“I hope so,” rejoined Frank.
But when the boys returned with the remainder of the camp stuff two hours later, they found an unpleasant surprise awaiting them.
In the tent, stretched out on some hemlock boughs which they had cut before leaving, they found poor Fenn. He was very pale and his eyes were closed.
“He’s asleep,” whispered Ned.
Frank entered softly and placed his hand on Fenn’s head.
“He’s got a high fever,” he said, with alarm in his voice. “Fellows, I’m afraid Fenn’s quite sick.”
Frank’s announcement seemed to strike a cold chill to the hearts of Ned and Bart. Sickness was something with which they had seldom come in contact, and they did not know how to proceed.
“I suppose we’d better get a doctor,” ventured Ned.
“Where?” inquired Frank as he came from the tent. “There isn’t one within five miles—maybe farther.”
“Haven’t we any medicine?” asked Bart. “I thought you said you brought some along.”
“So I did,” replied Frank. “Stuff for burns, cuts and stomach aches, but I don’t know as it would be safe to give him anything when he has a fever.”
“Have you got anything for a fever?” inquired Ned.
“Yes, some of those little, white tasteless pills, that come in small bottles. Homeopathic remedies they call ’em. I’ll read the directions.”
At that instant Fenn murmured something.
“He’s talking!” exclaimed Frank, listening at the flap of the tent.
“Water, mother. Give me a drink of water,” spoke the sick boy.
“He thinks he’s home,” said Ned.
“Here, I’ll get him a drink, and you read the directions on that bottle of pills,” directed Bart. “Maybe we can give him some.”
Fenn drank thirstily of the spring water Bart carried in to him, scarcely opening his eyes, and, when he did, he did not know his chum.
“The smugglers!” exclaimed the now delirious youth. “We’ll catch ’em! Don’t let Ruth fall into the cave. Look out!”
The boys were much frightened, especially Ned and Bart. Frank, from the experience he had had with his father, knew a little more than did the others about cases of illness. He read what it said on the bottle of pills and decided it would be safe to give Fenn several of the pellets.
“Now, we’d better get the camp in shape for night,” said Frank. “We’ve got to stay here until morning, no matter what happens. We can’t move Fenn until he’s better.”
“Maybe he’ll not get better,” remarked Ned, rather gloomily.
“Oh, cut out such ideas,” advised Frank. “He’ll be all right. Probably his stomach is upset. Now hustle around and get a fire going. I want some hot coffee, and so do you. Then we’ll all feel better, after a bit of grub.”
Once Bart and Ned had something definite to do they did not worry so much about Fenn. Frank took a look at him, now and then, in the midst of the work of making the camp.
“He’s asleep,” he announced after one inspection. “I think his fever’s going down some.”
“That’s good,” commented Bart, his face losing some of its worried look.
The boys ate a hasty supper and then made a more comfortable bed for Fenn. The tent was big enough for all four to stretch out under it, but the three chums decided they would take turns sitting up, in order to administer to the sick lad.
Frank gave him some more medicine during the night, and, by twelve o’clock, Fenn was somewhat better, though he still had a fever.
It seemed that morning would never come, but, at length, there shone through the forest a pale, gray light, that turned to one of rosy hue, and then the golden sunbeams streamed through the trees.
“Thank goodness the night’s gone,” exclaimed Ned, who had the last watch. “It seems as ifwe’d been here a week, instead of a few hours.”
“How is he?” asked Bart of Frank, who had assumed the rôle of doctor.
“No worse, at any rate,” he said, as he felt of his chum’s head.
“Do you think we ought to get a physician?”
“I think we’ll see how he is to-day,” answered Frank. “If he doesn’t get any worse I believe it will work off. I’ll give him some more medicine.”
There must have been some virtue in the pills, for, by noon, Fenn’s skin was much cooler, and he had began to perspire, a sure sign that the fever was broken. His mind, too, was clear.
“What’s the matter? What happened?” he asked. “Was I sick?”
“I guess it was a little touch of sun-stroke,” replied Frank with a laugh. “How do you feel?”
“Pretty good, only weak. I’m hungry and thirsty.”
“That’s a good sign. I guess we can fix you up.”
Fenn made a fairly good meal on canned chicken and some biscuits which Ned concocted out of a package of prepared flour.
“I think I can get up now,” announced the sick youth, as he finished the last of his meal.
“No you don’t!” exclaimed Frank. “I’m the trained nurse in charge to-day, and you stay in the tent until night, anyhow.”
Fenn wanted to disobey, but he found he was weaker than he thought, so he was glad to stretch out on the blanket, spread over the fragrant hemlock boughs. He was so much better by night that the boys were practically assured he was out of danger. They felt correspondingly happy, and prepared as fine a meal as they could in celebration of the event.
