Jasper County Democrat, Volume 17, Number 81, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 January 1915 — November Joe [ARTICLE]

November Joe

The Detective of the Woods

By HESKETH PRICHARD

SYNOPSIS. James Quarltch engages November Joe as his guide. Joe and he go to Big Tree portage to investigate the murder of a trapper named Lyon. Joe decides that the murderer followed Lyon to his camp and shot him from a canoe. By studying woodland evidence and making clever deductions Joe discovers the murderer, Highamson. Lumberman Close reports that Blackmask, a hlghtf&yman, is robbing his men. Six lumberjacks are robbed by the same man., Joe makes a careful examination of the scene of the robbery. Close is accused by his men, but Joe arrests Chris, one of the lumberjacks, the real robber.

CHAPTER VI. The Black Fox Skin. YOU must understand that from this time on my association with November Joe was not continuous but fitful, and that after the events I have Just written down I went back to Quebec, where I became once more Immersed in my business. Of Joe I heard from time to time, generally by means of smudged letters obviously written from camp and usually smelling of wood smoke. It was such a letter, which, in the following year, caused me once more to seek November. It ran as follows: Mr. Quarltch, sir, last week I was up to Wlddeney Pond and I see a wonderful red deer buck. I guess he come out of the thick Maine woods to take the place o’ that fella you shot there last fall. This great fella has had a accident to his horns or something for they come out of his head thick and stunted-like and all over little points. Them horns would look fine at the ton of the stairs in your house to Quebec, so come and try for-them. I’ll be down to Mrs. Harding’s Friday morning so as I can meet you if you can come. There’s only three moose using round here, two cows, and a mean little fella of a bull. NOVEMBER. This was the letter which caused me to seek Mrs. Harding’s, but owing to a slight accident to the rig I was driven up in, I arrived late to find that November bad gone up to a neighboring farm on some business. leaving word that should I arrive I was to start for his shack and that he would catch me up on the way. November struck my trail and it was long after dark when we reached November’s shack that evening. As be opened the door he displaced something white which lay just inside it “It’s a letter,” he said In surprise as he handed it to me. “What does it say, Mr. Quarltch?” I read it aloud. It ran: I am in trouble, Jbe. Somebody is robbing my traps. When you get home, which I pray Will be soon, come right over. 8. RONE “The skunk!” cried November. I had never seen him so moved. He - had been away hunting for three days and returned to find this message. “The darned skunk,” he repeated, “to rob her traps!” “Her—a woman?” “S. Rone stands for Sally Rone. You’ve sure heard of her?” “No; who is she?” “I’ll tell you,” said Joe. “Sal’s a mighty brave girl-that is, she’s a widow. She was married on Rone four years ago last Christmas, and the autumn after he got his back broke to the. Red Star lumber camp, leaving Sally just enough dollars to carry her over the birth of her son. To make a long story short, there was lots of the boys ready to fill dead man Rone’s place when they knew her money must be giving out, and the neighbors were wonderful Interested to know which Sal would take. But it soon come out that Sal wasn’t taking any of them, but had decided to try what she could do with the trapping herself. “Just that Rone worked a line o’ traps, and Sal was fixed to make her living and the boy’s that way. Said a woman was liable to be as successful a trapper as a man. She’s at it near three year now, and she’s made good. Lives with her boy about four hours’ walk nor’west of here, with not another house within five miles of her. She’s got; a young sister, Ruby, with her on account of the kid. as she has to be out such a lot” Not much later I was following November’s nimbly moving figure upon as hard a woods march as I ever cate to try. I was not sorry when a thong of my moccasin gave way and Joe allowed me a minute to tie it up and to get my wind. “There’s Tom Carroll, Phil Gort and Injin Sylvester," began November abruptly—“those three. They’re Sally’s nearest neighbors, them and Vai Black. Vai’s a good man, but”— “But what?” said I absently. ! “Him and Tom Cartoll’s cut the top , notches for Sally’s favor so far.” “But what’s that got to do with”— “Come on.” snapped November and hurried forward to Sally’s lonely cabin. Joe knocked at the door, calling at the same time: “it’s me. Are you there. Sally?" .

