“No, he won’t get away,” said a cruel, level voice. “And if you yelp once more, young Van Horn, you’ll get a bullet in your noisy mouth!”
Dirk felt the heavy body above him suddenly removed; the Indian was rising to his feet. The boy staggered upward, and was again thrown to the earth by a fierce thrust.
“Lie there and cool off!” ordered the unseen. “Yes, I’ve got a gun on you, and on your smart pal, too. Get out of that canoe quick, Red, if you know what’s good for you.”
“If you didn’t have that pistol on me,” muttered Brick Ryan savagely through clenched teeth, “I’d—I’d——”
“Enough of that!”
At last Dirk made out the form of the man who, with the aid of the rascally Indian, had trapped them. He felt only a dull throb of surprise as he recognized him. Brick’s warning at Lake Lenape had been justified, after all. The mysterious fisherman had tracked them down and caught them alone at last.
The man deliberately walked up to Brick, the gleaming nose of his pistol showing in his right hand. With his left he thrust swiftly upward. There was the sound of a blow against flesh, and Brick fell heavily upon the pebbled shore.
“Lie there, both of you. Now, Mink,” their captor addressed the Indian, “dump that stuff out of their canoe and put it in ours. We need it more than that dumb bunch of kids up the lake. Then tie up these two birds tight, and dump them in too. We’ve got to get away before the ones up ahead come back to see what’s wrong. Wish I could see their faces when they find out!”
“What—what are you going to do with us?” asked Dirk hoarsely.
The stranger laughed unpleasantly. “You’ll find out soon enough, kid. Ready, Mink? That’s good. Now, turn over that fancy red canoe and shove it way out in the channel, so that when the main gang come back, they’ll know for sure that these two wise little scouts are drowned to death and sunk to the bottom of the lake!”
Trussed with light rope like a pair of fowl ready for slaughter, the two boys were lifted one by one in the Indian’s arms and laid in the bottom of his dirty canoe. Neither could speak, for bandana handkerchiefs were knotted tightly between their teeth, so that they had barely a chance to breathe. They lay on the unyielding ribs of the craft, which apparently leaked, for several inches of chilly water sloshed about beneath them and ran down their necks, soaking their already damp clothing.
The tarpaulin-wrapped bundle containing the provisions stolen from the Lenape trailers was dumped next to their heads. The man with the pistol crouched in the bow, his slicker thrown open, now that the rain had stopped. His dark-skinned henchman, whom he had called Mink, cast another glance at theSachem, which was caught in the channel current and, bottom upward, drifted toward the outlet. Then, seizing his paddle, he pushed off the heavy-laden vessel and began paddling furiously toward the far shore.
Although they were effectively hidden from the eyes of any returning Lenape canoeists as long as they kept the length of the island between them, the two men kept a wary lookout until they gained the shelter of the far shore, where the deepening twilight hid them from any possibility of discovery. Dirk, squirming painfully in his bonds, could see only the body of the muscular Mink above him, his moving head and arms outlined against the purple sky, in which one star already gleamed. He could hear Brick Ryan breathing heavily beside him, and bit at his gag angrily, realizing that he could help neither his comrade nor himself. If only he had departed with the other members of the party, the two desperate men would not have had opportunity to snare them as they had done. It had been all his own fault, Dirk condemned himself. If only he had listened to Brick——
But why were they thus trapped and taken from their friends toward an unknown fate, leaving an overturned canoe behind to give the cruel impression that they had drowned? What was the meaning of it? Why had this man, who now sat slumped in the bow of the leaky canoe, followed Dirk so relentlessly into the wilds?
He puzzled until his head throbbed, but could piece out no answer to those questions. The steady rhythm of the paddle might have lulled him off to a fitful stupor, so weary was he; but the filthy water in the bottom of the canoe slapped him again and again into wakefulness. It seemed as if hours passed before the canoe made a sudden swerve shoreward, and the bottom beneath him scraped on a gravel spit of land.
It was already quite dark. The two lads were bundled out of the canoe and were glad to be relieved from their painful position. Had their captor not untied all their bonds save those holding their hands behind their backs, they would have fallen over when they were first put on their feet; as it was, Dirk was forced to lean against a tree to keep himself erect.