Fenn ate sparingly, however, and then fell off into a sound, healthful sleep. His three comrades took turns during the night watch, but there was nothing for them to do, save, now and then, to replenish the camp fire.
The next day Fenn was so much better that he insisted on getting up, but he did not have much ambition to do things.
“We’ll go hunting, as soon as you are able,” announced Frank, after breakfast. “Our pantry isn’t very well stocked.”
“Don’t wait for me,” urged Fenn. “Go ahead. I can stay in camp, and look after things while you three are gone. I’ll take my turn at hunting a little later.”
At first the boys would not hear of this, but,after Fenn pointed out that they must have stuff to eat, they agreed to go hunting the next day, leaving him alone in camp, if it was found, by morning, that he was well enough.
Fortunately this proved to be the case and Ned, Frank and Bart, carrying the guns they had hired in Duluth, started off, cautioning Fenn to take care of himself, and not to wander away from the tent.
“We’ll be back as soon as we have shot something to eat,” promised Bart.
It was rather lonesome in camp for Fenn, after his chums had left. At first he sat in front of the tent, watching the antics of some squirrels who, emboldened by hunger, came quite close to pick up crumbs. Fenn scorned to shoot at them.
“I think I’m strong enough to take a little walk,” decided the youth, after an hour or so of idleness. “It will do me good. Besides, I want to get a line on just where that cliff is, on which we saw the queer men.”
He started off, and found he had regained nearly all his former strength. It was a fine day, and pleasant to stroll through the woods.
Fenn wandered on, aiming for the lake, which was some distance away from where the tent was pitched. Suddenly, as he was going through a little glade, he heard a noise on the farther sideof the clearing, as though some one had stepped on, and broken, a tree branch. Looking quickly up he saw, half screened by a clump of bushes, two Chinamen, and a white man.
The odd trio, whose advance had alarmed Fenn, stopped short. Then one of the Celestials muttered some lingo to the other. An instant later the three drew back in the bushes, and Fenn could hear them hurrying away.
“I’m on the track of the smugglers!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to follow them and see where they go! I must be nearer the cliff than I thought.”
Off Fenn started, after the three men. If he had known what lay before him he would have hesitated a long time before doing what he did. But Fenn did not know.
Game was not so plentiful in the woods about the camp, as the three chums had hoped. Frank, Ned and Bart tramped along, keeping a close watch for anything that would promise to restock the larder, but, for some time, the most they saw, were numbers of small birds—too small to shoot.
“Why can’t we scare up a covey of partridges?” asked Ned, rather disgustedly, after they had been out an hour or more.
“Why don’t you wish for a herd of deer, or a drove of bears, that is if bears go in droves,” suggested Bart. “You want things too easy, you do.”
“I don’t care whether they’re easy or not, as long as there are some of them,” retorted Ned. “I’d like to hear how this gun sounds when it’s shot off.”
“Hark! What’s that?” exclaimed Bart, looking up as a sudden whirring noise was audible in the air over their heads.
The boys looked up, and, to their surprise, saw a big flock of wild ducks, flying quite low. It was rather early in the season for them, as they learned later, but they did not stop to think of that. Without further words, they raised their guns and blazed away.
“Hurrah! We got some!” yelled Ned, as he saw several of the wild fowl tumbling earthward.
“The other barrel!” exclaimed Frank. “We may not get another chance, and we’d better kill enough to last us a week.”
They fired again, and killed several more of the ducks. They found the birds to be in fairly good condition, though they would be fatter later on.
“They will make fine eating!” remarked Bart, as he held up a string of the wild fowl. “Maybe Fenn won’t like to set his teeth in a nice browned piece of roast duck.”
“Providing he is well enough to eat it,” added Ned.
“Oh, he’ll be well enough,” was Frank’s answer. “But I’d like to get something else besides duck.”
“Well, we’ve got plenty of time yet,” suggested Bart. “Let’s go a little farther.”
Slinging their game over their shoulders, and reloading their guns, the boys once more startedoff. They had not gone far before a commotion in a clump of underbrush, just ahead of where Ned was walking, startled the lad into sudden activity.
“Here’s something!” he called in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes, and it’s liable to come out and shake hands with you, and ask how you like the weather, if you yell that way again,” remarked Frank. “Don’t you know any better than to call out like that when you’re hunting?”
“I couldn’t help it,” whispered Ned. “I saw something big and black. I think it’s a bear.”
“A bear! Where?” cried Bart in a whisper, cocking his gun.
“Go easy,” advised Frank. “We stand a swell chance of killing a bear with these light shotguns. Where is it, Ned?”
The boys were all speaking in low tones, and had come to a halt in a little circle of trees. All about them was thick underbrush, from the midst of which had issued the disturbance that caused Ned to exclaim.
