Double-eagles

Foreword To Second Edition

I wish to thank you, boys, for the generous wel¬ come you gave my little story on its first appearance. Owing to this kindness it has made bold to come forth again. Be good enough now to introduce it to your friends.

M. S. G.

COME ON ALONG!

“Double-Eagles,” boys, is a tale of fishing and treasure hunting and hairbreadth escapes: pleasures dear to your hearts—and mine. The scene is laid along one of the beautiful streams of Missouri. The time is “many years ago,” when the author, who is not inconveniently decrepit now, was of an age apt to imagine that every dark wood held a mystery at its heart and every green river “hole” concealed a “big un.” Isn't this so?

The incidents narrated in this book may never have occurred; indeed, I fear grown-ups will tell you the whole story is an exaggeration. Maybe it is; any¬ how, boys, (you don’t mind my speaking to you this way?) I can remember dreaming of these things and wishing they would come true. Perhaps you also dreamt of them; perhaps you also wished them to come true: perhaps? but there’s no perhaps about it! Well, then, get into the boat yonder—“old Sam ‘Jones” has two—and come with us on this trip; “Ned Taylor, his brother Hal, and I” will be glad to have you—as witnesses. Are you on board? then shove off!

M. S. Gr.

Contents

CHAPTBR PAGK

I. The Start. 1

II. A Sinister Conversation.10

Chapter I

I REMEMBER as if it were yesterday that bright June morning many years ago when we three, Ned Taylor, his brother Hal, and I set out down the Frisco track for the Marmac. We had got off the train at Kimley about ten o’clock, bought our pro¬ visions, and were now on our way to meet old Sam Jones down at the sand pit near the river. We had arranged by letter to buy his boat for ten dollars; we had written that we should commence our trip this morning; and he was to have the boat in ship¬ shape condition and all ready for us.

Now here, before I get any further, I think it well to mention how old we were. Ned was the eld¬ est, having just turned seventeen; I was a year younger; and Hal, if questioned, would probably have said that he was going on sixteen, though, to be sure, he had some three or four months still to go. For all that, Hal knew more about fishing than either Ned or I; certainly he knew more than I did. Well, it was a pretty hard task carrying our lug- 1 gage that half mile to the river. It was a hot day, and the cinders along the track were blistering. Our outfit, too, being considerable, made the way seem hotter. And yet, seeing we were to spend a week on the river, coming down from Kimley to Valley Junction, we were not taking along so much as you would expect. Here is what we had.

First of all, there was a blanket apiece. Then we had a .22 Winchester repeater, with two hundred rounds of cartridges. For fishing-tackle we brought along two trot-lines and one hundred and ninety snoods with hooks attached. Ned was taking with him a handsome rod and reel and a card of flies, which stylish things he had borrowed from a friend. He was going to try his hand at casting for bass, he said. Hal was carrying a big bucket of worms —one thousand of them—which he had spent the previous ten days in digging. As I said, I myself am not much of a fisherman, but I slipped into our kit a large black hook, about the length of your hand, which I had purchased with the idea that it might come handy. Then, of course, we had a dip-net and fish-bag, and these completed our fishing gear.

Added to the foregoing articles were also a brandnew hatchet we had bought in Kimley, a skillet, a coffee-pot, a knife, fork, spoon, cup, and plate apiece, and a lantern with a half-gallon can of kerosene.

As to provisions, we had four pounds of coffee, some sugar, a flitch of bacon, salt, two dozen loaves of bread, and, as a delicacy, a jar of strawberry jam.

I forgot to mention that Ned had on his person a pencil and note-book in which he intended to keep a diary of our adventures. And indeed it is owing to this little book that I am able to recall so vividly and to set down here many an incident which otherwise would have slipped my memory.

Staggering under this load, we made our way on down the Frisco track. When we reached the little ravine that dipped into the river just this side of the pit we heard a voice hailing us.

“Hi, boys! Just foiler the path down the right here.’ 7

We did so and came out on a small landing at the margin of the river. There, sure enough, was Sam with an oar in his hand, standing near a broadbeamed rowboat that looked pretty old and weather¬ beaten.