The Indian’s master pulled the gags from their mouths with a warning. “Not a word out of either of you! Not that it would do you any good, at that. You don’t know where you are, but I can tell you it’s miles from anybody that could hear you, or would care what I did to you if you yelled. So be good little kids and follow my half-breed friend Mink. And remember, I still have my gun handy.”
The half-breed, who during this time had been pulling his canoe ashore and hiding it in a pile of brush near by, now silently raised the pack of provisions to his shoulder and began stolidly tramping through the darkness. The driven boys stumbled in his wake, too weary to know or care where the overgrown path might lead. Behind them marched the nameless man, who now and then uttered an oath as he tripped over a root or sank ankle-deep in a forest pool.
After half a mile, the guard dropped so far behind that Dirk ventured a cautious whisper in the direction of his friend; although, since the half-breed looked back from time to time, it was impossible to attempt a flight.
“Where do you think they’re taking us, Brick?”
Brick shook his head hopelessly. “Don’t know—too dark to see. I think we’re on the west side of Moosehorn, but maybe not.”
“I’m sorry I was such a fool as to let them take us so easily. If I’d listened to you——”
“Don’t worry, my lad.” Brick’s voice was somehow cheering. “They won’t hurt you. Me, maybe, but not you.”
“You mean—you know why they captured us? I’ve been trying to figure it out. Why, why did they do it?”
“Mean to tell me you don’t know? Why, I’ve been suspectin’ it since the first time I saw that guy with the gun. Don’t you realize that he kidnaped you so that he could make your dad pay a wad of money to get you back?”
Dirk Van Horn gasped incredulously. “But—kidnapers! Why, my father isn’t a wealthy man! He’s quite well off, but even if he is president of a bank, he doesn’t own all the money in it!”
“Well, wouldn’t he give all he’s got to have you back home safe again? Sure, he’d do that, and this tough bird that’s got us counts on it. No, you’re safe until he gets some ransom for you.”
“Quiet, there!” commanded an angry voice, with a curse. Their guard had caught up to them, and a wave of his weapon put a stop to their whispered comments. But Dirk at last understood why he was a prisoner. He understood, too, the strange invitation of the man when they had surprised him at Lake Lenape. He had tried to lure them away from their friends, and failing in that, had kept watch on the boy’s every movement. Seeing that a capture was impossible so close to the camp, he had somehow found out about the long trail expedition, and no doubt hiring the villainous half-breed Mink to help him in his criminal purpose, had gone before them and waylaid them at Flint Island by a ruse, at a time when the two boys were by chance separated from the main party.
At long last the man ahead stopped and put down his burden. A dim shape loomed before them, a rough hut of logs chinked with mud, that was evidently the dwelling of the half-breed. He fumbled with the latch on the door. The man in the slicker tossed away a glowing cigarette, and pushed them inside, harshly ordering Mink to shut the door and cover the window before lighting the lantern.
In the glow of the battered oil-lantern that the half-breed brought forth, the boys looked about with half-shut eyes. A heap of cured skins lay in one corner, and the single room smelled vilely of stale smoke and damp walls and animal remains. The Indian knelt on the hearth of the rough stone fireplace, but his master stopped him with a word.
“Quit that! Do you want to tell the world where we are? They could see that smoke ten miles away! We’ll grab a cold supper tonight, and tomorrow when you’re here with them, don’t take any chances, or you’ll end up in the jug! There must be some stuff in that bundle that we can eat.”
He sank down on a stool and lit another cigarette, while the half-breed rummaged in the Lenape provision-sack and discovered some cans of fruit and vegetables, which he opened with the blade of an ax. The two prisoners, too tired to care what befell, sank to the floor and lay there half-asleep, until the Indian roused them roughly and shoved food at them, untying their chilled hands so that they might eat.
Hungrily, they wolfed down the unappetizing fare. Cold corn from a can, dry bread, and still dryer prunes do not constitute an ideal repast for famished boys, but they made the best of what was given them. Brick, indeed, was so strengthened by the meal, poor as it was, that his Irish fighting spirit came back to him. Chewing a crust, he lifted his head and directed a fierce glance at their enemies.
“You’ll go to jail for life for doin’ this!” he challenged.
The man wiped his mouth leisurely, rose, and strode over to the hapless lads.
