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The High School Boys in Summer Camp, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 18. Mr. Page's Kind Of Father |
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_ CHAPTER XVIII. MR. PAGE'S KIND OF FATHER As though the heavy downpour did not sufficiently indicate that the storm was still raging as heavily as ever, Harry Hazelton went to the tent doorway to peer out at the sky. Just as suddenly he ducked back again. "Hist!" he called. "There's someone at our canned goods stock, and I think it's Tag!" In a twinkling Dick and Dave were by Hazelton's side. The heavy rain supplied a curtain like a light fog. "I think that's Tag!" muttered Dick. "We'll go after him." There was a quick diving into rubber coats. Dick and Dave were first to get outside. But the figure seen through the rain was already under way, heading away from the tent. This figure, just as it stole under the great trees, turned to point a sawed-off shotgun their way. "That's Tag," muttered Dick. "Come on; we'll catch him." "Yes; if he'll kindly permit us to get close to him," rejoined Darry, as he ran at Dick's side. Evidently the figure ahead had made a successful raid on the food, for he carried a gunnysack, and that appeared to have a load inside. "We can catch him---if we can run fast enough," declared Dick, for just then the fugitive darted ahead with renewed speed. "Unless he stops us with the gun," objected Dave. "Don't let him stop you with that. I don't believe he would dare use it on us." "If it's only a question of 'daring,'" responded Dave, "I don't believe there is anything that Tag Mosher would be afraid to do at a pinch." Owing to the storm it was dark in the great woods. Shadows were deceptive. Though Dick and Dave ran on at pell-mell speed they presently came to a sudden halt, looking inquiringly at each other. "Which way did that fellow go?" demanded Dave. "Blessed if I know," Dick admitted. "Are we still on the right trail, and merely a mile behind him?" "I wish I knew even that," admitted Prescott. "We might as well go back," proposed Darry. "In these woods all we'll get is---wet." "All right," nodded Prescott. Discouraged with the chase, they turned to retrace their way nearly half a mile through the soggy, dripping woods. They had not gone far on their return when they came upon Tom and Greg. "Hello, where have you fellows been?" asked Reade. "We weren't very far ahead of you," Dick answered. "Greg and I didn't see or hear you ahead." "And Tag Mosher was just as invisible and unfindable to us," laughed Dick, "so we came back." "I'm growing disgusted," muttered Dave, "with the stupid way that we let that fellow carry off all of our property. It begins to look as though we ought to camp in one of our own back yards, where our parents can keep a watchful eye over us and protect us!" There could be no doubt that Darry was completely angry. Had he encountered young Mosher at that moment he would have "sailed into" the thief with his fists, regardless of any consequences that might follow. "Well, shall we go on hunting for him?" demanded Dick. "It's just as Darry says," offered Tom, "I'm willing to remain out in this weather if Dave wants to." "Oh, what's the use?" grumbled Dave. "That fellow knows the woods a hundred times better than we do, and he has made his get away. Did you leave anyone back at the camp?" "Dan and Harry are there," nodded Tom. "We may as well join them," sighed Dave. So the party headed toward camp. Just as they stepped out into the clearing, they sighted a rubber-coated party of three men entering the clearing from the direction of the road. "Why, that must be our friends, Hibbert, Colquitt and Mr. Page!" announced Prescott, halting, then running forward. "They must have gotten our note at last. Oh, Mr. Hibbert!" The three travelers waved their hands. Then it was the oldest of the trio who ran at top speed in an effort to reach Prescott quickly. "My boy!" panted Mr. Page, seizing Dick by the shoulders. "You have found him? We received your note this morning, and have been breaking the speed laws ever since in our effort to get here. My boy! You know where he is! Perhaps he is now one of your own party? You have told him, and have kept him here against my coming?" "No, sir; he's not here just now," Dick answered, shaking his head. "But come into the tent, sir. There is a lot to tell you." "I can hardly contain myself to wait for the news!" cried the eager father tremulously. Nevertheless, silence was preserved until the tent had been entered. Mr. Page, Hibbert and Colquitt were given seats on camp stools, some of the boys finding seats on empty boxes. "Now, my boy---my