“There it is!” he said, grasping Frank by the arm, and pointing toward something dark. At that moment it moved, and a good-sized animal darted forward, right across the trail, in frontof the boys, and, an instant later was scrambling up a tall tree as if for dear life.
“Fire!” cried Ned, suiting the action to the word. He aimed point-blank at the creature, but, when the smoke cleared away, there was no dead body to testify to his prowess as a hunter.
“Missed!” exclaimed Ned disgustedly. “And it was a fine chance to bowl over a bear cub, too.”
“Bear cub?” repeated Frank. “Take a look at what you think is a bear cub.”
Frank pointed to the tree, up which the animal had climbed. There, away out on the end of a rather thin limb, it crouched, looking down on the boys—a huddled bunch of fur.
“A raccoon!” exclaimed Bart. “You’re a fine naturalist, you are, Ned. Why didn’t you take it for a giraffe or an elephant?”
“That’s all right, you’d have made the same mistake if you had seen it first,” retorted Ned. “I’m going to have a shot at it, anyway.”
He raised his gun, but the raccoon, probably thinking now was the opportunity to show that he believed in the old maxim, to the effect that discretion is the better part of valor, made a sudden movement and vanished.
“See!” exclaimed Ned triumphantly. “Heknew I was some relation to Davy Crockett. He didn’t exactly want to come down, but he had some business to attend to in another tree.”
“That’s an easy way of getting out of it,” remarked Bart, “but I’ll wager you would have missed worse than I did if you had shot.”
“Oh, come on and stop scrapping!” exclaimed Frank.
“We’re not scrapping,” retorted Ned. “Only I say I’m as good a shot as he is.”
“You can prove it, by shooting at a mark, when we get back to camp,” suggested Frank. “Just now we’re out hunting, not trying to decide a rifle match.”
But word seemed to have gone through the woods that three mighty boy hunters were abroad, and all the game appeared to have gone into hiding. Tramp as the chums did, for several miles, they got no further sight of anything worth shooting at.
“I guess we’ll have to be content with the ducks, and go back,” remarked Frank, after a somewhat long jaunt in silence. “Fenn may be lonesome waiting for us.”
“I know my stomach is lonesome for something to eat,” returned Bart. “The sooner some of these ducks are roasting, or stewing or cookingin whatever is the quickest way, the better I’ll like it.”
“All right, let’s head for camp,” agreed Ned, and, having picked out their trail, by the help of a compass they carried, they were soon journeying toward where their tent was set up.
“I hope Fenn is all right,” remarked Frank, as they trudged onward.
“All right? Why shouldn’t he be?” inquired Bart.
“Well, I was a little worried about leaving him alone.”
“Why Fenn is able to take care of himself,” declared Ned. “Besides, what’s there to be afraid of?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Frank. “But suppose another spell of fever should suddenly develop, and he was all alone? It wouldn’t be very nice.”
“Well, he was as anxious to have us go as we were to start off,” remarked Bart.
“I know it, but still, I can’t help feeling a little anxious.”
“Oh, he’ll be all right,” declared Bart, confidently. “He’ll have a good fire ready for us, coffee made, and all we’ll have to do will be to clean these ducks and put them to roast.”
“I hope so,” replied Frank.
The boys, in the excitement of the chase, had gone farther into the woods than they had anticipated on starting out. Consequently it was later than they expected when they got to where they saw landmarks that told them they were near camp.
“It’s only about half a mile farther now,” remarked Bart.
“Give a yell,” suggested Ned. “Fenn will hear it and know we are coming.”
The three chums united their voices in a loud hallo; and, when the echoes had died away, they listened for an answering cry. None came, and the woods were silent, save for the noises made by birds flitting here and there in the branches of the trees.
“He didn’t hear us,” said Ned. “Try again.”
“Maybe—maybe he isn’t there,” suggested Frank, in a low voice.
“Of course he is!” declared Ned. “Maybe he’s asleep.”
“I guess he didn’t hear us,” suggested Bart. “The wind is blowing the wrong way. Let’s yell again.”
Once more they shouted, but with no effect. There came no answering hail.
“Come on!” called Frank, increasing hisspeed. The boys spoke but seldom during the remainder of the tramp to camp. When they came in sight of the tent they strained their eyes for a sight of their chum. He was nowhere to be seen.
“Probably he’s inside, lying down,” spoke Ned.
It needed but a glance within the canvas shelter, to show that Fenn was not there. In the gathering dusk Frank gave a hasty glance about the locality. The embers of what had been the campfire, were cold. There was no sign that Fenn had been there recently, or that he had made any preparations to receive his chums.
