The Ranger Boys and the Border Smugglers Part 16

The inside of the barn was as black as a pocket. Standing there for a minute or two, the boys waited in silence. They could hear the uneasy stamping of a horse, awakened probably by their entrance.

After what they judged to be a safe interval, Garry snapped on his flashlight, and threw the beam of light playing about the floor, keeping it on only long enough to get a general impression of the interior, and being careful not to allow its rays to strike upward lest it be seen through a window.

What they saw made it apparent that Mr. Everett's words about farming playing a small part in Green's life proved true. There was a single horse in the barn, and one good wagon. The farming implements appeared to be suffering from long disuse.

Garry located at the end of the barn the feed box that marked the pa.s.sage entrance.

Hastening to it, they moved it forward, and there, as told them by Ruth's grandfather, was the knot. Getting his knife out, Garry dug at the knot which yielded to his efforts and came out.

The trap was lifted, and Garry, shaking hands with d.i.c.k, made ready to enter. A musty odor emanated from the pa.s.sage, making it evident that it had not been used for a long time.

"Push the box back over the pa.s.sage when I get in," he whispered to d.i.c.k. "When I come to get out, I can tip it over when I push upward on the trap. Now you hustle back out and rejoin Phil. Wait for me down the road under that big elm tree that we pa.s.sed on our way here. I noticed that there was a field back of it, and in case you hear anyone coming along, you can slip back into it and hide until he or they have pa.s.sed on. Now see you later," and snapping on his flashlight, went down the crude ladder that gave entrance to the pa.s.sageway.

He waited at the bottom of this ladder until he heard the crunching sound of the feed box being pushed back over the trap door. Then the light of the flashlamp ahead of him in a dancing beam, his heart beating rapidly with excitement, he pushed on.

He was almost startled into an exclamation of dismay, as there came the sound of a squeal, and a small form scurried across his feet. Then he laughed with relief, for it was nothing more than a small rat.

After walking what he judged to be about twenty feet through the pa.s.sage, which was sh.o.r.ed up and roofed with timbers much after the manner of a mine tunnel, he approached a spot where the pa.s.sage widened, and he found he was in a sort of room.

At one side were a number of casks, but these were empty, as Garry found when he stirred one of them with his feet. At the other side of the room was a crude table, built of pine boards. On this table reposed a stack of fine fur, roped into a bundle. Garry examined it and found the skins to be those of fine seals, caught in Canadian waters, and destined to be sent to New York and sold to some woman who would have no idea that the law of the land had been broken by the making of the coat or neckpiece that she would be wearing.

They had been there for some time, Garry judged, for the dust was thick enough to denote that no one had been there for some days.

He pushed his way on through the pa.s.sage, and came at last to the end.

There was a box to stand on so that one might get up high enough to get a good purchase on the trap.

Now came a crucial moment. There was no telling whether or not the cellar was occupied. All that Garry could do was to push upward and trust to chance. Very carefully and slowly he pushed upward.

It required some exertion, but finally gave way. Pus.h.i.+ng it three or four inches, Garry paused, and both looked and listened. There was not a sound, and no beam of light came to disclose the presence of anyone in the cellar.

Giving the trap a last upward fling, Garry was soon in the cellar.

Pressing the snap of his light so that it would continue to s.h.i.+ne, he covered the trap with the dirt, smoothing it with his hands so that it would show no signs of having been recently displaced.

The first step had been successfully negotiated. Now remained the difficult task of getting upstairs and in a place where he could hear what was being plotted by Green, LeBlanc and their friends.

Walking as near the edge of the steps as he could, for it is at this point that they are less apt to creak, he made his way up the cellar stairs.

Every step was now one of potential danger, for the throwing open of the kitchen door would disclose his presence, and he would be trapped, for there was no exit from the cellar except through the pa.s.sageway, and he knew that if he were discovered, some of the men would run to the barn and guard that exit. His rifle had been left with the boys, for it would only be a hindrance in his movements in getting into the house.