“Still full of pep, eh? Well, Redhead, it won’t take us long to put that out of you! Young Mr. Millionaire Van Horn here will be all right if Papa comes across tomorrow, but you ain’t worth a nickel to me, and don’t forget it!” His cold blue eyes widened. “Say, what’s that thing stickin’ out of your shirt?”
Brick drew back, fumbling at his breast, where the honor of Lenape, in the shape of a rumpled bit of green-and-white bunting, had been carried throughout the journey.
“It’s—nothin’, just a flag,” he muttered, trying to stuff it out of sight.
His tormentor laughed jeeringly. “Just a flag, eh?” With a sudden movement, he tore it from the boy’s grasp. After a slighting glance, he crumpled it in his fist, strode to the door, and tossed the Lenape pennant into the mud outside the step.
He whirled to meet Brick’s leap. Dirk sprang to help, but was disdainfully pushed aside by the silent half-breed. When next he looked, Brick lay sprawled out on the floor, with an ugly red blotch on his forehead and helpless rage crackling in his eyes.
The man’s doubled fist threatened further punishment. Then, with another empty laugh, he turned on his heel.
“Go to sleep, you brats,” he flung out over his shoulder. “Toss them some blankets, Mink. I’ve got to get some rest if I’m hoofing over to Yanceyville in the morning.”
The blanket-rolls of the two trailers had been taken from their canoe along with the larger pack; and these were now thrown over them as they crouched in one corner of the hut. The walls and crude floor-boards let in draughts of chill, damp night air, and they hunched together dumbly for warmth and companionship. With the moaning of the wind through the trees above their heads as a doleful lullaby, they sank into the despairing slumber of the captive.
After a century of nightmares in that dark, noisome hole, Dirk stirred his cramped limbs and opened his eyes to find a ray of daylight slanting through the single window. His enemy stood with one hand on the latch of the door, giving parting orders to his servile guide. The man’s pasty face showed the effects of an existence that was not natural to him, whose haunts were those of the city. His serge suit was stained and creased, while his cheek bore a clotted scratch where he had scraped it against the projecting limb of a tree during the dark passage of the previous night.
“And remember,” he was snarling, “that you ain’t to let those brats out of your sight for a minute! They’re slippery little imps, especially that red-headed one. If all goes well and the old man comes across with the money, I’ll be back with your share by night.”
“You not try to fool me, eh? You pay me what you said?”
“Sure, Mink. We’re partners on this—split the dough fifty-fifty. I’ll telegraph old Van Horn from Yanceyville, and if he’s got any sense, he’ll send the cash by wire right away. It’s a cinch.”
He passed out into the sunlight, scratched a match, and began puffing the eternal cigarette. As he disappeared, the Indian shrugged and set about putting together a breakfast as cold and cheerless as the meal of the previous night.
Miserably the boys roused themselves to face another day of imprisonment, in the tumbledown cabin of the half-breed, who handed food to them silently and whose watchful, savage glare made them break off each time they attempted to speak to one another. In fact, so closely did he watch their least move that Dirk, after an hour, gave up all hope of finding any avenue of escape from beneath the half-breed’s eye.
More than two hours had passed, Dirk judged, since the departure of their nameless foe, who was evidently now well on his way to Yanceyville on his nefarious errand of attempting to extort a large sum of money from Dirk’s father as a ransom. What would happen? Even if the money were paid promptly, would this man free them at once, or would he attempt some further villainy to prevent them from putting the law on his track as soon as they had won to civilization?
Mink, who had been sitting on his stool with his back against the door, passing the time by whittling idly at a stick of firewood, sat up suspiciously. His nose was in the air, sniffing like a hound that has lost the scent. He rose with a clatter and paced, still sniffing, to the dead fireplace. After a few seconds, he shrugged and returned, apparently satisfied, to his post.