son! Tell me all about him," pleaded Mr. Page. "Is he well? Does he know that I am looking for him?" "I have hinted to him," Prescott answered, "that he is not the son of the man whom he has grown up to regard as his father. I have told him that you were looking for him, and-----" "Oh, my boy!" cried Mr. Page. "Was he pleased---or even curious?" Prescott swallowed hard, twice, and did some rapid thinking, ere he went on, with all faces turned toward him: "Mr. Page, if this boy turns out to be your son-----" "Describe him to me---minutely!" ordered the father. Dick fell into a personal description of Tag Mosher. Others, as they now watched Mr. Page closely, felt that Tag must be his son. The description, as to complexion, features, hair and eyes, all tallied closely with Mr. Page's own appearance. "Now, don't keep me in suspense any longer," begged Mr. Page. "Take me to him, that I may help decide for myself." "If he is your son, sir," Dick went on solemnly, and hating his task, "I am much afraid that you are going to be disappointed in him. The boy is known as Tag Mosher. He believes a dissolute, drunken, thieving fellow named Bill Mosher, who is now in jail, to be his father. Tag is himself a wild young savage of the forest, and maintains himself by st---poaching." "If this young man is, indeed, my son," murmured Mr. Page, his eyes glistening, "how fortunate that I am about to come up with him! He will have no need to steal hereafter. He shall have comfort, protection, proper training at last! But where is he? Why are you keeping me from him? How long since you have seen him?" "Only a few minutes ago," Dick answered. "He had just robbed our food supply. We pursued him, but lost him in the woods." "Then these woods must be scoured until the boy is found!" cried Mr. Page. "Colquitt, this is a task for you. Employ as many more of your force of detectives as you may need, but you must find the boy without an hour's delay." "I must tell you something else, sir," Dick went on in a distressed tone. "Even for my own peace of mind I must have it over with as early as possible. Mr. Page, the boy is now roaming the woods armed with a shotgun and a revolver. He is a fugitive from justice." "What is that you say?" cried Mr. Page, his face growing haggard and ghastly. "My boy----my son---a fugitive from justice!" "He may not be your son, sir," broke in Tom Colquitt. Then the whole story came out. With it Dick described the birthmarks he had seen on Tag when the latter was at the swimming pool. "That's my boy---my son!" declared Mr. Page. "And, oh! To think of the fate that has come upon him. Wanted, perhaps for homicide!" Then suddenly the flash of determination returned to the father's eyes. He rose, stood erect, and went on: "If he is my son, he needs guidance, aid---protection of such rights as he may still have left. Above all, he must surrender himself and go back to face the laws of the land like a man! If he has done wrong, he must bow to the decision of a court, whatever that may be. If this boy is my son, I will see to it that he does all of this. If he is not my son, then-----" "Then you will do well to drop him like a piece of hot metal," interposed the detective quietly. "Silence!" flashed Mr. Page. "If Tag Mosher is not really my son, then I will stand by his last spark of manhood as though he were my son, and in memory of my own boy!" "If you will permit me," proposed Tom Colquitt, "I will go back to the road, get into the car and order your man to drive me to the county jail. There I will see old Bill Mosher, and drag the truth out of him. What Mosher has to say will be to the point." "Go, by all means!" pleaded Mr. Page, who had now sunk down into his seat trembling. "And I'll go with him," declared Hibbert, jumping up. "Cheer up, my old friend, and we'll find out all the facts that there are to be learned. We'll be back here as speedily as possible." The hours passed---hours of rain at the camp. It was a deluge that kept all hands in the tent, though even that place was wet. A pretense of supper was prepared over two oil stoves. Mr. Page made an effort to eat, but was not highly successful. The hours dragged on, but none thought of going to bed. At last quick steps were heard outside. "That must be Colquitt and Hibbert!" cried Mr. Page, starting up, trembling, though he soon recovered his self-control. "Don't go out in the rain. Wait for another moment, sir," begged Dick, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Do you think I could wait another minute?" demanded Mr. Page excitedly. Then he darted out into the downpour. "Hibbert, is that you?" he screamed. _ |
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