“Here y 7 are, boys, an 7 right glad I am to see you. An 7 here’s your boat, all spick an 7 span like new. An 7 dirt cheap too at ten dollars. I cal’late I 7 m givin 7 her away fer ten dollars. 77

We shook hands, thanked him, and stowed our bag¬ gage aboard.

“She doesn’t leak, Sam, does she? 77 I inquired.

Sam spat indignantly into the river.

“Leak! No! D’you reckon I’d be a-sellin 7 you boys a leaky boat? Not Sam Jones! She did leak, though,’’ he admitted, “till I caulked her up. But you may lay in her all night now, an’ the only water you’ll feel ’ull be the blessed doos of heaven.”

With which reassurance, after we had paid him ten crisp one-dollar bills, we embarked at last on the pleasure trip we had so long looked forward to. Hal, being the lightest, sat on the bow thwart; I manned the oars, and Ned seated himself in the stern, with all our belongings packed snugly at his feet.

With a few strong strokes I shot the boat out into midstream and then sent her stem straight around with the current. We were off! Before us lay a hundred miles of woods and water, unexplored re¬ gions big with a thousand adventures. Each one of us, I think, must have felt his heart thrill exquisitely with mingled pleasure and dread. For my own part, as we rounded a curve in the river and saw for the last time old Sam Jones standing away back there on the bank, I know that a queer sensation of danger and delight took possession of me.

It was toward midday, and everything was still and sleepy. The river moved along noiselessly be¬ tween green banks, with the hot sun glaring on its glassy surface. The trees on either hand stirred ever so gently as an occasional light breeze puffed through their topmost branches. And now and then, as we passed a log lying out from the shore, a turtle would slide silently off and disappear in the green depths.

And once, as I took a long sweep with my oars and leaned back on the thwart, I saw far up in the pale blue sky a lone buzzard wheeling slowly.

But suddenly, drifting idly around a curve, we found ourselves face to face with a dangerous rapids. As if by magic the quiet laziness of the scene had changed. Before us sounded the angry rush of waters. A kingfisher, as though to give us warning, came shrilly chattering over our heads; and the next moment we were being sucked into the mouth of the dashing and foaming strait. For the river, at this point, after advancing broadly and silently up to the bend, suddenly converged into a narrow alley of water, swift, deep, and full of ugly sawyers, with a roof of willows reaching out low over the surface.

Before I could quite collect my wits the boat had hit a snag, spun round and shot stern foremost under the overhanging boughs. Ned jumped to his feet to catch at one of these, in order, if possible, to swing the prow downstream. He reached up and grabbed, and at the same instant I heard a terrified yell and saw him start back violently, nearly capsizing the boat. He had laid both hands on a large moccasin that was lying on the limb; and the snake was even then hanging head downward, its jaws open and its forked tongue darting wickedly in and out.

Before I could even take a stroke we had sped past the angry reptile; and then, as Ned made a step to regain his seat, a low-hanging branch knocked him clear out of the boat and into the rushing river. My heart jumped to my throat as I saw him disappear headlong into the treacherous current.

For a moment Hal and I held our breath. The boat swept on, but there was no sign of Ned. And then, just as we were losing hope, his head popped up not two yards behind us.

“Are you all right?” I cried and reached him an oar.

He was blowing so hard that he could scarcely speak.

“All right,” he gasped. “Undercurrent—got— me. Thought—I’d—never come up.”

By this time we were already past the rapids and once more out on a broad, smooth-flowing part of the river.

“Pull for the shore,” he said; “I’ll catch hold of the stern.”

Shortly after we were on dry land again. It was a long gravel-bar, hot as a stove beneath the scorch¬ ing rays of the midday sun. Ned took off his clothes and spread them out to dry.

“But you’ll burn to a blister without a stitch on,” I warned him. “Here, put this gunny-sack around your shoulders.”

“There’s some shade down there,” said he, point¬ ing to a great log lying athwart a sand-dune. “Let’s have a slice of bread apiece and some of that strawberry jam. My clothes’ll be dry by that time. Hal, get a loaf of bread and the jam. ’ ’

Hal hesitated.