“He must have gone off in the woods and forgotten to come back,” suggested Bart. “Maybe he went hunting on his own account.”
“If he had, he’d have taken his gun,” replied Frank, pointing to where the weapon stood in a corner of the tent.
“Then he’s out for a walk,” declared Bart.
“He’s staying rather late,” commented Frank. “I hope—”
Frank did not finish his sentence. Suddenly, he darted forward and picked up something off the ground.
“What is it?” asked Bart.
For answer Frank held it out on the palm ofhis hand. It was a small object and the two boys had to bend close to see what it was. They saw one of the peculiar brass buttons that serve to hold the loops with which a Chinese blouse is fastened.
“A Chinese button!” exclaimed Bart, in a whisper.
“The Chinamen have been here!” added Ned.
“It looks as if the smugglers had Fenn,” said Frank solemnly. “They must have sneaked in here and carried him off!”
Fenn had not gone very far, in pursuit of the two Chinamen and their white companion, before he became aware that he was not as strong as he thought he was. In his legs there was strange trembling, and his head felt dizzy.
“I guess I was sicker than I imagined,” he said to himself, as he kept doggedly on. “But I’ll trail ’em. I’m going to find out where they are staying, how they get to the cliff, and what it’s all about.”
Ahead of him Fenn could hear the trio making their way through the underbrush. They seemed to be following some trail, as there was a faintly-defined path through the woods at this point.
“They must be preparing to smuggle in a shipload of Chinese,” thought Fenn. “Probably it’s the same gang we scared off farther down the lake. They’ve come up here. Oh, if I had some way of sending word to a government detective, I could catch ’em in the very act! But, if I canfind out where the landing place is I can show the officers how to get to it. That is, if they don’t take the alarm and skip out. They must know me by this time.”
The trail was becoming more difficult to follow. It still led toward the lake and Fenn was sure he was on the right track. Already he had visions of what he would do with the reward money, after he had given his chums their shares.
“Whew! But I’m getting tired!” exclaimed the lad, after making his way through a particularly thick bit of underbrush. “I wish some of the fellows were along to take up the chase. I wonder if they’re going much farther?”
He paused a moment to rest, and listened intently for a sound of the retreating footsteps of those ahead of him.
“Why,” he exclaimed, after a second or two. “I can’t hear them!”
There were no sounds save those made by the birds and small beasts of the forest.
“They’ve distanced me!” Fern exclaimed. “I couldn’t keep up with them! Now I’ve lost track of them! What shall I do?”
He was trembling, partly from excitement, and partly from nervousness and weakness. A mistseemed to come before his eyes. He looked about him and saw, off to the left, a little hill.
“I’ll climb that, and see if I can catch a glimpse of them,” he said, speaking aloud. The sound of his own voice seemed to bring his confidence back to him. His legs lost their trembling and he felt stronger.
Up to the summit of the hill he made his way, finding it a more toilsome climb than he had imagined. He reached the top. Below him, stretched out like a narrow ribbon of gray on a background of green, was the little trail he had been following, and which had been taken by the three men. It wound in and out among the woods, extending toward the lake, a glimpse of the shining water of which Fenn could just catch.
Something moving on the trail caught his eye. He looked intently at it, and, the next moment he exclaimed:
“There they are! They’re hurrying along as if a whole band of detectives was after them, instead of me alone. Now to see if I can’t catch up to them.”
He gave one more look at the two Celestials and the white man, who, every moment were nearing their goal, and then, hurried down the otherside of the hill, to cut across through the woods at the foot, and so reach the trail.
Fenn had not gone more than a dozen steps when suddenly, having made a jump over a large boulder in his path, he came down rather heavily on the other side, in the midst of a clump of ferns.
There was a curious sinking of the ground, as though it had caved in. Fenn felt himself falling, down, down, down! He threw out his hands, and tried to grab something. He grasped a bunch of fern, but this went down with him.
“Help! Help!” he instinctively called, though he knew no one was within hearing, save, perhaps, those three strange men, and he did not believe they would help him if they did hear his calls for aid.
Fenn was slipping and sliding down some inclined chute that seemed to lead from the summit of the hill, into the interior of the earth. It was so dark he could see absolutely nothing and all he could feel around him were walls of dirt.
They seemed strangely smooth, and he wondered how he could slide over them and not feel bumps from rough stones which must surely be jutting out here and there from the sides of the shaft down which he had tumbled.
He put out his hands, endeavoring to find something to grasp to stay his progress, and then he discovered the reason for his smooth passage.
The walls of the curious slanting tunnel, in which he had been made an involuntary prisoner, were composed of smooth clay. Down them water was slowly dripping, from some subterranean spring, making the sides as smooth and slippery as glass.