The door opened an inch or two. “!■ It you, Joe?” November’thrust his right hand with its deep scar across the back through the aperture. “You should know that cut, Sal; you tended it” “Come in! Come inf’ ~T followed Joe into the house and turned to look at Sally. I saw a slim girl with geutle red brown eyes that matched the red brown of her rebellious hair, a small face, pale under its weather tan, but showing a line of milk white skin above her brows. She was, in fact, extremely pretty, with a kind of good looks I bad not expected, and ten seconds later I, too, had fallen under the spell of that charm, Which was all the more powerful because Sally herself was unconscious of it “You’ve been long in coming, Joe,” she said, with a sudden smile. “You were away, of course-?" “Aye, just got back ’fore we started for here.” He looked around “Where’s young Dan?” “I’ve just got him off to sleep on the bed there.” She pointed to a deerskin curtain in the corner. “What! They been frightening him?’’ Mrs. Rone looked oddly at November. "No, but it he heard us talking he might get "scared, for the man who’s been robbing me was in this room not six hours ago, and Danny saw him.” November raised his eyebrows. “Huh! That’s fierce!” he said. “Danny’s rising three, ain’t he? He could telL” “Nothing at all. It was after dark, and the man had his face muffled. Danny said he was a real good man. He gave him sugar from the cupboard,” said Sally. “His hands, what like was his hands? He gave the sugar.” “I thought of that, but Danny says he had mitts on. It’s more’n three weeks now since I found out the traps were being meddled with. It was done very cunning, but I have my own way of baiting them, and the thief, though he’s a clever woodsman and knows a heap, never dropped to that. Sometimes he’d set ’em and bait ’em like as if they were never touched at all, and other times he’d just make it appear as if the animal had got itself out” “He must have left tracks,” said Joe. “Some, yes. But he mostly worked when snow was falling. He’s cunning.” “Did any one ever see his tracks but you?” “Sylvester did.” “How was that?” said Joe, with sudden interest. “I came on Sylvester one evening when I was trailing the robber.” “Perhaps Sylvester himself was the robber.” Mrs. Rone shook her head. “It wasn’t him, Joe. He couldn’t ’a’ known I was cornin’ on him, and~hls tracks was quite different-” “Well, but tonight? You say the thief come here tonight? What did he do that for?” said Joe, pushing the tobacco firmly into his pipe bowl. “He had a good reason,” replied Sally, with bitterness. “Last Thursday when I was bn my way back from putting my letter under your door I heard something rustling through the scrub ahead of me. It might have been a lynx, or it might have been a dog, but when I come to the trap I saw the thief had made off that minute, for he’d been trying to force open the trap, and when he heard me he wrenched hard, you bet, but he was bound to take care—not to be.too rough.” “Good fur, you mean?”

“Good?” Sally’s face flushed a soft crimson. “Good? Why, I’ve never seen one to match it It was a black fox, lying dead there, but still warm, for it had but just been killed. The pelt was fair in its prime, long and silky and glossy. You can guess, November, what that meant for Danny and me next winter, that I’ve been worrying about a lot The whooping cough’s weakened him down bad, and I thought of the things I could get for him while I was skinning out the pelt” Sally’s voice shook, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Joe, It’s hard—hard! The skin was worth SBOO anywhere, and I come home just singing. I fixed it at once, and then, being scared-like, I hid it in the cupboard over there behind those old magazines. No one but Ruby knew that I had got it I left Ruby here, but Mrs. Scats had her seventh yesterday morning, and Ruby ran over to help for awhile after she put Danny to bed. The thief must have been on the watch and seen her go.” “Where’s Ruby now?” Joe inquired. “She’s stopping the night. They sent over to tell me,” replied Sally. “Well, to go on, I had a lynx in one of my traps which got dragged right down by Deerhorn pond, so I was more than special late. Danny began at once to tell me about the man that came tn. I rushed across and looked in the cupboard. The black fox pelt was gone, of course!”

“What did Danny say about the man?”

“Said he had on a big hat and a neckerchief. He didn’t speak a word; gave Danny sugar, as I have said. He must ’a’ been u here some time, for he’s ransacked the place high and low and took nearly every pelt I got this season.” Joe looked up. “Those pelts marked?” “Yes. My-mark’s, on some—seven pricks of a needle.” ' “You’ve looked around the house to see if he left anything?” “Surest Sally put her band In her pocket ■ “What?’ “Only this.” She opened her hand and disclosed a rifle cartridge. Joe examined it “Soft nosed bullet for one of them fancy English guns. Where did you find it?” “On the floor by the table.” “Hub!" said Joe, and, picking <(p the

lamp, ne Began careruuy and metnodically to examine every inch of the room.