Dirk went back to his gloomy thoughts, which were now turned toward his companions, who had set out so blithely with him on the Long Trail. Were they even now mourning his death and Brick’s, as victims of a canoe accident? He recalled his clumsiness the first time theSachemwas launched—no doubt they thought him still a lubber who would upset his craft and drag his friend with him to the watery depths. But Mr. Carrigan was wise; and though their captors were cunning, they had left several clues that might be read. For instance, the provision-sack had been tightly lashed within the canoe; Sagamore Wise-Tongue would think it strange that it had worked loose when the canoe overturned. They had left no tracks, except a trampled spot in the bushes on Flint Island, but perhaps, perhaps the Lenape men had not given up hope. Their stock of food was gone, but they would find some way to exist, even in the wilderness——
He woke from his reverie. Mink had again jumped to his feet, nose in air. Dirk sniffed too. Something stronger than the heavy odor of the cabin was sifting through the chinks in the logs. It smelled like the lodge at Lenape, in the evening with the whole tribe gathered around the fireplace——
With a wild cry, the Indian threw open the door, leaped across the threshold, and slammed it behind his retreating form. A frozen instant of hushed wonder—the smell became undeniable—a smell of charring timber——
Dirk dashed for the window, but Brick was before him. Together, the boys stared through the dirty pane. The forest showed them no danger signals, but from over their heads came the thuds of a scrambling body and the low hiss of flames in dry shingle-boards.
Brick turned to his friend, his freckled face aglow with renewed hope.
“This cabin must be afire, Dirk!” he muttered, trying to keep down the exultation in his heart. “Gollies, listen to that! The roof must be blazin’ like sixty!”
It was true; rising above the beats of his heart, the listening Dirk could hear the crackling of hungry flames.
“Our chance!” Brick’s eyes were dancing. “Come on! Old Mink sure will be busy for a minute, and he won’t think about us. Now’s our chance to make a getaway!”
The two captives were out the door of the burning cabin in an instant, and broke wildly for cover in the thickets beyond the clearing.
Dirk, as he fled, cast a desperate glance over his shoulder. Mink, their half-breed guard, had climbed somehow to the roof of his shanty, and with his khaki shirt, which he had torn off in haste, was striving to beat out the licking flames that fed on the dry, rotten shakes. His back was toward them, and he was so immersed in his furious task that he took no notice of their flight.
With Brick at his side, running stealthily and gasping for breath, he found himself beneath the shadow of a clump of pines. Pausing now to look about and get some feeling of the direction of the lake where their friends must be, he was startled by having his comrade seize his arm and shake it roughly.
“Gollies, how could I forget?” the red-headed lad panted. “I left the flag back there at the hut—the other guy chucked it in the mud last night!”
“We can’t stop!” urged Dirk. “That Indian will get us——”
“No! Sagamore Carrigan give it to me to keep safe—it’s the honor of Lenape, he said! I got to get it! Say, Van, these birds don’t want me. It’s you they’re after—you keep runnin’, and maybe I’ll catch up with you!”
He was off before Dirk could speak further, racing back the way they had come, perhaps into the very arms of the enraged Mink. Dirk, however, had no intention of deserting his friend. He could see nothing in the direction of the hut save a thin column of greasy-looking smoke through the trees. He threw himself on the needle-carpeted earth, his chest heaving with exertion and excitement. If Brick came back this way, with the Indian after him, perhaps he could divert his attention, lead him a chase through the underbrush——
A squawking flight of large birds, crows and bluejays among them, swooped over his head. He rose on his elbow to mark their noisy passage. Not five yards off, the low scrub-oak bushes rustled and parted, revealing a rusty-coated, sharp-nosed animal with a brushy tail. It was a fox. Dirk did not move; the fox saw him, but cast only an incurious eye on him, and trotted off swiftly as if on urgent business at a far place.
Dirk jumped to his feet. A curl of smoke crept across the slanting bars of sunlight that fell to the floor of the glade. A distant murmur like a rising wind came to him, and his mouth went dry with fear. Why wasn’t Brick back? What was happening there through the screening forest?
He took a step forward, as if to run to his comrade’s assistance. As he did so, he caught sight of Brick on the other side of the glade, waved, and ran to his side. The Irish lad’s face was pale, but he clutched in one hand the bedraggled banner he had risked recapture to save.
Dirk took his arm. “Are you all right, old fellow? Where is Mink?”
“I—I fell down once, and he saw me, but he couldn’t get down from the roof. Say, some of the bushes and trees are on fire—I could hear ’em sizzle. Let’s get out of here!”
“Which way is the lake, do you know?”
“We can’t stop to think about that—we’ve got to run! Soon as he puts out the fire, that Indian is goin’ to start trackin’ us down—they can follow like a bloodhound!”
“He won’t put it out soon. Look there!” Dirk pointed into the tree tops. The crackling roar had grown louder now, and as they looked, a leaping rope of flame bridged the gap between two trees nearly overhead. A smoking twig whirled to the ground beside them, starting a slow spark in the dry pine-needles.
