CHAPTER XII.

BILL TURNER, THE WOODSMAN.

When Nick Carter arrived at Calamont, he was disguised as a lumberman.

It was not exactly the season of the year for lumbermen to enter the

woods, unless they were measurers, who were engaged in preparing in

advance work for the winter; so that was the character which Nick Carter

adopted.

Measurers go into the woods, measure trees on the stump, as it is

called, blaze them with cabalistic marks, and otherwise prepare the way

for the workers with the axes and saws who are to come later.

It is well known that some of the most expert lumbermen in the world are

French Canadians, and so Nick adopted this character, and he knew that

as such he could wander at will around the woods and mountains of that

region without danger of being suspected for what he really was.

If any of the hoboes who made their headquarters in that region should

see him, they would not be inclined to suspect what he really was, and

the only actual danger he would stand in would be that they might be

inclined to knock him on the head or shoot him from ambush in order to

possess themselves of the few articles he had in his possession.

And for that very reason he adopted the disguise of a French Canadian

lumberman, for it was rarely that they were supposed to have anything

more than what they carried in sight on their backs.

The month was September, and therefore warm. The leaves in some places

were getting yellow and red, although there had been no frost; but oak

leaves turn earlier than others.

When he descended at Calamont Station, he stood there on the platform

until the train had pulled out, and the other passengers who had arrived

by it had departed their several ways. Then he approached the

baggageman.

"Me want find ze man named Beel Turner," he said slowly.

"What's that?" asked the baggageman.

"Me want find Beel Turner."

"Oh! Bill Turner, is it? Well, go up that street there until you come to

the post office. You'll like enough see an old, white-whiskered chap

standing there, chewing tobacco. That'll be Bill Turner."

"Beel Turner? He ees known here? No?"

"Known here? Gee! He has lived here since the oldest inhabitant was a

baby. He has always lived here. He is about a thousand years old, my

man; but as strong and as lively as a kid yet. You'll find him somewhere

around the post office."

Nick thanked him in his broken English and strode up the street.

Sure enough, when he arrived in the vicinity of the post office, he saw

a white-whiskered man standing there, and he approached him at once.

"You ees Beel Turner?" he asked modestly, sidling up to the man.

"I be," was the response, while Bill Turner fixed his clear gray eyes

upon the detective. "What might you be wantin' of me, stranger?"

"I have--hush!--I have some money for you, Beel Turner. Can you take me

where we can talk so that nobody will overhear us?"

Turner eyed him suspiciously for a moment; then he turned abruptly away

with the remark:

"Come along with me, stranger."

Nick walked beside him through the town to the very end of the main

street. Then they turned into a roadway, which led up a steep hill for

some distance, and which presently brought them to a modest cottage that

was almost hidden under the brow of the hill.

"Here is where I live," said Turner. "I live here all alone, 'cept a cat

and two dogs. But the dogs hev got old like me, now, and they can't go

out among the hills as they used to; although, bless you, I reckon I kin

walk jest as fur as ever I could, if I try. Come in."

Nick followed him inside, and Turner offered him a rocker near the open

window. The whole house was as neat and clean as if it had the care of a

woman.

"Now, mister," said Turner, "what hev ye got on yer mind?"

"In the first place," replied Nick, in his natural voice, "I am not what

I seem to be. I am not a lumberman, or a Frenchman--or a Canadian. I am

a detective."

"Sho! You don't say so. Well, that beats me. Sure, ye do it fine,

mister. I would never hev suspected at all that you are not what you

seem. But go on."

"I have come here after that gang of hoboes who infest the neighborhood

for fifty or sixty miles around this place. I am principally after the

woman who is their chief. Do you know who I mean?"

"I reckon ye must be referrin' to that there Black Madge and her gang."

"That's right."

"Well, yer up agin' a proposition. That's all I kin say about it."

"I know that; and what I want of you is to get you to help me with that

proposition, Bill Turner."

"Ain't I too old?"

"Not a bit of it."

"Is there good pay in it?"

"The very best; and there is fifty dollars down for you right now--if

you are inclined to do as I want you to do."

Nick took a roll of bills from his pocket as he spoke, and laid it on

the table before the avaricious glances of the old man.

"Well, sir," said Turner slowly, "all I've got to say is this: If I can

do what you want done, I'll do it. I want that money as bad as anybody

could want it and not grab it right now where it is lying; but I have

never had a penny in my life that I didn't get honestly, and I am afraid

that I'm too old to do what you want done."

