Victor Appleton (house Name) (14 page)

"I guess I'll have to give it up and go back home," he decided one
night. But there was a small town, not many miles from Shopton,
which he had not yet visited, and he resolved to try there before
returning. Accordingly, the next morning found him inquiring of the
police authorities in Meadton. But no tramps had been arrested in
the last month, and no one had seen anything of a tramp like Happy
Harry or three mysterious men in an automobile.

Tom was beginning to despair. Riding along a silent road, that
passed through a strip of woods, he was trying to think of some new
line of procedure, when the silence of the highway, that, hitherto,
had resounded only with the muffled explosions of his machine, was
broken by several exclamations.

"Now, Boomerang, yo' might jest as well start now as later," Tom heard
a voice saying—a voice he recognized well. "Yo' hab got t' do dis
yeah wuk, an' dere ain't no gittin' out ob it. Dis yeah wood am got to
be sawed, an' yo' hab got to saw it. But it am jest laik yo' to go
back on yo' ole friend Eradicate in dis yeah fashion. I neber could
tell what yo' were gwine t' do next, an' I cain't now. G'lang, now,
won't yo'? Let's git dis yeah sawmill started."

Tom shut off the power and leaped from his wheel. From the woods at
his left came the protesting "hee-haw" of a mule.

"Boomerang and Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed the young inventor.
"What can they be doing here?"

He leaned his motor-cycle against the fence and advanced toward
where he had heard the voice of the colored man. In a little
clearing he saw him. Eradicate was presiding over a portable
sawmill, worked by a treadmill, on the incline of which was the
mule, its ears laid back, and an unmistakable expression of anger on
its face.

"Why, Rad, what are you doing?" cried Tom.

"Good land o' massy! Ef it ain't young Mistah Swift!" cried the
darky. "Howdy, Mistah Swift! Howdy! I'm jest tryin' t' saw some
wood, t' make a livin', but Boomerang he doan't seem t' want t'
lib," and with that Eradicate looked reproachfully at the animal.

"What seems to be the trouble, and how did you come to own this
sawmill?" asked Tom.

"I'll tell yo', Mistah Swift, I'll tell yo'," spoke Eradicate. "Sit
right yeah on dis log, an' I'll explanation it to yo'."

"The last time I saw you, you were preparing to go into the grass-
cutting business," went on Tom.

"Yais, sah! Dat's right. So I was. Yo' has got a memory, yo' suah
has. But it am dis yeah way. Grass ain't growin' quick enough, an'
so I traded off dat lawn-moah an' bought dis yeah mill. But now it
won't go, an' I suah am in trouble," and once more Eradicate Sampson
looked indignantly at Boomerang.

"Tell me all about it," urged Tom sympathetically, for he had a
friendly feeling toward the aged darky.

"Well," began Eradicate, "I suah thought I were gwine to make money
cuttin' grass, 'specially after yo' done fixed mah moah. But 'peared
laik nobody wanted any grass cut. I trabeled all ober, an' I
couldn't git no jobs. Now me an' Boomerang has to eat, no mattah ef
he is contrary, so I had t' look fo' some new wuk. I traded dat
lawn-moah off fo' a cross-cut saw, but dat was such hard wuk dat I
gib it up. Den I got a chance to buy dis yeah outfit cheap, an' I
bought it."

Eradicate then went on to tell how he had purchased the portable
sawmill from a man who had no further use for it, and how he had
managed to transport it from a distant village to the spot where Tom
had met him. There he had secured permission to work a piece of
woodland on shares, sawing up the smaller trees into cord wood. He
had started in well enough, cutting down considerable timber, for
the colored man was a willing worker, but when he tried to start his
mill he met with trouble.

"I counted on Boomerang helpin' me," he said to Tom. "All he has to
do is walk on dat tread mill, an' keep goin'. Dat makes de saw go
'round, an' I saws de wood. But de trouble am dat I can't git
Boomerang to move. I done tried ebery means I knows on, an' he won't
go. I talked kind to him, an' I talked harsh. I done beat him wif a
club, an' I rub his ears soft laik, an' he allers did laik dat, but
he won't go. I fed him on carrots an' I gib him sugar, an' I eben
starve him, but he won't go. Heah I been tryin' fo' three days now
t' git him started, an' not a stick hab I sawed. De man what I'm
wukin' wif on shares he git mad, an' he say ef I doan't saw wood
pretty soon he gwine t' git annuder mill heah. Now I axes yo' fair,
Mistah Swift, ain't I got lots ob trouble?"