“We can’t tell which way to go—but I think the fire is between us and the lake! We must get away!”
He began to pull Brick forward, following the direction taken by the fleeing fox.
“Say, thanks for waitin’ for me,” gasped Brick. “But you better——”
“Save your wind!” Dirk fought his way through a scratching barrier of brush. The horror of a hissing wall of flames at their backs put wings on his heels.
They labored in silence up a steep hillside, crossed a rocky ridge, and scrambled down into a blasted ravine on the other side. Dirk was aware that his friend was muttering shakily.
“I got to stop a minute! You can’t hear the fire now—get my wind——”
Both spoke softly, as if even now some enemy, concealed near them, might overhear.
“All right,” Dirk replied, watching Brick sink down upon a moss-covered ledge of rock. “But that Indian will be following us as soon as he can, if he knows we’ve gone this way. Maybe we should go in another direction.”
A few moments passed in silence.
“I wish I knew where the lake was,” said Dirk finally.
“Well, this creek here probably runs down into it.”
“That’s true—but as near as I can see, this is the same one that goes right by the cabin. We’d only run right back into Mink’s arms. Guess we’ve got to make for the hills. Then if one of us climbs a tree, we can get our bearings.”
Brick sighed heavily, and Dirk stared at him. Their adventures had put them both in sad case. Garments were stained and torn, bareheaded and grimed with dirt were they, looking like two scarecrows. Dirk wondered why Brick was so laggard in the flight. It was not like him to drag behind. The boy’s freckles stood out against his white face, and his lip was trembling.
“Know what I think?” asked Dirk. “I’ll bet that man with the gun was the person that started the fire. Of course he didn’t do it on purpose, but he was always smoking cigarettes and throwing them away without putting them out first. This morning, when he went away, he was smoking. A spark probably caught somewhere and set fire to the shack—it’s a regular old tinderbox. Well, shall we start again?”
“I’m game,” answered Brick; but he took his time getting to his feet.
They began the second stage of their flight by crossing the creek, where they paused for a hasty draught of water, and then attacked the long steady slope on the far side, toiling upward through a dense growth of evergreens. It seemed as if they would never get clear of the towering trunks and branches that seemed to push down upon their shoulders, smothering them and impeding their way. When at last they attained the height, Dirk was reluctantly forced to abandon his plan to climb a tree and thus get a view of the surrounding country. The lower branches were still so far above his head that it would be impossible for the most agile boy to get a foothold on the smooth trunks.
He turned to Brick. “Say, old lad, perhaps if you give me a boost——” He broke off, seeing the pain in his friend’s drawn face. The eyes were shifting feverishly above the hollow cheeks, and the boy was biting his lip to keep back a moan of anguish. “Why, Brick, are you hurt? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Brick swayed, and had Dirk not run to his side to support his body, would have collapsed to the ground. “I’m—all right,” he gasped out. “You go on—get to the top of the darned mountain—the honor of the camp——”
“What’s the trouble? Are you sick?”
“Fell down that time—the Indian was lookin’—kind of knocked my ankle over a rock——” He fell backward in his comrade’s arms, and Dirk realized that he had fainted.
That was Brick Ryan, all right—floundering along gamely without a word, although his ankle must have made him want to scream out at every step! Then a realization of the seriousness of the situation came over Dirk, and he began tearing at the loose collar at his injured friend’s throat.
Fortunately, he had not spent his time at Camp Lenape without picking up some bits of knowledge of first-aid. “When anyone faints, never try to move him—give him lots of air—lean him forward so the blood rushes to his head——” Muttering these half-remembered instructions, he bent the limp body forward and began rubbing Brick’s dangling wrists and forearms. He wished they had brought some water, but there had been no way to carry it——
Brick moaned weakly, and his eyelids fluttered. “What—what happened, huh? Is it Van? Whillikers, to think that F. X. A. Ryan passed out like a baby——”
“Don’t talk,” his friend ordered. “Just rest a minute. We’re safe for a while now. When you feel better I’ll go get you a drink.”
The injured boy fell back, his chest heaving irregularly. Dirk stripped off his sweater and folding it into the form of a pillow, placed it under Brick’s head, slightly downhill. His next care was to examine the ankle that had been struck when the boy had escaped, for a second time, from the half-breed’s clearing.