“Any one but me been using tobacco in here lately?" be asked. “Not that 1 know of,” replied Sally. "A cool hand,” said November. "When he’d got the skin he stopped to fill his pipe. It was then he dropped the cartridge—it came out of his pocket with the pipe, 1 expect All that 1 can tell you about him is that he smokes Gold Nugget”—be pointed to the shreds—"and carries a small bore make of English rifle. Hello! Where’s the old bitch?” “Old Rizpah? I dunno. less she’s gone along to Scats’ place. Ruby’d take her if she could, she’s that scairt of the woods, but Rizpah’s never left Danny before.” Joe drained his cup. "We’ve not found much inside the house,” said be. “As soon as the sun’s up we’ll try onr luck outside. Till then I guess we’d best put in a doze.” Mrs. Rone made up a shakedown of skins near the stove and disappeared behind the deerskin curtain. When 1 awoke next morninc it was u> see, wiru some astonishment, that a new personage had been drawn Into our little drama of the woods. A dark bearded man in the uniform of a game warden was sitting on the other side of the stove. “This is Game Warden Evans, Mr. Quarltch,” she said. “He was at Scats’ last night There be heard about me losing fur from the traps and come right over to see if he couldn’t help me.” Having exchanged the usual salutations, Evans remarked good humoredly:

“November’s ont trailing the robber. Him and me’s been talking about the black fox pelt. Joe’s wasting his time all right I can tell him who the thief is.” “You know!” I exclaimed. Evans nodded. “I can find out any time.” “How?”

“Care to see?” He rose and went to the door. “Guess Joe missed it” he said, pointing with his finger. 1 turned in the direction indicated and saw that-upon one of the nails which had been driven into the door of the cabin some bright colored threads were hanging. Going nearer I found them to be strands of pink and gray worsted, twisted together. "What d’you think of that?” asked Evans, with a heavy wink. Before I could answer Joe came into sight round a clump of bush on the edge of the clearing. “Well,* called the game warden, “any luck?" “Not just exactly," he said. "What do you make of that?" asketj Evans again, pointing at the fluttering worsted, with a glance of suppressed triumph at Joe. “Huh!” said November. “What do you?” “Pretty clear evidence that, ain’t it? The robber caught his necker on those hails as he slipped out We’re getting closer. English rifle, ‘Gold Nugget’ in his pipe, and a pink and gray necker. Find a chap that owns all three. It can’t be difficult. Wardens have eyes in their beads as well as you, November.”

“Sure!” agreed Joe politely, but with an abstracted look, as he examined the door. “You say you found it here?” “Yes.” “Huh!” said Joe again. “Anything else on the trail?” asked Evans.

» November looked at him. “He shot Rlzpah.” » “The old dog? I suppose she attack? ed him and he shot her.” “Yes, he shot her—first” “First? What then?”. “He cut her nigh in pieces with bis knife.” Without more words Joe turned back into the woods, and we went after him. Hidden in a low, marshy spot about half a mile from the house, we came upon the body of the dog. It was evident she had been shot —more than that the carcass was backed about in a horrible manner. “What do you say now, Mr. Evans?” inquired Joe. “What do 1 say? I say this: When we find the thief we’ll likely find the marks of Rizpah’s teeth on him. That’s what made him mad with rage, and”— Evans waved b?s hand. We returned to breakfast at Mrs. Rone’s cabin. While we were eating Evans casually brought out a scrap of the worsted he had detached from the nail outside. , “Seen any one with a necker like that, Mrs. Rone?” be asked: The young woman glanced at the bit of wool, then bent over Danny as she fed him. When she raised her head I noticed that she looked very white.