Fenn tried in vain to dig his fingers into the walls, in order to stay his progress, but he only ran the risk of tearing his nails off, and he soon desisted. All he could do was to allow himself to be carried along by the force of gravity, and the incline of the tunnel was not so great as to make his progress dangerous.
“It’s the stopping part I’ve got to worry about,” thought poor Fenn. “I wonder what’s at the end of all this?”
Suddenly, as he was sliding along, feet foremost, in the darkness, his outstretched right hand came in contact with something that caused him to start in terror. It was a round, thin slimy object, that seemed stretched out beside him.
“A snake!” he exclaimed. “I’ve fallen into a den of serpents!”
He drew his hand quickly away, fear and disgustoverpowering him for a moment. Then the thing seemed to be at his left hand. This time, in spite of himself, his fingers closed around it.
“A rope! It’s a rope!” he cried aloud, as he vainly tried to catch hold of it and stay his sliding downward. But the rope slipped from his fingers, and his journey down the curious shaft was unstayed.
“This must have been dug by men,” thought Fenn. “I’ll wager the smugglers had something to do with it. Why, maybe it’s one of the ways they land their men. That’s it! I must be sliding right down into the lake. They use the rope with which to pull themselves up the slippery tunnel.”
This idea seemed feasible to him, and he made further efforts to grasp the rope, in order that he might stop and pull himself up, instead of being carried on into Lake Superior.
For that this was to be his fate he now feared, since, as near as he could tell, the tunnel sloped in that direction. But though he occasionally felt the rope, first on one side of him, and then on the other, he could not get a sufficient grasp on the slippery strands, covered as they were with clay, to check his progress.
“I guess I’m doomed to go to the bottom,” hethought. “If I only fall into deep water it won’t be so bad. I can swim out. But if I land on the rocks—”
Fenn did not like to think about it. In fact his heart was full of terror at his strange situation, and only his natural courage kept him from giving way to despair. But he was filled with a dogged determination to save himself if he could, even at the end.
Though it has taken quite a while to describe Fenn’s queer mishap, it did not take him long to accomplish it. He was slipping along at considerable speed, being shunted from side to side as the tunnel widened or narrowed, but, on the whole, being carried onward and downward in a fairly straight line.
Suddenly the blackness was illuminated the least bit by a tiny point of light below and in front of him. It looked like an opening.
“There’s daylight ahead,” thought the boy. “That must be where the fresh air comes from,” for he had noticed that the tunnel was not close, but that a current of air was circulating through it. Fenn was wrong as to the source of this supply, as he learned later, but he had little time to speculate on this matter, for, much sooner than he expected, he had reached the spot of the light.
He saw, suddenly looming before him, an opening that marked the end of the tunnel. The shaft gave a sharp upward turn and Fenn was shot up and out, just as are packages that are sent down those iron chutes from the sidewalk into store basements.
A moment later the boy, covered with mud from head to foot, found himself on a narrow ledge on the face of a cliff overlooking Lake Superior. He lay, partly stunned for a moment, and blinking at the strong light into which he had come from the darkness of the shaft.
Below him rolled the great lake, on which he and his chums had so recently been sailing in theModoc. Fenn arose to his feet, and gave a glance about him.
“It’s the same place!” he murmured. “The same place where we saw the men who so mysteriously disappeared! I’m on the track of their secret!”
He looked at the ledge on which he stood. It was long and narrow, and, not far from where he was, he saw a partly-round opening, that seemed to be the mouth of another shaft, leading straight down.
“Well, more wonders!” exclaimed Fenn, walking toward it. As he did so, he was startled to seethe head of a man emerge from the second shaft. The fellow gave one look at Fenn and then, with a cry of warning to some one below, he disappeared.
Fenn, startled and somewhat alarmed, hesitated. He was on the brink of an odd discovery.
Following the finding of the Chinese button, and Frank’s conclusion that the smugglers had carried Fenn off, the three chums, back in camp, startled by the terror the thought gave them, stood looking at each other for several seconds. They did not quite know what to make of it.
“Do you really think the smugglers have him?” asked Ned, of Frank.
“Well, it certainly looks so. Fenn is gone, and this button is evidence that some Chinese have been here.”
“But might not Fenn be off in the woods somewhere, and the Chinese have paid a visit here while he was away?” asked Bart.
“Of course that’s possible. But I don’t believe Fenn, sick as he was, would remain away so long.”
“Couldn’t that brass button come from some other garment than one worn by a Chinaman?” inquired Ned.
“It could, but for the fact that it has some Chinese characters stamped on the under side, where the shank is,” and Frank showed his chums the queer marks, probably made by the Celestial manufacturer. “Then, here’s another bit of evidence,” and he pointed to the ground.
