  “Guess you do want us, but not exactly in the same sense as you mean,” retorted Rob with a chuckle. “What do you mean, boy?” asked one of the men sharply, as several others of the revenue officers—as Rob had guessed them to be—came up. “I mean that we’ve got the whole gang you were after bottled up in a tunnel under this trap door,” rejoined Rob breezily. “Yas sah, Misto Arm-ob-de-Law,” grinned Jumbo, “ah reckin no coon up a tree was eber moh completely obfusticated dan dose same chill’uns.” “What does all this mean?” asked another of the group, a gray-moustached man of stern appearance, “this boy is either one of the gang or he has been reading dime novels.” “Nebber read a bit ob dat classification ob literachoor in mah life,” snorted Jumbo indignantly, “ef yo’ alls don’ want dese men we got obfusticated under hay’ah, why we jes’ gits off dis yar trap door an’ lits dem skeedaddle.” “Who’s that you’re sitting on, nigger?” demanded the gray moustached man, who seemed to be in authority. “Why, dis am a genelman what answers to de ufoinious name ob Black Bart,” grinned Jumbo amiably, “an’ ah’s not a nigger, ah’s a ’spectable——” “Do be quiet, Jumbo,” exclaimed Rob, as the inevitable protest came into evidence. “The case is just this, gentlemen,” he continued. “I am a Boy Scout. This man is attached to our camp. We wandered away and got lost.” Rob did not tell all that happened, for he foresaw that such a procedure might lead to questions which would bring out the fact of their treasure hunt. “I see that you wear a Scout uniform now,” said the gray-moustached man. “Yes, and Boy Scouts don’t lie,” put in another man, “my sons are both in the organization.” “What troop?” asked Rob. “The Curlews of Patchogue.” “Why, we’ve met them in water games at Patchogue,” exclaimed Rob, “my name is Rob Blake.” “And mine’s Sam Taylor,” said the man, advancing, “glad to meet you, Rob Blake, I’ve heard of you. This lad is all right,” he said, turning to the leader. “I’ll vouch for him.” “All right,” rejoined the gray-moustached revenue officer, “but we can’t be too careful. Well, Rob Blake, what’s your story? Go ahead.” “As I said, we lost our way,” went on Rob. “We stumbled on that hut. We were tired and faint, and for pay this man, on whom Jumbo is sitting, took us in. I awoke in time to overhear a plot to rob us. We escaped and while hiding in the brush—not just knowing who you were, friend or foe, we saw that trap-door open and nailed that man—Black Bart. At least Jumbo did.” “Then it looks as if Jumbo gets five hundred dollars reward for the capture of Black Bart, and more may be in store. You say that the rest are in that passage?” “Yes.” “Some of you fellows tie Black Bart,” ordered the leader. When this was done, the sullen prisoner not uttering a word, the order to open the trap-door was issued. “No monkey tricks, you fellows,” warned the revenue officer, as it swung back, “we’ll take stern measures with you.” One by one the occupants of the hut crawled out and were promptly made prisoners. They were almost exhausted, and could not have put up a fight had they been so inclined. “Glad to get out,” said the blonde-bearded man as he submitted to being handcuffed, “it was hot enough in thar to roast potatoes.” “So you got scorched by the same fire you intended should destroy us,” said the chief revenue officer dryly. “Young man,” he went on, turning to Rob, “I shall bring this bit of work to the attention of the government. In the meantime, I may tell you, that besides the five hundred dollars offered for Black Bart’s capture, there was a reward of two thousand dollars for the apprehension of the gang as a whole. I shall see that you and your companion get it.” “But—but——” stammered Rob, “you had all the trouble and risk——” “Hush, Marse Rob! don’ be talkin’ dat way. Dey may take dat reward away ag’in,” whispered Jumbo, whose eyes had been rolling gleefully. He could hardly credit his good fortune. “We’re paid for our work,” said the revenue man briefly, “I’m not saying that we always get much credit for the risks we take. Half the time they don’t even mention our raids in the papers. But we do our duty to Uncle Sam and that’s enough.” Soon after, a search having been made of the ruins of the hut, the revenue men set out with their prisoners for the lake, where they had a boat and two small bateaus. Rob and Jumbo accompanied them. Jumbo walked like one in a trance. He saw money fairly hanging to the trees. “What will you do with all that money, Jumbo?” asked Rob amusedly as they strode along. Under the skilled leadership of the revenue men the path to the lake was a simple matter to find. “Ah reckon’s ah’ll buy a ’mobile, Marse Rob, an’ a pair ob patent lebber shoes—dem shiny kind, an’ some yaller globes (gloves) an’—an’ what’s lef’ ober ah’ll jes’ spend foolishly.” “If I were you I’d put some of it in a savings bank,” advised Rob, smiling at the black’s enumeration of his wants. “You get interest there, too, you know.” “Wha’ good dem safety banks, Marse Rob? Dey calls dem safety but dey’s plum dangerous. Fus’ ting yo’ know dey bus’ up. Ah had a cousin down south. Some colored men dey start a bank down dere. Mah cousin he puts in five dollars reposit. ’Bout a munf afterward he done go to draw it out and what you think dat no-good black-trash what run de bank tole him?” “I don’t know, I’m sure, Jumbo,” answered Rob. “Why, dey said de interest jes’ nacherally done eat dat fibe dollars up!” As Rob was still laughing over Jumbo’s tragic tale there came a sudden shout from ahead. Then a pistol shot split the darkness. It was followed by another and another. They proceeded from the knot of revenue men who, with their prisoners, were a short distance in advance. “Gollyumptions! Wha’s de mattah now?” exclaimed Jumbo, sprinting forward. A dark form flashed by him and vanished, knocking Jumbo flat. Behind the fleeing form came running the revenue men. “It’s Black Bart! He’s escaped!” cried one. Rob joined the chase. But although they could hear crashing of branches ahead, the pursuit had to be given over after a while. In the woods he knew so well the revenues were no match for the wily Black Bart. With downcast faces they returned to where the other prisoners, guarded by two of the officers, had been left. “I’d rather have lost the whole boiling than let Black Bart slip through my fingers,” bemoaned the leader, “wonder how he did it?” “Here’s how,” struck in one of the officers, holding up a strand of rope, “he slipped through the knots.” “Serves me right for taking chances with such an old fox,” muttered the leader, self-reproachfully. “Anyhow we got the rest of them,” said the man who had recognized Rob, “better luck next time.” “Dere ain’t agoin’ ter be no next time,” muttered Jumbo disconsolately, “dat five hundred dollars and dat gas wagon I was a-gwine ter buy hab taken de wings ob de mawning!” The lake was reached shortly before dawn. True to their promise, the revenue men put Rob and Jumbo ashore at the Boy Scouts’ camp. The amazement and delight their arrival caused can be better imagined than set down here. Anyhow, for a long time nothing but confused fusillades of questions and scattered answers could be heard. Much hand-shaking, back-slapping and shouting also ensued. It was a joyous reunion. Only one thing marred it. The canoes were still missing, and without them they could not proceed. |
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