"You certainly seem to have," agreed Tom "But why is Boomerang so
obstinate? Usually on a treadmill a horse or a mule has to work
whether they like it or not. If they don't keep moving the platform
slides out from under them, and they come up against the back bar."

"Dat's what done happened to Boomerang," declared Eradicate. "He
done back up against de bar, an' dere he stay."

Tom went over and looked at the mill. The outfit was an old one, and
had seen much service, but the trained eye of the young inventor saw
that it could still be used effectively. Boomerang watched Tom, as
though aware that something unusual was about to happen.

"Heah I done gone an' 'vested mah money in dis yeah mill,"
complained Eradicate, "an' I ain't sawed up a single stick. Ef I
wasn't so kind-hearted I'd chastise dat mule wuss dan I has, dat's
what I would."

Tom said nothing. He was stooping down, looking at the gearing that
connected the tread mill with the shaft which revolved the saw.
Suddenly he uttered an exclamation,

"Rad, have you been monkeying with this machinery?" he asked.

"Me? Good land, Mistah Swift, no, sah! I wouldn't tech it. It's jest
as I got it from de man I bought it oh. It worked when he had it,
but he used a hoss. It's all due to de contrariness ob Boomerang,
an' if I—"

"No, it isn't the mule's fault at all!" exclaimed Tom. "The mill is
out of gear, and tread is locked; that's all. The man you bought it
off probably did it so you could haul it along the road. I'll have
it fixed for you in a few minutes. Wait until I get some tools."

From the bag on his motor-cycle Tom got his implements. He first
unlocked the treadmill, so that the inclined platform, on which the
animal slowly walked, could revolve. No sooner had he done this than
Boomerang, feeling the slats under his hoofs moving away, started
forward. With a rattle the treadmill slid around.

"Good land o' massy! It's goin'!" cried Eradicate delightedly. "It
suah am goin'!" he added as he saw the mule, with nimble feet, send
the revolving, endless string of slats around and around. "But de
saw doan't move, Mistah Swift. Yo' am pretty smart at fixin' it as
much as yo' has, but I reckon it's too busted t' eber saw any wood.
I'se got bad luck, dat's what I has."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Tom. "The sawmill will be going in a moment.
All I have to do is to throw it into gear. See here, Rad. When you
want the saw to go you just throw this handle forward. That makes
the gears mesh."

"What's dat 'bout mush?" asked Eradicate.

"Mesh—not mush. I mean it makes the cogs fit together. See," and
Tom pressed the lever. In an instant, with a musical whirr, the saw
began revolving.

"Hurrah! Dere it goes! Golly! see de saw move!" cried the delighted
colored man. He seized a stick of wood, and in a trice it was sawed
through.

"Whoop!" yelled Eradicate. "I'm sabed now! Bless yo', Mistah Swift,
yo' suttinly am a wondah!"

"Now I'll show you how it works," went on Tom. "When you want to
stop Boomerang, you just pull this handle. That locks the tread, and
he can't move it," and, suiting the action to his words, Tom stopped
the mill. "Then," he went on, "when you want him to move, you pull
the handle this way," and he showed the darky how to do it. In a
moment the mule was moving again. Then Tom illustrated how to throw
the saw in and out of gear, and in a few minutes the sawmill was in
full operation, with a most energetic colored man feeding in logs to
be cut up into stove lengths.

"You ought to have an assistant, Rad," said Tom, after he had
watched the work for a while. "You could get more done then, and
move on to some other wood-patch."

"Dat's right, Mistah Swift, so I had. But I 'done tried, an'
couldn't git any. I ast seberal colored men, but dey'd radder
whitewash an' clean chicken coops. I guess I'll hab t' go it alone.
I ast a white man yisterday ef he wouldn't like t' pitch in an'
help, but he said he didn't like to wuk. He was a tramp, an' he had
de nerve to ask me fer money—me, a hard-wukin' coon."

"You didn't give it to him, I hope."

"No, indeedy, but he come so close to me dat I was askeered he might
take it from me, so I kept hold ob a club. He suah was a bad-lookin'
tramp, an' he kept laffin' all de while, like he was happy."

"What's that?" cried Tom, struck by the words of the colored man.
"Did he have a thick, brown beard?"