Ned and Bart looked. There, in the soft earth, they plainly saw several footprints, made by the peculiar, thick-soled sharp-pointed shoes the Chinese wear.
“They’ve been here all right,” admitted Bart in a low voice. “What’s to be done about it?”
“I think we ought to see if we can’t find Fenn,” declared Ned. “We ought to follow and see where these Chinese footsteps lead. Maybe Fenn is held a prisoner.”
“That’s what we ought to do,” agreed Frank. “However, it is too late to do anything much now. It will soon be night. I think we’d better get something to eat, sleep as much as we can, and start off the first thing in the morning. Maybe we can trail the smugglers by following the Chinese footprints, and, in that way, we may find—Fenn.”
Frank hesitated a bit over his chum’s name, and there was a catch in his voice. The other boys, too, were somewhat affected.
“Oh, we’ll find him all right,” declared Ned, confidently, to cover up the little feeling he had manifested. “If those smugglers have him, why—we’ll take him away from them, that’s all.”
“That’s the way to talk!” exclaimed Frank. “Now let’s get some grub. What did we shoot all these ducks for?”
The chums soon had a meal ready, but, it must be confessed, the ducks did not taste as good as they expected they would. However, that was more because of their anxiety over Fenn, than from any defect in the birds or their cooking.
Morning came at last, after what the three Darewell boys thought was the longest night they had ever experienced. They only slept in dozes, and, every now and again, one of them would awake and get up, to see if there were any signs of the missing Fenn.
“Poor Stumpy,” murmured Ned, on one occasion, when a crackling in the underbrush had deluded him into the belief that his chum had returned, but which disturbance was only caused by a prowling fox. “Poor Fenn! I hope he’s in no danger!”
If he could have seen Fenn at that moment he would have had good reason for expressing that hope.
“Now for the trail!” exclaimed Bart when, after a hasty breakfast, the three boys, shouldering their guns, were ready to start. “Which way, Frank? You seem to have run across the track of these smugglers, and it’s up to you to follow it. Lead on.”
“I guess we’ll have no difficulty in following the trail as far as it goes,” remarked Frank. “When a Chinaman goes walking he leave a track that can’t be duplicated by any other person or animal. Lucky it didn’t rain in the night, for what tracks there are will still be plain. And we don’t have to worry about a crowd walking over the place where they were. We’re not troubled by many neighbors in these woods.”
They started off with Frank in the lead, and he kept a careful watch for the Chinese footprints. At first they were easy to follow, as the ground was soft, and the queer cork-soled shoes had been indented deeply in the clay. But, after a time, the marks became so faint that, only here and there could they be distinguished.
Then it became necessary for Frank to station one of his chums at the place where the last step was seen, and prospect around, considerably in advance, until he picked up the next one.
“If we had a hound we wouldn’t have all this trouble,” he said.
“But, seeing as we haven’t, we’ll have to be our own dogs,” retorted Ned. “I guess we can manage it.”
They followed the footprints of the one Chinaman for a mile or more, and then they came to an end with an abruptness that was surprising, particularly as the last one was plainly to be seen in a patch of soft mud.
“Well, he evidently went up in a balloon,” announced Bart.
“It does look so, unless he had a pair of wings in his pocket,” supplemented Ned.
Frank went on ahead, looking with sharp eyes, for a recurrence of the prints. He went so far into the woods that Bart called to him.
“Do you think he jumped that distance?”
“I don’t know,” replied Frank. “I’m going to look—”
He stopped so suddenly that his chums were alarmed and ran forward to where he was. They found him staring at some marks in the earth, and the marks were those they sought—the footprints of the Chinese.
“How in the world did he ever get over that space without touching the ground?” inquiredNed. “He must be a wonder, or else have a pair of those seven-league-boots I used to read about in a fairy book, when I was a kid.”
“Look there!” exclaimed Bart, pointing up to a tree branch overhead.
“Horse hair!” exclaimed Ned. “I didn’t know a horse could switch his tail so high.”
“Horses nothing!” retorted Bart. “That’s hair from the queue of a Chinaman, or I’ll eat my hat!”
“But what’s it doing up in the tree?” demanded Frank.
“That’s how he fooled us,” replied Bart. “He thought some one might trail him, and when he got to a good place, he took to the trees. They are thick enough here so he could swing himself along from limb to limb, and, after he covered twenty-five feet or more, he let himself down. It was a good Chinese trick, but we got on to it. His pigtail caught in a branch. I guess it hurt him some.”
“Yes, here are his footsteps again, as plain as ever,” said Frank, pointing to where the queer marks were to be seen.
“But, say, we’ve forgotten one thing,” said Ned suddenly.
“What?” asked Bart.