The ankle was swollen badly—no doubt about that. Dirk, feeling glad that their captors had not searched him, found his pocket-knife and carefully slashed away the strings of Brick’s shoe; he then tenderly removed it, although not without causing a slight groan from its owner. The stocking was also pulled off, exposing the wounded area.
The ankle looked puffy and discolored, but as near as Dirk could tell, it was not broken or even seriously sprained. But none the less, it was almost a catastrophe for a pair of fugitives in their plight. Without food of any kind, their ponchos and blankets left behind them when they fled from the hut, and with a savage pursuer no doubt already on their track, they must travel far and fast. Now, one of them was crippled, in pain.
“Brick,” said the boy urgently, “do you think you’ll be all right if I carry you a ways? We’ve got to get to water, and I think there’s a brook at the bottom of this hill somewhere. If you’re sure you won’t faint again——”
Brick clenched his teeth. “Go ahead,” he answered bravely. “Gee, I hate to think that I’m holdin’ up the party this way. Maybe if you left me, you might find somebody who would come back and get me.”
“Nonsense! Whatever happens, I won’t leave you, old lad. It won’t be much of a job if I take you with the fireman’s lift.”
Brick grunted as he was hoisted upon his friend’s right shoulder, his body hanging downward from the waist; but he made no outcry as Dirk bore him in this fashion down the hill. In fact, he was so silent that Dirk feared he had fainted for a second time; but since his head hung low, he was in no danger. The truth was that he was gritting his teeth to keep from moaning when the injured ankle swung slightly in their progress.
Dirk, for his part, made haste to reach the brook, for he bore no light burden. But a vision of what might happen were he to injure his own legs among the treacherous roots and rocks of the hillside made him step warily. If both of them lay hurt in the wilderness, with none knowing their plight or whereabouts, they would eventually starve, if they did not sooner die of exposure.
At long last, the burbling of water over stones was heard close at hand, and Dirk eased his burden to the ground. The rains of yesterday had swollen the little watercourse, and a fairly deep pool, overhung with brambles and scrub-oak, glistened beside them.
Dirk wiped the sweat from his face, and took a deep breath. His first care was to bring his companion a drink of water in his cupped hands, and to wash away the sticky grime that clung to Brick’s pale cheeks and forehead.
“That’s swell!” sighed Brick. “Now, if my foot was tied up good and tight, maybe I could hobble on a ways further.”
“I’m taking no chances,” answered Dirk grimly. “That hoof of yours looks bad. Here, move to the bank, right over this place, and dangle it in the cold water. Best thing to take down the swelling.”
Brick Ryan obediently did as he was told. The shock of the chill water on his ankle set his teeth chattering, for all the moist heat of the forest; but soon the injured part became numb, and the throbbing ache nearly stopped.
Almost an hour passed. During this time Dirk had not been idle. He had found a straight, tough sapling of ash with a fork at the top, and with his knife had shaped the ends to the semblance of a rude crutch.
“Mighty warm today,” he remarked to the watching Brick, as he pulled off his khaki shirt over his head. “Won’t need this.” He proceeded to tear the shirt into strips. The narrowest of these he laid aside, and bound the rest over the forked head of the improvised crutch, making a smooth padding.
“Now, let’s have a look at the ankle again.”
Brick summoned up a tired grin. “It’s much better, Doc. You couldn’t look after me any better if you had a beautiful nurse to help you. Say, what do you keep lookin’ over your shoulder all the time for?”
“Am I doing that? Humph! Guess I’m still scared old Mink will pop his head out at us. I sure don’t want to get kidnaped again with that ugly lot, do you?”
While he was speaking, he had deftly wound the strips torn from his shirt tightly about the bruised ankle. The cold-water treatment had reduced the swelling almost completely, but the skin showed an ugly black and blue patch.
“Yell out if I hurt too much,” he ordered; “but the tighter I tie it, the better it will be.” He rose, and helping Brick to his feet, offered him the crutch he had made. “Now see if you can get around.”
Brick gingerly took a few steps. “Gollies, this is a swell crutch, all right! I’m good for a hundred-mile hike right now. But where do we head for?”
For a moment Dirk made no answer. Then something snapped inside him, and he cried out bitterly.