"Dat's what he had," answered Eradicate, pausing in the midst of his
work. "He suah were a funny sort ob tramp. His hands done looked
laik he neber wuked, an' he had a funny blue ring one finger, only
it wasn't a reg'lar ring, yo' know. It was pushed right inter his
skin, laik a man I seen at de circus once, all cobered wid funny
figgers."

Tom leaped to his feet.

"Which finger was the blue ring tattooed on?" he asked, and he
waited anxiously for the answer.

"Let me see, it were on de right—no, it were on de little finger ob
de left hand."

"Are you sure, Rad?"

"Suah, Mistah Swift. I took 'tic'lar notice, 'cause he carried a
stick in dat same hand."

"It must be my man—Happy Harry!" exclaimed Tom half aloud. "Which
way did he go, Rad, after he left you?"

"He went up de lake shore," replied the colored man. "He asked me if
I knowed ob an ole big house up dere, what nobody libed in, an' I
said I did. Den he left, an' I were glad ob it."

"Which house did you mean, Rad?"

"Why, dat ole mansion what General Harkness used t' lib in befo' de
wah. Dere ain't nobody libed in it fo' some years now, an' it's
deserted. Maybe a lot ob tramps stays in it, an' dat's where dis man
were goin'."

"Maybe," assented Tom, who was all excitement now. "Just where is
this old house, Rad?"

"Away up at de head ob Lake Carlopa. I uster wuk dere befo' de wah,
but it's been a good many years since quality folks libed dere. Why,
did yo' want t' see dat man, Mistah Swift?"

"Yes, Rad, I did, and very badly, too. I think he is the very person
I want. But don't say anything about it. I'm going to take a trip up
to that strange mansion. Maybe I'll get on the trail of Happy Harry
and the men who robbed me. I'm much obliged to you, Rad, for this
information. It's a good clue, I think. Strange that you should meet
the very tramp I've been searching for."

"Well, I suah am obliged to yo', Mistah Swift, fo' fixin' mah
sawmill."

"That's all right. What you told me more than pays for what I did,
Rad. Well, I'm going home now to tell dad, and then I'm going to start
out. Yesterday, you said it was, you saw Happy Harry? Well, I'll get
right after him," and leaving a somewhat surprised, but very much
delighted, colored man behind him, Tom mounted his motor-cycle and
started for home at a fast pace.

"Dad, I've got a clue!" exclaimed Tom, hurrying into the house late
that afternoon, following a quick trip from where he had met
Eradicate with his sawmill. "A good clue, and I'm going to start
early in the morning to run it down."

"Wait a minute, now, Tom," cautioned his father slowly. "You know
what happens when you get excited. Nothing good was ever done in a
hurry."

"Well, I can't help being excited, dad. I think I'm on the trail of
those scoundrels. I almost wish I could start to-night."

"Suppose you tell me all about it," and Mr. Swift laid aside a
scientific book he was reading.

Whereupon Tom told of his meeting with the colored man, and what
Eradicate had said about the tramp.

"But he may not be the same Happy Harry you are looking for,"
interposed Mr. Swift. "Tramps who don't like to work, and who have a
jolly disposition, also those who ask for money and have designs
tattooed on their hands, are very common."

"Oh, but I'm sure this is the same one," declared Tom. "He wants to
stay in this neighborhood until he locates his confederates. That's
why he's hanging around. Now I have an idea that the deserted
mansion, where Eradicate used to work, and which once housed General
Harkness and his family, is the rendezvous of this gang of thieves."

"You are taking a great deal for granted, Tom."

"I don't think so, dad. I've got to assume something, and maybe I'm
wrong, but I don't think so. At any rate, I'm going to try, if
you'll let me."

"What do you mean to do?"

"I want to go to that deserted mansion and see what I can find. If I
locate the thieves, well—"

"You may run into danger."

"Then you admit I may be on the right track, dad?"

"Not at all," and Mr. Swift smiled at the quick manner in which Tom
turned the tables on him. "I admit there may be a band of tramps in
that house. Very likely there is—almost any deserted place would be
attractive to them. But they may not be the ones you seek. In fact,
I hardly see how they can be. The men who stole my model and patent
papers are wealthy. They would not be very likely to stay in
deserted houses."

"Perhaps some of the scoundrels whom they hired might, and through
them I can get on the track of the principals."

"Well, there is something in that," admitted Mr. Swift.

"Then may I go, dad?"

"I suppose so. We must leave nothing untried to get back the stolen
model and papers. But I don't want you to run any risks. If you
would only take some one with you. There's your chum, Ned Newton.
Perhaps he would go."