CHAPTER XXIII

THE INVESTIGATION

As soon as the recitations were finished that morning, Ward sought out Little Pond and as they walked together to the dining hall, he said:

"What did you mean by what you said about ashes having been sprinkled on the hill yesterday?"

"Brown told me," replied Little Pond. "Brown said he overheard Tim and Ripley talking together this morning before chapel. He wasn't trying to listen you know, but they take their meals at the same place, and as they came out of the house he heard Ripley say something about ashes and then Tim say 'Yes,' and that 'somebody must go up there right away.' Then they suddenly stopped short as they looked behind them and saw Brown so near them. Brown said they looked guilty too, and as they knew he was a good friend to Jack, they probably were afraid he had overheard them."

"What did Brown do then?"

"Oh, he said that it flashed into his mind in an instant just what they'd been up to. He thinks that Tim had arranged with these fellows who stuck to the road yesterday, you remember, there by the last of those steep places till we were almost on them. Brown believes that they had sprinkled ashes over the path, or rather over one of the paths, and that they held their places as they did to drive 'The Arrow' right on to it. Then he thinks too that Tim steered in toward us a bit so as to drive us farther and make sure that we'd be held back."

"The rascal," muttered Ward angrily.

"You don't really think Tim Pickard intended to force us out of the road, do you, Ward?" inquired Little Pond. "I think all he wanted--that is, if Brown's right--was to send us on to the ashes, so that we'd be held back and he'd get a chance to gain enough to let him keep the lead on the way down the hill. I can't believe he'd do anything so bad as to drive us into the wall."

"Oh, Tim Pickard's all gentleness! He wouldn't harm any one! He'd never take a fellow out in a baby carriage and jostle him around over the rough ground, not he! He wouldn't stack a room. He wouldn't do anything that isn't just the proper thing to do! Oh no, Tim Pickard's too good for this world, I mean, of course, the Weston world, you know. For my part, I wish he was taken out of it too. Weston would be a very decent sort of a place without him."

Ward spoke bitterly for his heart was hot against Tim Pickard and the "Tangs." Not that he believed that even Tim would deliberately plan to run the boys into such danger as the load "The Arrow" carried had incurred, but he was well aware of his bitter feeling against him, and to an extent against Jack as well, and also of his desire for "The Swallow" to win the race, and that he would stop at nothing to carry his point.

However, he said nothing more to Little Pond, but as soon as he had finished his dinner, he hastened over to East Hall and had a long conversation with Brown, the result of which was that Brown and Baxter, another of the East Hall boys, soon after dinner started up West Hill to make some investigations near the place where the accident had occurred.

Doctor Leslie came out into the hall as Ward departed and the troubled lad delayed for a moment to learn of Jack's condition.

"He's better, decidedly better," said the kind-hearted physician. "I think he's going to pull through all right if we have no setbacks. It was a great shaking up you boys had."

"It certainly was for Jack and Henry," replied Ward. "The rest of us got a few bruises and scratches, but we don't mind such little things."

"Well, I understand that a physician's services are not likely to be required in any similar cases very soon. I hear the principal has forbidden the use of bobs any more."

"Yes, but our sled's all broken up, so we couldn't use it if we wanted to."

"And that makes Doctor Gray's prohibition more easily borne, does it?" said Doctor Leslie with a smile.

Ward made no response as he started toward West Hall. On his way Mr. Blake overtook him and as they walked on together, the teacher said: "Well, Hill, I hear that Hobart is likely to be about again soon. That was a very careless piece of work."

"Careless? I don't understand what you mean," replied Ward angrily.

"Why, Timothy Pickard tells me that you were trying to cut across his path and get ahead of him in the race. That was hardly fair I think, and it ended just as all tricks are sure to end. I'm sure honesty is the best policy, even in a race between bobs."

"Did Pickard tell you that?"

"Yes; I had quite an extended conversation with him this morning. Timothy has improved greatly since he returned to school this year, as you know, Hill. I confess I was somewhat dubious as to the advisability of receiving him back into the school, but Doctor Gray plainly understood him better than any of us did. There is a certain frankness about Timothy Pickard that I now greatly admire. He has had many conversations with me this year, and I am beginning to feel proud of him. There must be something about the Weston air which is highly conducive to manliness. And, Hill, while I am speaking, let me say that I should rejoice greatly if you too were disposed to manifest a little more friendly disposition toward your teachers. You must bear in mind that we are here for the sole purpose of aiding you, and yet you apparently are not eager to receive it."