After a few moments he reached the top of the stairs, and with his ear pressed to the door, listened for sounds that would tell him whether or not the kitchen was occupied. He heard nothing, and then bent to where the latch pierced the door. He could see no bit of light s.h.i.+ning through the small crevice, and then carefully raised the latch, taking nearly a minute to do so, that it might give no sharp, warning click.

The latch once raised, he pushed the door open carefully, shoving it barely a fraction of an inch at a time.

After what seemed almost ages, Garry stepped into the kitchen. He knew it was dangerous to press the b.u.t.ton on his flashlamp, but there was nothing else to be done, for he could not go moving through the dark, taking the chance of cras.h.i.+ng into a chair or table, and thus advertising his presence in the house.

Throwing the beam of light sweeping along the floor for an instant, and concentrating with all his might, he impressed on his mind a mental picture of the interior of the room, noting two doors and locating the various pieces of furniture in the kitchen.

His next act was to untie hastily the strings of his shoepacks, and slipping out the footgear, knotted the laces and strung the shoepacks about his neck. He was now able to move noiselessly.

Standing silently, he listened. He could hear the murmur of voices beyond one of the doors. His heart leaped, for there were probably the plotters. He crept to the door, and listened, but could make out nothing of what was being said. Only an indistinct murmur reached his ears.

It would be foolhardy to try and open the door, for he could not hope to do it without letting those in the room know it, even with all the luck in the world.

Garry was stumped. He began to wish that he had taken a chance and approached the house from the outside, trusting to fortune to get to a window through which he might both see and hear.

The boy stood for a moment and debated as to what was the best course to pursue, whether to go back through the pa.s.sage and try and approach from the outside, or what.

Then he recollected the other door. Knowing that the construction of old New England houses generally called for a front and back stairs, he guessed that this other door would lead to the upper part of the house.

Noiselessly crossing the floor, he cautiously opened the door, and found that his guess was right, for a single flash of his lamp showed a flight of stairs.

His stockinged feet making no sound, he crept up the stairs. At the top of the flight was another door, and opening this a bit at a time, he entered the room. All was darkness and silence.

He swept his flashlamp around the room, and made a discovery that promised the means of hearing what was going on in the room the plotters were in.

In most small towns, and especially in farm houses, a furnace is an unknown quant.i.ty. So to provide heat for the upper rooms without going to the expense of getting extra stoves, holes about a foot in diameter are cut through the ceiling, and an iron grating called a "register" is installed. This allows the heat to mount to the upper rooms.

Garry mentally estimated the location of the room he was in, and decided that it was over the kitchen. Hence the next room on that floor must be the one over that in which the conference of the smugglers was taking place.

Walking as though the floor were covered with eggs, he proceeded to the other door of the room, and pursuing the same tactics of taking several moments, cautiously opened the door. He found that he was in a bedroom.

He stood stock still, and listened.

The room was unoccupied, for there was no sound of breathing coming from the direction of the bed. Deciding to get his bearings before going further, he looked about. By this time his eyes had become accustomed to the dark, and he did not make use of his lamp. A faint bit of light proved to be coming through the window. Creeping across the floor, he examined. It was open, for the night was warm.

Outside the window was a great maple tree. One branch was almost on a level with the sill and not more than two feet distant.

This done, he searched for the light that would disclose the location of the register, and his heart fell when he found nothing. It seemed as if his carefully planned move had fallen like a house of cards.

Since there was evidently no register in the room, it seemed safe to flash his lamp.

It must be explained that Garry's examination of the room occupied only a matter of seconds.

Just as he was about to press the b.u.t.ton of the flashlight, he heard the purring voice of LeBlanc, m.u.f.fled and indistinct.

With a thrill of excitement, he knew that there was a register in the room after all. Getting down on his hands and knees, he felt about the floor. Only the bare boards were his reward, until as he approached the bed he felt a heavy rag rug.

Feeling over this, he discovered it to be slightly raised in the middle.

Carefully rolling it back, he was rewarded by seeing light and hearing the hum of voices.

At last Garry was an unseen listener to the plot being hatched below!

CHAPTER XVII.

THE RUSSIAN'S TALE.