“We haven’t looked for Fenn’s footprints. All along we’ve been paying attention to only the marks made by the Chink. Now where does Fenn come in? This Chinese fellow couldn’t carry him; could he?”
“Not unless the Chink was one of the gigantic Chinese wrestlers I’ve read about,” admitted Bart. “That’s so, Ned. We have forgotten all about Fenn’s footprints.”
The three boys looked at each other. In their anxiety at following the trail of the queer marks they had lost sight of the fact that they wanted a clue to Fenn, as well as to the smugglers.
“I suppose we’d better go back to camp and begin all over,” suggested Ned.
“No,” decided Frank, after a moment’s thought. “Let’s try these prints a little longer. Maybe they’ll lead us to some place where we can get on Fenn’s trail.”
The others agreed to this plan, and, once more, they took up the search. They had not gone far before Frank, who was again in the lead, called out:
“Here we are, fellows! This explains it!”
Ned and Bart hurried forward. They found that Frank had emerged upon a well-defined trail, that led at right angles to the one they had beenfollowing. But, stranger than that was what the trail showed.
There, in plain view, were the footprints of two Chinese and the unmistakable mark of a white man’s foot.
“There were two parties of smugglers!” exclaimed Ned.
“Either that, or one member of the single party made a cut through the woods, came to our camp, and then joined the others right here,” said Frank.
“Still, I don’t see anything of Fenn,” remarked Bart.
“No? What’s that?” demanded Frank quickly, pointing to footprints, quite some distance back of the others.
“Fenn’s! I’ll be jiggered!” cried Bart. “I can tell them by the triangle mark, made with hobnails that he hammered into the heels of his shoes, after we decided to come on this trip. He said that would prevent him slipping around on deck.”
“Those are Fenn’s footsteps all right—unless some one else has his shoes,” declared Ned. “Come on! We’re on the right trail at last.” And the boys hurried forward, hope once more strong in their hearts.
For several seconds after he had observed the man’s head disappear down the hole in the ledge, Fenn waited. He wanted to see if the fellow had gone for reinforcements, or had retreated. After a minute or two Fenn decided that the man was as much frightened as he himself was.
“I’ll take a look down that hole,” he decided. “I’m not in very good shape for visiting company,” he went on, with a look at his clay-covered clothes, “but I don’t believe those chaps are very particular. I wonder what I’m up against? This is a queer country, with holes in the ground almost at every turn, leading to no one knows where.”
He advanced toward the shaft, down which the man had vanished, and, as he reached the edge, he saw that it contained a ladder.
The ladder was made of tree trunks, with the branches cut off about a foot from where they joined on, leaving projections sticking up at a slightangle, and making a good hold for the hands and feet.
“Well, I s’pose I’m foolish to do this all alone, and that I had better go back to camp and get the boys,” murmured Fenn, as he prepared to descend. “But, if I do, the smugglers may escape, and I’ll lose the reward. There must be an opening at the bottom of this shaft that leads right out on the lake shore. When the boats land the smuggled-in Chinamen, they are probably taken up this shaft, then through the one I slid down, and so into the woods, and from there they are spirited wherever they want to go.”
He looked into the shaft, and listened intently, but could hear no sound. He was surprised to see that the opening, leading down to he could only guess where, was dimly lighted, seemingly in a natural manner. But his wonder at this ceased when, having gone down a little way, he noticed that the walls of the shaft were pierced, in the direction of the lake, with small openings, through which light came.
The shaft, he then saw, was either a natural one, or had been bored, straight down the cliff, and at no great distance from the perpendicular face of it. The sides seemed to be of soft rock, orhard clay, and the tree-trunk ladders were fastened up against the walls by long wooden stakes, driven in deeply. There were several tree trunks, one after another, and from the smoothness of the jutting prongs it was evident that they were often used.
Down Fenn climbed, stopping every now and then to peer through the ventilating and light holes. He caught glimpses of the great lake, that lay at the foot of the cliff, toward the bottom of which he was descending in this strange manner.
“Queer I don’t hear or see anything more of those men I was chasing,” mused the boy as he paused a moment opposite one of the air holes to get his breath. “I wonder what became of the two Chinese and the white chap? Then there’s that man who stuck his head up out of this hole. He looked like a miner, for his hat was all covered with dirt. That reminds me, where’s my hat?”
Instinctively he looked about him, as though he would find it hanging on one of the prongs of the tree-trunk ladder, which might answer as a hat rack. Then he laughed at himself.
“I remember now,” he said. “It flew off when I fell through that clump of fern into the hole I thought led to China. Guess I’ll have to make my bow without my hat.”
He glanced below him. It seemed as if he was at the last of the ventilating openings for, further down, there were no glimmerings of daylight, which was fast waning. Then, as he looked, he caught the flickering of a torch, not far down. It waved to and fro, casting queer shadows on the walls of the shaft, and then the person holding it seemed coming up the ladder.