"I tell you that you are not."

"Then, in that case, I'll take the money and put it in my pocket--so.

There! Now, go ahead. If the work is honest, and such as an honest man

can do, I'll do it--if I ain't too old, and you say I ain't. But if the

work ain't honest, I'll return your money. Now, what is it, mister?"

"I want you first to promise that you will not reveal my identity. I

must be Jules Verbeau to you to the end, and you must forget that I am

not he in fact."

"You kin consider that done, sir."

"Second, I want you to answer some questions for me."

"Fire away."

"How well do you know the hills and mountains, the ravines and gulches,

the rocks and the caves around this region?"

"As well as I know that dooryard in front of you," replied the old man,

pointing through the window. "I know every inch of the country--every

inch of it."

"Now, another question which you will not understand at once: Do you

know how to use a pencil, and is your hand steady enough to draw plans

for me?"

"Yes, sir. I began life as a draughtsman; but that was when I was a

boy."

"That will suffice. Now--could you draw a plan of different parts of the

mountains, so it would be plain enough for me to follow without your

being present with me?"

"That would depend upon you, sir. If you are a man who has some

woodcraft in your make-up, I say yes. It would depend upon you."

"We will consider that question answered, then. Now, have you any idea

to what part of the mountainous region around here--say, within fifty

miles of where we are seated--the hobo gang would select in which to

hide themselves?"

"I think I could guess it to a dot."

"Why?"

"Because there is one region up among those hills which is exactly

fitted for them; and from which you couldn't drive them out with a

thousand men. That's why!"

"Good. That sounds as if it might be the place they would select. How

far is it from here, as you would travel afoot."

"A matter of thirty miles."

"Now, can you draw me a plan of that region?"

"I kin."

"And how to get there?"

"I kin."

"And are there caverns there? Do you suppose those people are hiding and

making their headquarters in caves?"

"Yes, to both questions. The hills round that 'ere region are

honeycombed with caves. Some of 'em is big, and some of 'em is little;

but there's a lot of 'em there."

"Good; and you know them well enough to give me a working plan of them?

What a sailor would call a chart?"

"You bet I do."

"Now, another subject: Have you ever traveled away from here? Have you

ever been to New York, for instance?"

"Never in my life. I've always lived right around here. I don't suppose

I have been ten miles away from here, except in the woods, in forty

years. But in the woods I sometimes used to go a good ways."

"I've no doubt of that. How would you like to make a visit to New

York?"

"I should like it very much--only it would cost such a lot, you know."

"Suppose your expenses were paid?"

"Well, that would be different."

"How much, in cash, will you take for your whiskers, Mr. Turner?"

"Now what the devil do you mean by that? Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all. I was wondering if fifty dollars more, down, would induce

you to shave off your whiskers."

"Humph! Jest tell me what you are getting at and I'll answer you."

"This: I want to disguise myself so that I look like you. I want to go

out in the mountains as you would go out. While I am making believe that

I am Bill Turner, I want you to take a trip to New York, and to live

there, at my house, and take it easy, see all the sights, go to the

theatres and the museums, and all that, until I return, and I want you

to shave off your whiskers, and let me blacken your brows and otherwise

make some changes in your appearance, so that if any of the people from

Calamont should happen to meet you in the street down there they

wouldn't say, 'Why, there is Bill Turner!' Would you consent to do

that?"

"For another fifty dollars down?"

"Yes."

"I would. When do you want me to shave?"

"I will tell you in good time. First, I want you to fix up those plans."

"Hadn't I better git about it right now?"

"Yes. I think you had. And I will remain here with you while you do it

in order that you may explain things to me as you work upon them."

"That's a good idee, too. I can make you know them mountings as well as

I do, in a short time. I knows 'em so well----"

"That reminds me. Do you happen to know by sight, or have an

acquaintance with, any of the members of that gang?"

The old man shifted uneasily in his chair, and at last he replied:

"I know one of them--purty well. He calls himself Handsome."

"Good! What does Handsome know about you, Bill?"

"He don't know nothin' about me, 'cept that I'm a woodsman, and that I'm

too old to do him any harm. I helped him once, and once he helped me a

leetle, and we're sort of friends. But I ain't never seen him but twice

in my life, and then both times I met him in the woods, so I ain't never

mentioned nothin' about him to other folks."

"That's splendid! It is just what I hoped. It couldn't be better! I want

you now to tell me what you talked about when you and Handsome met each

other those two times in the woods."

