos Grice laughed. “Not the kind of thieves you’re thinkin’ about,” he remarked. “These ain’t two-legged thieves. Four-legged ones. They mighty near cleaned out my henhouse. Seven fine fat chickens I lost.”
“Foxes?” ventured Joe.
Amos Grice nodded.
“Foxes! A couple of ’em raided the hen roost last night and made off with seven chickens and I never even caught a sight of ’em at it. If I only had time to leave the store I’d certainly set out after ’em. Still, they may come back, and if they do they’ll find me settin’ up waitin’ for ’em with a shotgun.”
“Perhaps they have a den just outside the village,” Biff said.
“I know they have. I ain’t the first man to lose chickens here this winter.”
“Did they leave any tracks?” asked Frank.
“Plenty of ’em. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Amos Grice led the way out of the store toward the henhouse in the back yard. A few chickens, the only ones remaining of the flock, were pecking at some grain. The old storekeeper showed the boys two distinct trails in the snow, leading away from the henhouse, up toward the hill at the back of the store.
“That’s the way they went,” he said. “With my chickens. I tell you, I had a mighty good mind to close up the store and start after ’em right away. I’d like to get a shot at the rascals.”
“Joe and I have a couple of small rifles down in the iceboats,” Frank said. “Perhaps we could try our hand at shooting the foxes.”
“Good idea!” approved Chet. “I wish I had a rifle.”
“You can have mine,” declared Amos Grice. “I have a couple of guns up in the store that I’ll let you have. And if you can drill them two foxes I’ll be mighty grateful to you.”
The Hardy boys and their chums were at once enthusiastic over the idea of a foxhunt. Amos Grice provided Chet and Biff with rifles while Frank and Joe hastened to get their own weapons. Amos Grice even insisted on lending them his dog.
“If there’s any foxes within five miles, that dog will dig ’em out,” he said. “Only be sure and not shoot my dog.”
“We’ll be careful,” promised the boys.
“Just follow those tracks in the snow and you’ll come right to the den, I’ll bet a cookie,” declared the old man.
“Let’s go!” shouted Joe. “We’ll bring back your foxes, Mr. Grice.”
“Sure will,” added Chet jubilantly.
The boys started off through the deep snow, following the double trail up the hillside.
The dog was a lanky, mournful looking brute who seemed too lazy, as Chet expressed it, “to wag his own tail,” but he lived up to his master’s recommendation. The moment the boys started following the trail, the dog seemed to have a new interest in life, and he plodded on ahead, sniffing at the trail left by the marauding foxes.
The snow was deep but the boys thoroughly enjoyed the excitement of the chase.
“We didn’t expect to blunder into a foxhunt when we left the cabin this morning, did we?” said Joe, when the village was out of sight behind them.
“I’ll say we didn’t,” returned his brother. “This beats iceboating all hollow.”
“It will, if Chet will keep from pointing that gun in my direction,” said Biff. “He has already tried to kill me once this morning.”
Chet, blushing, reversed the weapon, which he had been carrying in a highly dangerous position, with the barrel pointing toward the other members of the party.
They went down into a gully extending several hundred yards to the west, following the tracks that led along the bottom of the ravine, then turned sharply up the slope again toward a thicket of trees. Here and there they could see flecks of blood on the snow.
“That’s from the chickens,” Frank said, as they strode along.
Suddenly the dog became very active. Reaching the top of the slope, he plunged along in a swift run and soon disappeared among the trees. Then they heard him howling with excitement.
“He’s found them!” shouted Chet.
The boys hastened on. When they overtook the dog they found him frantically raising clouds of snow as he dug among some rocks in the depth of the thicket. He had found the den.
The boys knew little or nothing about the habits of foxes, but they reflected that the dog would be scarcely making such a clamor unless the animals were at home. They waited, rifles in readiness.
“Shoot ’em when they come out!” advised Biff, capering about.
The dog suddenly disappeared into the mouth of the den. The lads heard a yelp of pain, and the dog emerged again, his tail between his legs. He scuttled between their legs and headed down the home trail, howling. A moment later he was lost from view.
The lads looked at one another blankly.
“What happened to him?” demanded Biff.
“One of the foxes must have bitten him,” Joe said.
A shout from Chet interrupted him.
“Look!”
He was pointing over among the trees. The boys saw a tawny object flash against the snow, then another. The foxes had emerged from their den by the back entrance, evidently alarmed by the intrusion of the dog, and were fleeing for their lives back toward the ravine.
Chet flung his rifle to his shoulder. He was trembling with excitement, but he managed to aim at the foremost fox, and pressed the trigger.
There was only a dull click!