“There’s more’n one of that color hereabouts likely,” she replied, with another glance of studied indifference. “It’s not a common pattern of wool. ‘ said Evans. “Well, you’re all witnesses where I got it. I’m off. It’s my business to find the man with the pink necker.” Evans nodded and swung off through the door. November looked at “Who is he, Stilly?” Mrsb.Jtnpe’s pretty forebead puckered into a'frown “Who?" anil grey necker,*' said JBc 'gently. A rush of tears filled her red brown eyes, y ! “Vai Black has one like that. I made It for him myself long ago.” ----- i “And he has a rifle of some English make,” added November. I Mrs. Rone started. “So he has, but I never remembered that till this minfute!” She looked back into Joe’s gray eyes with indignation. “And he smokes

i‘NuggeF _ an' rlgEt, too. I kuow IL AH the same, it isn’t Vai!” i “It’s queer them bits of worsted on the doornails,” observed Joe judicially. Her color flamed for a moment. “Why queer? He’s been here to see m— us more ’n once this time back. The nails might have caught his necker any day,” she retorted. “It’s just possible,” agreed November in an unconvinced voice.

“It can’t be Vai!” repeated Mrs. Rone steadily. When we were out of sight and of earshot I turned to November. , “The evidence against Black Is pretty. strong. What’s your notion?" >./• “Can't say yet I think we’d best Join Evans; lie’ll be trailing the thief.”

We made straight through the woods

toward the spot where the dog’s body lay. As we walked I tried again to find out Joe's opinion. “But the motive? Haven’t Mrs. Rone and Black always been on good terms?” I persisted. Joe allowed that was so and “Vai wanted to marry her yehrs ago.” “But surely. Black-Wouldn’t rob her, especially now that he has his chance again.” “Think not?" said Joe. “I wonder!” (After a pause lie went on: “But It jaln’t hard to see what’ll be Evans’ (views on that. He’ll say Vai’s scared of her growing too independent, for she’s made good so far with her traps, and so he just naturally took a hand to frighten her Into marriage. His case agin Vai won’t break down for want of motive.” “One question more, Joe. Do you really think Vai Black is the guilty man?” November Joe looked up with his quick, sudden smile. “It’ll be a shock to Evans if he ain’t,” said he. Very soon we struck the robber’s trail and saw from a second line of tracks that Evans was ahead of us following it. “Here the thief, goes,” said Joe. j “See! He’s covered his moccasins with I deer skin, and here we have Evans’ . tracks. He’s hurrying, Evans is. He’s feeling good and sure of the man he’s after.” Twice November pointed out faint signs that meant nothing to me. I “Here’s where the robber stopped to light his pipe. See! There’s, the mark of the butt of his gun between these roots. The snow's thin there. Must ’a’ had a match, that chap,” he said, after a minute, and, standing with his back to the wind, he made a slight movement of his hand. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Saving myself trouble." He turned : at right angles and began searching ; through the trees. “llere .it is. Hung ' up In a snag. Seadog match he used.”

; Then, catching my eye, he went on: I “Unless he was a fool he’d light his | match with his face to the wind, . wouldn’t he? And most right handed j men *ud throw the match therebouts ' where I hunted for it.” Well on in the afternoon the trail led out to the banks of a wide and shallow stream, into the waters of which they disappeared. Here we overtook Evans. He was standing by the ashes of a fire almost on the bank. He looked up as we appeared. “That you, Joe? Chap’s took to the water,” said the game warden, “but he'll have to do more than that to shake, me off” “Chap made this, too?” inquired November, with a glance at the dead fire. Evans nodded. “Walked steady till he came here. Dunno what he lit the fire for. Carried grub, I s’pose.” > “No; to cook that partridge,” said Joe. I glanced at Evans. His face darkened. Clearly this did not please him. “Oh, he shot a partridge?” “No,” said Joe; “he noosed it back in the spruces there. The track of the .wire noose is plain, and there was some feathers. But look here, Evans, he didn’t wear no pink necker.” ' Evans’ annoyance passed off suddenly. “That’s funny,” said he, “for he left more than a feather and the scrape of a wire.” The game warden pulled out a pocketbook and showed us wedged between its pages another strand of the pink and grey wool. “1 found it where he passed through those dead spruces. How’s that?” I looked at Joe. To my surprise he jthrew back his head and gave one of his rare laughs. i “Well," cried Evans, “are you still sure that he didn’t wear a pink necker?” “Surer than ever,” said Joe, and began to poke in the ashes. Evans eyed him for a moment, transferred his glance to me and winked. Before long he left us, his last words being that he would have his hands on “Pink Necker” by night (TO BE CONTINUED.) ’ .