"That's easy. The first time, I was walking through the woods, up about

where you are going--that is, it was in that region--when I heard

somebody hollerin' fur help. At first I couldn't tell for the life of me

where the hollerin' come from; but after a leetle I located it up on the

side of one of them steep hills, and so I crawled up there. Well, when I

got there, I found that a man had slid into a hole in the rocks, and

that he couldn't git out nohow. If I hadn't happened along the chances

are that he'd starved before he'd ha' been helped out."

"And as it was--what?"

"I helped him out. I didn't have no hatchet, but I had a good huntin'

knife along with me, and I managed to whittle down a good-sized spruce,

which I trimmed so's to make a sort of ladder of it. When that was done

I lowered the butt end of it into the hole, and Handsome--that was who

it was in the bottom of the hole--he climbed up so's I could get hold of

him, and then I pulled him out. There wasn't much to that, was there?"

"It saved his life."

"Probably."

"Wasn't he grateful?"

"Suttingly."

"What did you talk about after that?"

"We sot down there a spell and chinned, that's all. He axed me who I

was, and I told him. He axed me if I was long in these parts, and I told

him allers. He axed me where I lived, and I told him about this cottage.

That's all--only he said he was a hobo, and that he was called Handsome.

I allowed that the people who called him that lied mightily; but I

didn't say so jest then."

"What more was talked about?"

"Nothin'."

"When was the next time you saw him?"

"That was in the middle of the summer, and it was farther south--not far

from the railroad tracks."

"Well, what happened then?"

"That was the time he helped me."

"How was that?"

"I can't never tell you exactly how it was, but somehow I had got my

foot wedged in the root of a tree, and I had been tryin' an hour to git

it out, without success. The tree was hard, and I was just tacklin' that

root with my knife--I'd have cut through it in about an hour, I

reckon--when 'long comes that feller Handsome that I had saved from the

hole in the rocks. He had an axe on his shoulder, and when he spied me

he stopped, and laughed, and laughed until I got mad.

"'Caught in yer own trap, ain't ye?' he axed me.

"'I be,' says I. 'You've got a axe, and mebby you kin help me out o'

it.'

"Well, he did. He chopped the root in a jiffy, and I was free; but,

bless you, I could 'a' done it myself with my knife in a hour, anyhow.

All the same, I was grateful to him, and we sot down on a log and

chinned for a while."

"What about?"

"He asked me what I was doing around there, and I told him that I was

thinking of looking over the swamp below the tracks a leetle, with some

idea of settin' traps there late this fall and winter, and he said as

how he wouldn't advise me to do it. He said as how I wouldn't be likely

to ketch the sort of animals I was after, and that some of the animals

might ketch me; and, as I ain't exactly a fule, I ketched onto what he

meant, and I ain't been nigh that place since. And then it turned out

afterward as I thought it would, them hoboes had a hidin' place in that

very swamp."

"Right you are, Bill!" said Nick, laughing. "Is that all the

conversation you had with Handsome?"

"Every bit of it."

"And you have never seen him since?"

"Never. Hold on; he axed me that time if I had ever mentioned the fact

of our fust meetin', and I told him I had not. He seemed pleased at

that, and he told me never to mention it. I allowed that I didn't see no

reason why I should, and he laughed at that and seemed entirely

satisfied."

"That is excellent, Bill. Now, we will get at those plans. I don't want

to lose any time."

"Would you mind telling me why you axed me all about them two meetings?"

"Not at all. When I go out into the woods in the character of Bill

Turner, I am likely at some time to run across Handsome himself. I want

to be posted, so that he won't know but what I am you. I don't want him

to catch me; see?"

"Yes. But do you suppose you kin fix yourself to look enough like me

so's he won't know the difference when he sees you?"

"Certainly."

The old man shook his head.

"I don't believe it," he said, "but maybe you can. How about the voice?

Your voice ain't no more like mine than a----"

"I can do that, too," replied Nick, exactly simulating the voice in

which the old man was speaking; and he looked around him in wonder, and

then at the detective.

"It does beat all!" he said at last. "I guess you're some too many for

me, sir."

"Shall we get at those plans now?"

"Right away."

Turner brought out paper and pencil, and, having cleared the top of his

table, he began to work.

First he drew a large circle on the paper, and at one edge of it he made

a cross.