If Ward had not been so angry, he would have felt inclined to laugh. It was a new departure for Mr. Blake to assume the role of a helper among the boys. Indeed, at times Ward had felt so keenly the impositions of the boys upon him that he had been many times tempted to take his part. The tall, awkward, ungainly teacher had never been a favorite with any of them. Of his scholarship no one had any doubt, but apparently he was lacking in the appreciation of boy nature, and even then Ward recalled the many pranks which the various classes had played upon him. Even Doctor Gray's words in the preceding year, when he had almost begged of Ward and Henry to exert their influence to see that Mr. Blake's pathway was not made so rough, came back to him now.

And here was Mr. Blake posing as a friend. Ward knew that in his heart the teacher desired to be popular in the school, but his desire had been so apparent as to cheapen his very efforts in that direction.

As for himself, Ward had never felt drawn to him and in his heart he did not respect him. He had done his work in his classes, but never had he felt the slightest inclination to go to him as he had done so many times to Mr. Crane.

And yet now he recalled the fact that he had heard and even noticed that Tim was disposed to be very friendly with the awkward teacher of mathematics. Just what he had in mind by such a course of action, Ward could not determine, but he was satisfied that Tim, to whom at the present time he was not disposed to impute any worthy act or motive, must have some deep-laid plans in mind.

Ward's silence was not understood by Mr. Blake, and as they entered West Hall, the teacher said: "I am glad to see that you have been impressed by what I have said, Hill. You have shown an inclination to do better in your studies this term than you did last, but I trust you will also conform to the spirit as well as to the letter of the Weston rules and life."

Ward said "Thank you" somewhat gruffly, and then hastened up the stairway to his room. Henry was there when he entered, and he at once related to him the outcome of his conversation with Brown, and also told him of the expedition of Brown and Baxter to West Hill.

As he went on to relate the conversation with Mr. Blake, even the staid and sober Henry could not repress the smile which came at the thought of the new air which the teacher had assumed, and with Ward he agreed that Tim must have some deeper motive in his mind than was now apparent in cultivating the friendship of Mr. Blake.

It had been decided that Henry was not to go home. While his arm pained him intensely, and he would be compelled to carry it for some time in a sling, the expense of a journey home and the loss of lessons combined to render his stay in the school desirable, and all that afternoon Ward studied steadily with him in getting out their work for the following day.

After supper that night Brown and Baxter came over to Ward's room to report the result of their investigations at West Hill. It became evident at once by the expression upon their faces that they had something of interest to relate, and after closing and locking the door to prevent interruptions, Ward turned to them and said: "Well, let's have it, fellows. What did you find on the hill?"

"We had a funny kind of an experience," said Brown. "We got permission from Mr. Crane to be excused for a part of the study hour, so we started out right after dinner. We didn't want any of the fellows to see us, so we didn't go together till we got down by the bridge. We met there as we agreed upon and then started up the hill. Well, sir, whom do you suppose we saw when we got most up to the place where the accident occurred?"

"I don't know," said Ward. "Maybe it was Tim Packard."

"No, Tim wouldn't be there, you can rest your soul on that. He never gets his fingers scorched as long as there's some one else to be had to pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him. It was Ripley."

"Was he alone?" inquired Ward eagerly.

"We couldn't see any one else, though we both suspected some one might not be very far away, didn't we, Baxter?"

"Go on, go on," said Ward. "What was Ripley doing there?"

"Well, when we first saw him he was right in the road. Before I knew it, Baxter had called out to him and you never in your life saw a fellow so scared as Ripley seemed to be. He looked up, for he was on his knees there in the road right where 'The Arrow' left it, you see, and when he saw us coming he just jumped over the fence and made a bee line across lots for home. Oh, it was great fun, let me tell you. We called and called to him, but every time we shouted he just let out another length and the way he slipped over the crust then was a caution. I don't believe 'The Arrow' could have stood a ghost of a show with him. He never once stopped or looked behind him, and it wasn't but a few minutes before he was away down the hill, and pretty soon we could see him in the valley. But even then he never stopped to look back. My opinion is that he hasn't stopped yet. From the way he was going he made me think of the wandering Jew and that he never would stop anywhere, only I don't believe the wandering Jew ever could make such time as Ripley did. He was in dead earnest too, let me tell you."