“Gee, you going to eat up all the provisions be¬ fore we get started? Besides, we’ll never get our lines in for to-night if we don’t hurry on and get to Whalen’s.’’

(We had decided to make our first stage at Whalen’s Bluff. Whalen’s Bluff, it may be noted, was the only part of the river we were acquainted with throughout the whole of our journey.)

“Oh, we’ve got lots of time, Hal,” said I. “It can’t be much after one o’clock.”

Shaking his head, Hal reluctantly got the eatables out of the boat, and we had our little snack in the shadow of the big log.

By the time we were finished, sure enough, Ned’s clothes were quite dry. We got into our boat then and once more put off down the river. Only now, Ned had relieved me at the oars while I had his place in the stern. After a space,

“Say, fellows,” he suddenly exclaimed, resting on his oars, “we haven’t christened our boat yet. What shall we call her?”

“ ‘Blue Lightning,’ ” I suggested, after a little thought.

“But she isn’t blue,” Ned objected. “If she was only blue, ’ ’ he admitted, ‘ ‘ that would be a good name, because she is kinda speedy.”

“Well, how would ‘The Firefly’ do then?” I sub¬ mitted.

“I don’t like that either, somehow. Let’s christen her ‘The Lady of the Lake.’ ”

“Shucks,” said Hal from the other end of the boat. “This isn’t any lake, it’s a river.”

“Well,” said Ned, after two or three pulls at the oars, “I think ‘Wyvon’ would be a beautiful name.”

“Wyvon!” I echoed blankly.

“What’s a wyvon?” asked Hal curiously.

“A wyvon!” Ned snorted scornfully. “Wyvon’s a lady’s name!”

“How do you spell it then?” Hal persisted.

“Y-v-o-double n-e, of course.”

“Oh,” said Hal. And then, after a pause, “I’ve got a better name than Wyvon!” he cried. “Let’s call her 4 Big Cat’!”

Ned laughed.

“Who ever heard of a boat called ‘Big Cat’!”

“That’s a good name, Ned,” I seconded; “it might bring us luck, and we might really catch a great big cat. That’s a peach of a name!”

“There’s something in that,” he admitted slowly.

“And just think,” Hal chipped in excitedly, “if we do catch a great big cat!”

“That’s a fact,” Ned decided in a convinced man¬ ner. “ ‘Big Cat’ is a good name. Get a cup, Hal, and pour water over the prow and say, ‘I christen thee “Big Cat.” ’ ”

1 * What’s the use of that ?’’ Hal protested. “ We ’ ve agreed to ‘Big Cat.’ She’s ‘Big Cat’ already, isn’t she?”

“No, of course not. She isn’t ‘Big Cat’ until you christen her. That’s the way 1 they christen all the big ships. Only they crack a bottle of champagne across the prow instead of pouring river water.”

“Well,” Hal assented skeptically; and fished out a cup and performed the required ceremony.

“There now,” said Ned, pulling on the oars again, “We’re making our voyage in regular style—in the good ship Big Catl” And he buckled lustily to his task.

Chapter II A Sinister Conversation

F OR some little while we moved along down the current without saying anything. We were looking at the changing scenery on either side of us. On our right were high wooded hills beetling out at intervals in craggy precipices that dropped sheer down to the water. Now and then we passed a sort of cave or grotto, hollowed in these cliffs, which looked cool and inviting. Long green ferns were growing there, and soft moss; and water trickled down from the sides. On our left the country was low, with dense woods of willow and sycamore. So thick were the trees that they seemed a solid bank of green. And over the margin of treetops, all along the shore, hung a shimmering white haze.

Presently Ned rested on his oars.

“Gee,” said he, “I'm hot! I wonder if we can’t find a spring somewhere along here. There ought to be a spring at the foot of these hills.”

“Let’s'wait till we get to Whalen’s Bluff,” said Hal. “There’s a well there at old Aunt Stanley’s? It’s only about a mile and a half further down.”