"That there cross is Calamont," he said. "Where we be now; and all

that's inside of the ring I've made lies to the east of here, from

nor'-nor'east to sou'-sou'east--and east. You understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Well, jest about in the middle o' that ring is the place where I think

them fellers would hide. It's the best place for them."

"Tell me about it before you draw anything; or, rather, talk while you

are drawing."

"That's jest what I'm going to do. Now, you follow my pencil and pay

attention."

"Go ahead," said Nick.

"When you leave here--if you start from Calamont, which I suppose you

will--you start right about here. You take a general direction nor'east

from here at first. You'll find a path through the woods after you git

about two miles from here, and that path will lead you several miles.

But about here it'll disappear, and you won't have nothin' to guide you

'cept what I show you and tell you now."

"Exactly," replied the detective.

"Up here, at about the time you lose all trace o' the path, you'll come

to a deep ravine. You want to follow up the middle of that, to the top.

And when you git to the top of it you will think that you have run up

ag'inst a cliff, and there ain't no gettin' out of it without goin'

back.

"But that ain't so. There's a waterfall at the end of the ravine. It

comes around a sort of a twist in the rocks, and if you ain't afraid of

gettin' damp, you follow around there, and you will find as nice a piece

of steps cut in them stones as you ever saw in your life. Indians cut

'em more'n a hundred years ago, so I'm told.

"Well, they take you to the top of that cliff. When you're up there, you

find you're in another ravine, not so deep as t'other. Right here that

would be," he added, making a mark with the pencil.

"All right," said Nick.

"About a mile farther up that second ravine you want to leave it. You'll

find a big dead oak that hangs out over it, and beside the dead oak

there is a path up the side of the ravine. It is one of my own paths.

You get up it by hangin' onto two things you find there for the purpose.

I put 'em there more'n twenty years ago, mister."

"Go ahead."

"When you git to the top, you want to branch off this way--so. You'll

find a clearin' about there, and off to the east you'll see some high

hills. You want to make for them."

"And those hills, I suppose, is my destination."

"That's where the caves are. That's where you will find the gang if

they are hiding anywhere in that 'ere region."

"Now, tell me about the caverns. Tell me how to find them."

"They're easy enough to find--some of 'em is; others ain't. Wait a

minute."

He pushed that paper aside, and took a fresh one.

"Now, when you come to the hills, you will approach 'em at what we call

the Dog's Nose. So named because that's what it looks like. It's a rock

that sticks out right about here, and you can't miss it. It looks

exactly like a dog's nose, stickin' out and smelling things.

"You want to go right up under that there dog's nose; and when you git

there you'll see a hole in the rock that ain't no bigger than the lower

half of that window. It's a leetle bit of a hole, and it's as dark as a

pocket inside it, too. Nobody, even if they found the hole, would ever

think of going in there. It ain't invitin' to look at."

"How did you happen to go into it?"

"I didn't. I came out of it. I got lost in that cave for three days

once, when I was a boy, and when I found my way out I came out of that

hole. Nobody knows about that entrance but me, though I suppose lots of

folks knows it's there."

"And it communicates with the cave?"

"It does. It'll take you to any part of the cave; and there is only one

rule to follow in going through it. You'll want a light, though."

"I've got the light. What is the rule?"

"Always--no matter where you are in any of them caves, take the way to

the right. Never take a gallery to the left, goin' in either or any

direction. It's a rule that holds good in them caves. It's a sort of way

that nature provided so's you could find your way through there; and I

happened to discover what it was."

"It all sounds very simple and easy."

"And it is, if you've got the pluck and the sand. But it's a ticklish

place. There is a good many places in there that I ain't never explored,

and don't want to; and it's safe to bet that the hoboes ain't done it,

neither. I reckon, mister, that that's about all I kin show you--hold

on, though!"

"What now?"

"Well, there's one place up there which it might be handy for you to

know about, and I don't think anybody but me knows about it, either."

"What is that?"

"Well, you might find occasion to want to hide yourself away while you

are in there."

"That is more than likely, Bill."

"Well, just arter you pass through the hole that is under the Dog's

Nose, and about twenty rods from there, you'll find a place where there

is a bowlder sort of set into the rocks. You won't notice it unless you

look for it, but it is there. Under it you'll find a small stone wedged

fast. If you pull out that small stone, and then push on the big rock,

it'll swing around like it was on a pivot, and you kin step inside the

hole it leaves, and close up the door after you. You'll find an

interestin' place in there, too, if you ever have occasion to use it,

mister; and nobody will find you there, either."