“I don’t know! Where are we? Where is the Lenape gang? We’ve got to find food and shelter before night, and already it’s getting late! Oh, I don’t know where to go, Brick—but we’ve got to go now, or we’re done!”
Dirk’s momentary outburst passed as soon as it had come, leaving him heartily ashamed of his despair. He should not be the one to lose hope; now, if ever, he must show the manhood that was in him.
He clapped Brick Ryan on the back, and tried to summon a smile. “There, old man, it’s all right. This whole mess is really my fault—I was dumb enough to let myself get kidnaped in the first place. If you think that crutch of yours will work, take a good drink and let’s hike.”
Brick set off eagerly, stumping across the creek and manfully following Dirk’s leadership through the forest, trying not to drag his tightly-bound foot or to knock it against the stumps and boulders that littered the earth. Dirk kept looking backward to see how his friend was progressing, stopping now and again to lend an arm in crossing some marshy bog or climbing a steep bank. He tried to keep his bearings and follow a straight line that eventually would bring them out upon high ground from which he hoped to spy the lake, the only landmark that either of them knew.
He forced Brick to stop frequently, for otherwise the red-haired lad would have gamely plodded on until he dropped. During one of the pauses, Brick asked: “Say, since it looks like we’re lost for certain, what about buildin’ a smoky signal fire? Maybe if the gang is around, they’ll see it and come to help.”
“I thought of that. But we don’t know that they are still around. Don’t forget they think we’re drowned. And we do know that Mink will be looking for us. A smoke signal would give us away—he’d get us before anybody else could find where we were.”
On, on they went at the maddeningly slow pace that made their journey seem like a dream, one of those nightmares in which the sleeper is pursued by unknown terror, but must stagger onward like a man walking under water. The sun dropped lower and lower above the endless tree tops.
Brick sank down, and threw his crutch away from him with a groan.
“It’s no use!” he panted. “I can’t go on, Van. My foot’s achin’ like it was stung by a million bumblebees. If I had somethin’ to eat, maybe I could get a little further, but gollies, this hike is too much for me. You go on,” he pleaded, “wherever you can go, and leave me—leave me——No half-breed in any old canoe will ever turn me over and shoot me in the leg——” His crazy jargon trailed off into a feverish moan.
It was painfully clear to Dirk that his friend’s strength was completely gone, and that he was already on the fringes of delirium. The shadows were lengthening on the mountainside where they lay; during the last hour they had been climbing steadily. Soon it would be dark.
The boy looked about him helplessly. Was this the end? The end of that long trail the two comrades had followed together, through capture and fire and flight and injury——He stood on a rocky shoulder of mountain in trackless wilds, with his hurt friend huddled at his feet. If he had a part of the skill of Sagamore Carrigan, he might, even with only his jack-knife to help him, rig up some sort of shelter against the coming cold night, might find some wild food or trap a small beast. But he could lean on no other person now; he was alone with his helpless charge. A keen wind swept up from the valleys below. It was Dirk Van Horn’s dark hour.
As he stared out over the gently waving tree tops, he could see only endless ridges of hills, one beyond another, above which the red torch of the sun blazed like a burning ship. They must have circled around too far, until now they were on the other side of the slopes that guarded Lake Moosehorn. He turned his face upward, where the summit of the mountain showed against the sky. As he looked, a pale spark came into being against the dimming sky. It was a star. No! Could it be——
He cried out, and shook Brick’s shoulder in a sudden frenzy. “It’s not a star!” he screamed. “It’s—it’s a light! A light up there, Brick!”
“Never get back,” moaned the injured boy drearily. “It’s a long way from Lenape we are——”
“Wake up, Brick! I tell you, I see something up there. It looks like a tower of some kind. Brick, we’ve got to get there now!”
But Brick Ryan was beyond caring. He did not even stir as he was lifted in the arms of a haggard, wild-eyed lad whose heart burned with new hope. Saving his breath, Dirk made no further effort to speak. The body of his comrade hung in his arms, a leaden weight, as he stumbled forward, his muscles crying out in weariness, his teeth clenched in a last despairing endeavor.
A few hundred yards up the slope his feet touched a worn path, along which was strung on tree-trunks a line of black wire, leading upward. It was a telephone line. Somebody was up there, somebody who could give them food, and fire, and a place to lie in peace and safety!