A SINISTER CONVERSATION 1 %

11 Mile and a half!”.Ned flouted. < ‘IT1 bet it’s three miles if it’s an inch!”

“We can drink river water/’ I suggested. “We’ll have to get used to it anyway. There aren’t any more houses after we pass Whalen’s till we get to Glencarm. That’s what you said. You said every¬ thing was as wild as Indians.”

“I know,” Ned answered. “But there must be springs along the river. Lots and lots of them. Bound to be springs, if we can only find them. Kit Carson and Daniel Boone and all the pioneers, they could always find springs when they wanted them.”

“They dug ’em then,” said Hal doggedly.

“Well,” said I, “we’ll stop along here at the first place we can land and do a little exploring. As Ned says, there ought to be a spring at the bottom of these cliffs.”

The river was still hugging the base of the hills, and the entire right bank, as far as we could see, was a long line of rocky bluffs indented here and there by leafy recesses. We had not gone far before we came on one of these nooks set between two high cliffs that fell straight down to the river. Ned ran the prow on the soft mossy bank beside a clump of hazels, and Hal sprang out.

“Get the coffee-pot,” he said, “and if we find a spring we can take some water with us.”

I took the coffee-pot out of our provision box and hopped ashore.

It was a very pretty spot where we had landed. The tall cliffs on either hand receded from the river in the shape of a rough V, about fifteen yards deep and twenty wide. The place was filled with moss and ferns and dogwood and hazel bushes. It was cool, too, and there was a sort of sweet smell about it.

And yet there was no trace of a spring. We searched along the base of the rock all around, but there was nothing to be seen but the green moss.

I straightened up and, as I looked over my shoul¬ der, my eye fell on a sort of natural ledge about a foot above the river on the side of the cliff that stood downstream. I crossed over and examined the rock more closely. Sure enough, it was a perfect little ledge about a foot and a half wide. It ran along the face of the cliff and disappeared around the curve where the rock bulged out into the river. Some twelve inches below the ledge the blue water slid along with a low, swishing sound.

I turned to my two comrades.

“Wait here. I’m going to follow this ledge around the cliff. Maybe it’ll lead to a spring.”

I started forward. Though I had to hug the face of the cliff pretty closely, it was comparatively easy walking. I rather expected the ledge to end abruptly when I got to the furthest projection of the bluff. But I was mistaken; it still continued, though nar¬ rowing. As I could now see, it led to a nook exactly similar to the one I had just left. But unfortunately,

A SINISTER CONVERSATION just as I thought I should reach it—the land was only five yards away—my path became so narrow that I could advance only at the imminent risk of falling into the river. I stopped, and was about to call out to Ned and Hal to bring the boat around. I opened my mouth, but the words died on my lips.

From the depths of the recess a man had ripped out a brutal oath, and I heard the words:

“Enough o’ reasons one way an’ t’other! If you don’t do as Buck an’ me wants, by the powers! I’ll mash yer head in with my fist an’ heave yer stinkin’ carcass to the turtles!”

Struck through with fear, I clung to the cliff, not daring to move. The voice had come from behind a clump of bushes not fifteen yards from where I stood. Before I could make up my mind what to do another voice spoke up, a cringing, whining voice.

“Well, Jerry, you know I ain’t a man to deceive you an’ Buck. I’ll do what you want. Didn’t I figger out that cipher for you? Where’d you be now without a man of eddication like me!”

“Enough o’ that,” growled the first voice. “We knows you done that, an’ ain’t we promised you a part o’ the pile? But mind you, Tom Crawford”— and here followed a terrible oath—“if I ketch you tryin’ to double-cross me an’ Buck, I’ll squeeze you to a pulp with these two hands, same as I did Pete Bain up at Stanton.”

By this time I had recovered somewhat from my fright. I had evidently stumbled upon a camp of ruffians, and even now was prevented from being dis¬ covered only by a few bushes. I was perilously placed indeed. Still, my mind was clear now, and I had regained control of my nerves. The first thing to do was to warn Ned and Hal not to make any noise; for it seemed to me that if such men caught us thus apparently spying on them, they might not listen to an explanation. Indeed, it was strange that they had not heard us already, but I must sup¬ pose they were so intent upon their quarrel that they heeded nothing else. Besides, the cliff cut off the sound of our voices.