Chet had forgotten to load the weapon.
The others were too excited to notice his discomfiture. They were running about wildly, each seeking a good view of the fugitives. Frank and Biff, noticing the direction the foxes were taking, went plunging through the snow, back toward the rim of the ravine, with the intention of heading the animals off.
Frank tripped over a hidden tree-trunk and went sprawling headlong. He lost his rifle, and while he was searching for it Biff passed him and ran on toward the gully. Chet and Joe, in the meantime, were heading toward the gully in the opposite direction.
Biff emerged at the top of the slope. He looked down into the gully, just as Frank came racing up.
“See them?” demanded Frank.
“Not yet. They must have doubled back.”
The boys looked down into the gully. The snow was white and unbroken. Suddenly, at the far end of the gully they saw a movement among the bushes. A moment later, a fox came streaking out of the thicket, followed by its mate. The animals did not see the lads watching at the top of the slope.
“Take your time, Biff,” advised Frank, as he raised the rifle to his shoulder.
The foxes were hampered by the deep snow, but even at that they were racing down the gully so quickly that the boys had to take swift aim.
Bang!
Biff’s rifle spoke. The lead fox stopped short, whirled in his tracks and darted back. The other animal did likewise. But Frank’s aim was more accurate.
Bang!
The lead fox dropped into the snow, threshed about for a moment and lay still.
The other animal raced madly away, seeking cover. But by this time Biff had ejected the empty shell and had taken aim again. He pressed the trigger, sighting at the fleeing fox.
This time his aim was sure. The animal leaped high in the air, turned completely over and fell motionless in the snow.
“We got ’em!” yelled Biff joyfully. He began scrambling down the slope, anxious to inspect the prize. Frank followed him. At the bottom of the gully they came upon the dead animals, lying only a few yards apart. Each had been killed almost instantly.
“Amos Grice won’t lose any more hens after this,” declared Frank, with satisfaction.
“Just got them in the nick of time!” said Biff. “In another two seconds they would have been back among the trees and we’d have never seen them again.”
Chet and Joe, attracted by the sounds of the shots, now appeared at the top of the slope. They were astonished when they found that the hunt was already ended and that Frank and Biff had slain the marauders.
“You’re lucky, that’s all,” said Chet solemnly. “Just lucky. It was just by chance that the foxes headed this way instead of going down toward where we were waiting for them.”
“Well, we had our rifles loaded,” said Biff pointedly.
This silenced Chet, as he did not care to start any discussion concerning his failure to load the rifle when he started out on a foxhunt.
The boys started back toward the village, carrying the dead bodies of the four-legged chicken thieves with them. When Amos Grice saw them enter the store he was almost speechless with amazement.
“Back already?” he exclaimed. “What did you do to that dog of mine? He come back here howlin’ his head off and he went and hid under the woodshed and I ain’t been able to get him out.”
“He found the foxes,” explained Frank gravely.
“One of them nipped his nose,” added Joe.
“And why are you lads back so soon? Can’t catch foxes by just goin’ out for half an hour or so,” declared Amos, wagging his head. “It’s an all-day job, often.”
“Come on outside,” invited Chet proudly, as though he had been personally responsible for the success of the hunt.
Amos Grice went outside and when he saw the two foxes lying in the snow, he rubbed his spectacles, as though he thought his eyes were playing him false.
“I wouldn’t have believed it!” he said, at last. “I wouldn’t have believed it! And yet I can see ’em lyin’ there, with my own eyes. If this don’t beat the Dutch!”
“We were just lucky enough to catch them at home,” explained Frank.
“And smart enough to shoot ’em on the run,” declared Amos Grice. “It takes some shootin’ to get a fox, lads, for they’re mighty tricky rascals. Well, now I can sleep in peace at night and I’ll know that my chickens are safe. I can sure breathe easier now that I know them two thieves are through with chicken stealing.”
He took the boys back to the store and, by way of showing his gratitude, insisted on filling their pockets with crackers and apples.
“You’re welcome at my store any time, lads,” he told them. “If ever you need any more supplies, come right to me and—and I’ll sell ’em to you at wholesale price.”
Seeing that this, to Amos Grice, was the height of generosity, the boys thanked him warmly.
“We’ve had a rare good morning,” declared Frank, “and we’re much obliged to you, Mr. Grice, for telling us about the foxes. We wouldn’t have missed that chase for anything.”
“I’m more’n obliged to you,” said the old man.
“I guess we’d better be getting back to the island. It’s lunch time now,” said Chet.
Before they left, the boys cut the brushes from the two foxes and when they returned to Cabin Island that afternoon they placed the prizes in a place of honor above the fireplace.