“Cheer up, F. X. A. Ryan, my son!” Dirk murmured. “You’re safe now, old lad! Up we go!”
In the deck-house of the fire tower at Lookout, young Ugly Brown was staring through the gathering twilight, scanning the slopes below through a pair of field glasses lent to him by the young warden who stood at his side. He was startled to hear a ringing cry from below, among the trees bordering the trail. He could not make out the words, but the tone was desperate. He was out through the trap-door in an instant, and was half-climbing, half-sliding down the iron ladder that hung from the steel cross-pieces of the tower.
“Hey, go slow there, youngster!” the warden shouted down after him. “You’ll break your monkey neck!”
Ugly did not answer. He had a feeling that he knew the voice that had uttered the cry that had come floating up to him through the dusk.
He leaped the last few feet at the bottom, and raced down the trail. From the dimness of the woods, a strange pair staggered toward him—one ragged, stumbling ghost bearing another, a limp form in his arms, marching onward with the high valor that will not admit defeat.
“It’s Van Horn!” Ugly shouted joyfully. “Say, what’s the matter with Brick? We thought you guys were drowned, but Sagamore Carrigan wasn’t sure, and all the bunch has been huntin’ for you all day——” He broke off sharply, and rushed forward to support the tottering figures.
The young fire warden, who had only delayed in his tower to snatch a hot thermos bottle and a pair of blankets, came to his assistance, and together they knelt over the two exhausted wanderers where they had slipped to the ground.
Dirk felt himself lifted up. The steaming aroma of hot coffee was under his nose, and a strange voice was ordering him to drink. The hot fluid burned his tongue, but sent new life coursing through his veins.
He pushed away the mouth of the bottle, and sat up. “I’m all right,” he croaked. “Look after Brick. His ankle’s hurt pretty bad, and it got worse because we had to hike.”
“He’ll be all right,” came an answer. “The fire warden will fix him up pretty quick. Do you know me, Van? It’s Ugly Brown. Gee, this has sure been an exciting trip! I bet none of the other gangs that went on the Long Trail ever had as much fun as we’re havin’!”
“It may have been fun to you, Ugly, but Brick and I have had a tough time of it. Last night and today—I don’t want to think about it! Every minute we thought that half-breed Indian, Mink, was going to jump out on us and take us back to be held for ransom.”
The fire warden, who had been working over Brick and making him as comfortable as possible on a blanket, looked up from his task.
“I was sure that’s who it was, when the hut caught fire this morning,” he put in. “That is one bad Indian—or maybe I should say was. There’s a pretty good chance that he may not be in the land of the living tonight.”
Dirk sat up suddenly. “You mean—he was—killed?”
The man shrugged his shoulders. “That was a pretty bad blaze they had down there at his shack. It would have been worse, only thank goodness the woods were damp after the rain; otherwise our outfit would have had a nice crown fire to fight today. Collins was patrolling down by the lake, and had to call a general alarm. By the time he got there, the whole clearing was burned over, and all that was left of the trapper’s cabin was a heap of cinders. The men are still on guard down there—several acres were burned over.”
“And Mink—what happened to him?”
“Nobody knows. If he wasn’t burned to death, you can bet he’s cleared out of this country for good. You’ll never be bothered with him again.”
Dirk laughed feebly. “And to think that all day we were running away from a danger that didn’t exist! We thought he was trailing us.”
The warden looked at him curiously. “You must be pretty done in.”
“We got lost, and couldn’t find our way back to the lake.” The boy looked about him. “Where is this place, anyway, and how is it that you’re here, Ugly?”
“This is the Lookout, where the fire tower is,” explained the other boy, alive with excitement. “If you get up on top of the hill here, you can see for a million miles all over these mountains. The lake is right below. You must have come around from the other side. Mr. Carrigan looked at the canoe we found turned over. When he saw that all the stuff was gone, he said he thought somebody had captured you. Then he found where the bushes were tramped down, over on Flint Island. We couldn’t do much last night in the dark, but he got the chief warden to give us some grub and a tent. Then, since early this morning, all of us have been scoutin’ around these woods, lookin’ for signs of you. They ought to be comin’ in pretty soon. Boy, won’t they be mad when I tell ’em I was the one to see you first!”
“We must tell my father,” said Dirk. “Can anybody get word?”