Already I had begun very softly to edge my way back along the ledge. Ned was the first to catch sight of me, but before he could speak I had put my finger to my lips. He held his tongue then, more on account of my frightened look, I suppose, than of my gesture.

“What is it?” he whispered eagerly as I stepped down on the ground.

I related my discovery as hurriedly as I could. Then, “The best thing we can do is to clear out of here at once,” I advised.

But Ned’s spirit of adventure was aroused.

“Not on your life!” he whispered. “I’m going to find out more about this business. You and Hal get in the boat and be ready to shove off. And get the rifle out; you may have to do some shooting.”

Before we could protest he was up on the

A SINISTER CONVERSATION ledge and stealthily working himself forward.

Hal and I, with fear at our hearts, quietly pushed the boat into the water till her prow was just resting on the bank. Then we got in. I took the oars, while Hal, seated in the stern, carefully locked the Win¬ chester together.

Ned was already out of sight around the jut of the cliff. How long we waited for him I do not know. It seemed an age that we sat there, our hearts beating wildly and our eyes riveted on the shoulder of rock. Strain my ears as I might, I could hear not a word. There was only the low ripple of the water around the stern of the boat, and the rustle of the trees up on the brow of the cliff. Once a quail whistled, sharply and clearly, on the other side of the river; and once a kingfisher flew silently past.

Then, at last, to our infinite relief Ned appeared at the corner of the bluff and advanced noiselessly and swiftly along the ledge. Once on the ground again, he darted for the boat.

“Row upstream as soft as you can," he whispered, and shoved off.

I obeyed.

“Now put her about and go down the middle as though nothing happened.''

“Wouldn't it be better to let them get ahead of us?" said I.

“They're going back," he explained; “up to Kimley. Gee! one of them's as big as a giant!"

Chapter III We Pitch Camp

1 WAS burning to ask Ned what he had overheard, but we didn’t dare to speak of anything yet, much less of the scoundrels over yonder on the shore. We were passing them now, at about thirty or forty yards from the cliff.

We could see only two, although I made sure there had been three of them when I stood on the ledge, eavesdropping. Perhaps the other was still concealed by the bushes. One was a huge hulk of a fellow, as big as a giant, as Ned had said. He had a great shock of yellow hair and a horrible scar, as I noted even at that distance, which ran from his right eye across his cheek to the point of his frowzy chin. His com¬ panion was a smaller man, thin and wiry, with black hair and a scrawny black beard. He had but one eye, and this of itself lent him an air of villainy. Altogether, they were an evil-looking pair.

As we passed them, they paused in launching their skiff (it was a blue skiff with red gunwales) and cast a black look our way. It seemed to me that the man with the scar was about to hail us, but on second 16

WE PITCH CAMP thought he changed his mind, and with a rumbling oath bent once more bo his work.

We were a goodish distance below them now and easily out of earshot.

“Lord!” said Ned, still in a whisper, “but I had a close call back there/ ’

“What was it?” Hal and I asked excitedly in the same breath. “What did you hear?”

Ned leane'd forward on the thwart.

“Just as I was about to come back to the boat, the big fellow—his name’s Jerry Bottom—got up on the other side of the bushes. Gee, he must be seven feet tall! I thought sure I was discovered. But luckily his back was turned to me. You should have seen me hustle back over that ledge.”

“But what were they quarrelling about?” I asked.

“Well, there are three of them: Buck Webb, Tom Crawford and this Jerry. Tom Crawford wants to go on down the river. He said the sooner they got it the better: whatever ‘it’ is.”

“I heard them talking about a cipher and a pile,” I broke in. “What’s a cipher?”

“A secret writing,” said Ned promptly. “I’ll bet I know what it’s all about. They’re after a treasure or something, that’s what they are!”

“Gee!” said Hal.