"Well, what then?" said Henry. "You didn't follow him?"

"No; after we recovered from our astonishment, for we'd never seen Ripley in a hurry before, you see, we put straight on up the hill. Pretty quickly we came to the place where the accident happened and then we began to make our investigations. We didn't have any trouble in finding the place, for the crust was all broken in and the holes that Big Smith made where he placed his tiny 'footies' remain even unto this day. My impression is that they'll find some hollows in the ground up there too in the spring when the snow is gone. 'Every time his foot comes down, the heel of his shoe makes a hole in the ground,' you know."

"Oh, bother Big Smith's heels!" said Ward quickly. "He isn't here to defend himself, and it isn't fair to go for a fellow behind his back. What we want is your story."

"That's what I'm giving you. Well, we went right at the road next, to see if we could find any of those ashes we'd heard so much about."

"You didn't have any difficulty in finding what you were after, did you?" said Ward.

"Difficulty? Well, I should say we did. We searched up the road and then searched down the road, but not an ash could we find, sir, not even a little piece of one."

"Well, what was Ripley doing up there then? What made him run when you came?"

"That's the very question we put to ourselves, my patient little lad, but the question was a good deal more easily asked than answered, let me tell you. If it hadn't been for my friend Baxter here we'd never have had it solved for us at all. But, you see, Baxter's a descendant of the great Baxter, and he knows a thing or two."

"Who was the great Baxter?" said Henry solemnly. "I never heard of him."

"Oh, he wrote a book, or took a rest, or did something, I don't know just what. But this Baxter took no rest. He made a great discovery. Just when I was about to declare the expedition a failure and was going to organize a retreat à la Xenophon, my sweet-spirited friend dropped upon his knees. I was somewhat astonished, you may believe, to behold my comrade in that attitude, and was about to make a few simple inquiries as to the purpose in view, for I heartily approved of his conduct, I have no need of assuring you. But let Baxter tell his own story. He'll do it justice, a good deal better than I can with my poor stammering tongue, you see."

"Baxter, will you tell us what you did?" said Ward. "The trip must have turned Brown's head."

"Why, all there was of it, I saw that some of the snow had been dug out from the bank and it seemed to me it had been thrown on the road," said Baxter. "It was trodden down, but it showed that some one had stamped on it. Of course that made me suspicious and I just got down on my knees and began to dig with my hands. I didn't have to go very far before I found what we were after. Ashes had been scattered in the path, and then some one had gone up and covered it all over with snow, and had tried to pack it down so that it wouldn't show."

"And that was what Ripley was doing?"

"Precisely. Precisely," said Brown. "Your massive brain has solved the riddle."

"The rascals," said Henry angrily. "Where do you suppose they got the ashes?"

"Probably Timothy Pickard, Esquire, looked well to that," said Brown; "and he had planned to fix you fellows on your third trip down."

"But if we'd struck the ashes fairly, it might have sent us flying in every direction, at the speed we were going," said Henry. "It was a dangerous as well as a cowardly trick."

"Precisely so," responded Brown; "but you were saved from flying all abroad by the sled taking only one direction, and somehow you boys seemed to be inclined to follow it too."

"I think it ought to be reported to Doctor Gray," said Henry indignantly. "I'm no tell-tale, but such a thing as that might almost have been murder."

"And how will you prove that Tim did it? Or that any one did it, for the matter of that? As for Tim, he didn't do it, you don't need to be told that, I'm thinking," said Brown.

"And then there's Jack," said Ward. "He's suffered the most, but I don't think he'd want the thing reported. I don't believe we'd better do anything before he is well enough to hear all about it. Doctor Leslie thinks he'll get along all right now."

"All except his little finger," said Brown. "But I think Ward's right. We don't want to report it before Jack knows all about it. We can keep our eyes open though, and may be we'll find out who did it. Somebody's rapping, Ward."

"I know it," replied Ward. "Let him keep on, we don't want him in here, whoever he is."

Nevertheless he went to the door, but he almost stumbled backward when he opened it, and beheld Tim Pickard and Ripley standing before him.

He was too astonished to speak, but the new-comers did not wait for an invitation to enter the room, for they at once came in, and Ward not knowing what to make of the visit and the visitors, quietly closed the door and again locked it.