What of John Caribou, fleeing through the woods in that mysterious manner?

When the guide left the camp, declaring that he must go for some tobacco, the statement was only an excuse, as Diamond supposed. Caribou had tobacco, plenty of it; but he was determined to get out of the camp, and that was the first thing that came into his mind to give as a reason for his contemplated action.

He was sure he knew whose gun had hurled that heavy bullet crashing through the head of the moose and he was resolved to see that person.

The slayer of the moose was also the slayer of the deer and the committer of the other violations of the game laws of Maine, of which Merriwell’s party had seen so many proofs since coming to Lily Bay.

When the hoot of the owl came, the first night the party was in camp on the island, Caribou had recognized it as an old familiar call. The man who had given that imitation of an owl’s hoot had slipped up to the camp later to have a talk with Caribou, and had been frightened away by Diamond. Later still, Diamond had seen him talking to Caribou, though they were so far away that Diamond could not tell much about the man’s appearance.

That man was a half-breed, known as Penobscot Tom,[78] and he was John Caribou’s half-brother; who, though in color a shade lighter than Caribou, so resembled the well-known guide that he often had been mistaken for him. It was this man who had been seen to shoot at a deer, a misdemeanor which, it will be remembered, was charged against the guide by Parker, the game warden.

Penobscot Tom was a very different man from John Caribou. He was a restless, roving vagabond, a thief and a jail bird, a violater of every law he did not choose to keep. The white blood in his veins was all bad, or at least it had made him all bad.

He had been in the State penitentiary at Thomaston for four years, from which place he had only been released a short time. Caribou, however, did not know his half-brother was in the Moosehead region, or in fact out of prison, until he heard that familiar hooting of the owl. That was a call he and Penobscot Tom had used together in the woods in their boyhood days.

When afterward seen by Diamond talking to Penobscot Tom, Caribou had been vainly endeavoring to get him to say he would give up poaching or leave the country.

Straight for the brush hut in the heart of the woods, where he knew his half-brother was staying, John Caribou pushed when he left camp on that pretended errand for tobacco. He was resolved to again beg Penobscot Tom to leave the woods; and failing in that he hoped to frighten him away by telling him the game warden had found the head of the moose and was on his trail.

He had reached the hut, had made his plea, told his story, and again failed.

[79]

On his return trip to the camp, he had gone by way of the tree in which Tom had confessed he had hung the moose head and some meat.

There he had been seen by Hans Dunnerwust, and with his Indian instinct aroused by the exclamations and rush of the party, he had slipped for concealment into the hollow log, which was half buried in leaves and brush, but which he had noticed on coming to the tree.

The party of white men had remained at the tree longer than anticipated. One of his legs had been cramped, and in trying to ease it while Dunnerwust sat on the log he was discovered. Then he had dashed into the woods a great and manly resolve in his heart, and headed straightway again for the little brush hut.

He knew that Merriwell’s party was under arrest for killing the moose, a deed done by his half-brother. To his mind there was but one way to undo that wrong. He hoped that his identity was not know, but, regardless of this fact, he resolved to do what he now considered to be his duty, no matter what personal disaster it brought. On this he was determined, though it should send him to prison.

When a half mile from the tiny hut, he stopped and listened, then crept forward with stealthy, Indian tread. Advancing to the flimsy door he put an ear against it. He caught the odor of smoke. Penobscot Tom was smoking his evening pipe.

Without warning, John Caribou crushed in the door and threw himself on his half-brother. Both went to the floor together. Penobscot Tom, filled with fear and fury,[80] fought like an aroused demon. He tried to get out his knife, but Caribou caught his knife hand and held it.

“Curse you!” Penobscot Tom snarled, trying to set his sharp teeth in Caribou’s throat, “I’ll kill you for this. You sneak, you wolf, you——”

The words ended in a choking gurgle.

Caribou’s hand closed on Penobscot Tom’s windpipe in a deadly grip, and forced him into semi-consciousness and speedy subjection. When he came round, he found his hands and feet tied, and Caribou in possession of his weapons.

Though John Caribou delivered Penobscot Tom into the hands of the game warden for punishment on the charge of killing the moose, a deed which Tom brazenly confessed when he saw he was in the toils, thus bringing the immediate release of Frank Merriwell and his friends, Caribou refused to accept any reward other than a mere recognition of the fact that he was a reliable guide and an honest man.

“A better guide, a straighter fellow, a whiter man, regardless of the color of his skin, doesn’t live,” declared Frank Merriwell, warmly taking Caribou’s hand at parting. “I shall never forget you, John Caribou, never.”

“We be friends, great strong friends, always,” said Caribou, with kindling eyes. “Some day we meet ag’in, mebbe, an’ have heap better time. Good-by!”

This was the only further conversation that Frank Merriwell had with the Indian for the present at any[81] rate. He and his companions had decided that they had seen all that there was to see at Moosehead Lake and they determined to push on to Bangor. On their way to Bangor they stopped off at Brownsville. As they came up over the Maine Central Railroad they agreed to return as far as Milo Junction over the Canadian Pacific.

Barely had they left Greenville when Hans Dunnerwust was taken ill from over-eating, and, by the time Brownsville was reached, the Dutch lad was in such a serious condition that Frank decided to stop off and see that he was properly attended by a physician.

Thus it came about that two of our friends were found at the one hotel of the little town on Pleasant River a few afternoons later when a dudishly dressed city sportsman was exhibiting his rifle to the crowd gathered in the office of the hotel. Hans was in bed, attended for the time by Hodge; Diamond was out strolling around the village, while Frank and Bruce were admiring the rifle of the dude in the hotel office.

Sitting on a chair near at hand, languidly inhaling the smoke of a cigarette, was the companion of the fellow who owned the rifle. He also was a dudish-looking sportsman, and his friend called him “Cholly.” He had registered as H. Charles Gates. The other chap had registered as Archie Elmer.

“This wifle is not satisfactowy,” drawled Elmer.

“Did you say the rifle is not satisfactory?” asked Frank, in surprise.

“Ya-as,” drawled Archie.

“What is the matter with it?”

[82]

“Well, weally, to............