“Well,” Ned continued, “Jerry and Buck Webb want to go back to Kimley and get more whiskey. They said they hadn’t enough to last them. The other fellow said whiskey wouldn’t help them in their search. * You ’ll only get tarnation drunk,’ he said. ‘And besides, you’ll be running your neck into a noose at Kimley. They’ve found Pete Bain by this time.’ Bottom whips out a swear word. ‘I told you we’ve had enough of your talk, Tom Crawford. Let me hear another word from you and by thunder, I’ll wring your neck like a chicken!’ Only he didn’t say ‘by thunder’; he swore. You see, they’re half afraid this Crawford fellow wants to double-cross them and get the treasure himself. I wonder if it really is a treasure,” Ned added wistfully. “Gee, if I only thought it was!”

“Gee whiz, if it was a real treasure!” exclaimed Hal; and for a while we were silent, pondering this thrilling prospect.

“Shucks,” said Ned at last, “there’s no use think¬ ing about it. They’ve gone back to Kimley, and we won’t see ’em again probably.”

“Do you suppose they’ll be arrested in Kimley?” I asked. “You know, they killed that Pete Bain at Stanton; Bottom said he did.”

“Yes,” said Ned, “but when I was listening, he said he chucked his body down an old mine shaft where they’d never find him. Just to think,” he added after a pause, his eyes glowing, “just to think that we’d be meeting real bloody murderers!”

“There it is!” Hal cried suddenly and pointed down the river. “Isn’t that Whalen’s Bluff?”

WE PITCH CAMP

Ned and I turned and looked. Sure enough, it was Whalen’s Bluff, the upper part of it: a high cliff straight ahead of us, against which the river broke and turned at right angles. It stood up sheer from the river, pure white under the glare of the sun, with green trees waving on its summit. As we ap¬ proached, we could see more cliffs, one after the other, rising white from the water: the whole long line of them known as Whalen’s Bluff. The river here was deep and green, with hardly any current: so deep in fact that people said that off Whalen’s Bluff you couldn’t find bottom. At the other end of the bluff, about a quarter of a mile further, the river turned again and shot down a rapids straight west¬ ward. Here at the turn was a wide gravel-bar, lying between the river and a dense wood.

“Let’s camp on the bluff,” suggested Ned. “It’ll be pretty there when the moon comes up.”

“But we’ll be too far away from the lines,” Hal objected. “We’re going to put the lines in just above and below the rapids, aren’t we? Those are the best places.”

“Best places to catch minnows,” said Ned scorn¬ fully. “We ought to fish out here in the deep water and catch a big one.”

“Nothing but gars and turtles out here,” said Hal. “You won’t catch any fish here. Besides, when the dog-gone moon does come up we won’t catch any fish anywhere . I hope it rains.”

“Rains!” cried Ned. “And ns without a tent!”

“Well,” persisted Hal, shaking his head, “we got to keep the moon hid.”

Now, whether we caught any fish or not, I cer¬ tainly preferred sleeping out on the gravel-bar where everything was clear. On top of the cliff there was a thick wood; you couldn’t tell what might be up there at night. So I said:

“Well, Ned, it might be all right to fish here in the deep water near the bluff, if we only had bigfish bait; but we’ve only got worms, and big fish don’t bite on worms.”

But Hal objected to that.

“All you know about it, Bert Cunningham,” said he. “Jiminy Chrismus! you can catch a ten-pounder with worms, and that’s big enough for me.”

“Well, that’s true,” I admitted. “But then, Ned, if you want to try a few casts for bass, you’ll have to go ’way down on the gravel-bar. There’s no bass-weed up here.”

Ned swallowed my bait.

“Gee, I forgot all about that! All right, let ’3 camp on the gravel-bar.”

In a few minutes we had landed our boat on the long stretch of gravel and started to unload her.

“There’s a fine place to camp,” said I, pointing to a monster of a log, about six feet in diameter, that lay on the bar about half way between the river and the wood. One end of it rested on a hummock of

WE PITCH CAMP sand, and with its long tangled roots sticking out in every direction it resembled a gigantic octopus, stranded high and dry.

“Now, Hal,” said Ned briskly, “you take the cof¬ fee-pot and go over to Aunt Mary Stanley’s and get some water. Bert and I will pitch camp and make everything snug.”