“Now there’s going to be trouble,” thought Fenn. “We can’t pass on this thing. Either he’s got to wait until I get down, or I’ll have to go all the way back to the top. I wonder if I better yell to let him know I’m here? No, that wouldn’t be just the thing. I’ll try to slip around between the wall and the ladder, and, maybe, he’ll pass me.”
Fenn proceeded to put this rather risky plan into operation. Holding on by both hands to one of the projecting branches he endeavored to swing himself around. The man with the torch was coming nearer and nearer.
Suddenly Fenn’s hold slipped. He tried to recover himself but without avail. The next moment his hands lost their grip and he went plunging down into the darkness below, faintly illuminated by the smoking torch. Then he knew no more.
When Fenn came to his senses it was only with the utmost difficulty that he could recall what had happened. He had a hazy recollection of having been in some dark hole—then a light was seen—then he slipped—then came blackness and then—
He tried to raise himself from where he lay, and a rustling told him he was reclining on a bed of straw. By the light of a torch stuck in the earthen wall of what seemed to be a cavern, Fenn could make out the shadows of several men, grotesquely large and misshapen, moving about. From the distance came a peculiar noise, as of machinery.
Fenn’s brain cleared slowly, though from the ache in his head, he knew he must have had quite a fall. He raised himself on his elbow, and gradually came to a sitting position. He drew a long breath, and started to get up.
As he did so, he felt some one place his hands on his chest, and push him back, not rudely, but with enough firmness to indicate that he was to lie down. Instinctively he struggled against what seemed to him a dim shape in the half-darkness.
“Lie down,” a man’s voice commanded. “You’ll be all right in a little while. You had quite a fall.”
“What’s the matter? Where am I? Who are you?” asked Fenn.
“That’s all right now, sonny,” was the reply in such soothing tones, as one sometimes uses toward a fretful child. “You’re in safe hands.”
“Has the kid woke up?” called a voice from the blackness beyond the circle of light cast by the torches.
“Yes,” answered the man who had made Fenn lie down.
Following the words there was a sudden increase in the illumination of the cavern, and Fenn saw a big man approaching, carrying a torch. With him were several others. One of them had a rope.
“Are you—are you going to make me a prisoner?” asked Fenn, his heart sinking.
“That’s what we are.”
Just then another man flashed a torch in the boy’s face. No sooner had he done so than he called out:
“Great Scott! If it isn’t the very kid I chased!”
Fenn glanced quickly up and saw, standing before him, the man with the sinister face—the man who had pursued him at the elevator fire. Beside him was a man with a peculiar cast in one eye, and Fenn knew he was the fellow who had listened to the conversation of the chums in the railroad car.
Along the trail, which they had thus suddenly come upon, fairly ran Frank, Ned and Bart. Now that they were sure Fenn was ahead of them, though they could not tell how long since he had passed that way, they were anxious to find their chum as soon as possible.
“It looks as if Fenn was chasing the Chinese and the white man, instead of them being after him,” suggested Ned.
“Unless they are leading him with a rope,” remarked Frank. “In that case he would be marching behind.”
“Well, I’ll bet they’d have a fine time making Fenn march along with a rope on him,” said Bart. “He’d lie down and make ’em drag him. That would be Fenn’s way.”
“Unless he’s too sick to make any resistance,” replied Frank, who seemed to take a gloomy view of it.
“Well, there’s no good wasting time talkingabout it,” declared Bart. “What we want to do is to find Fenn. Then we’ll know exactly how it was.”
“That’s right; save our breaths to make speed with,” added Ned.
Though the boys were not lagging on the trail, they increased their pace until they were going along at a dog trot, which carried them over a considerable space in a short time, yet was not too tiring. They caught occasional glimpses of the marks left by the feet of the Chinese and the white man, as well as prints of Fenn’s shoes.
“There they go, up that hill!” exclaimed Ned, who, for the time being, was in the advance.
“Who? The men?” called Bart quickly.
“No, the footprints. Come on,” and he led the way up the little hill, up which Fenn had hurried the day previous, with such disastrous results. Fortunately the pace was beginning to tell on Ned, and, as he reached the summit, and started down the other side, he slowed up. It was to this circumstance that he avoided stepping right into the hole of the shaft, down which Fenn had taken that queer-sliding journey.
“Look here!” yelled Ned, so excitedly that his two companions fairly jumped up to gain his side, thinking he must have come upon either Fenn orone of the men. “Somebody has fallen down that hole!”
That was very evident, for the fresh earth on the edges, the scattered and torn clumps of fern, and the general disturbance about the mouth of the pit, showed that all too plainly.
“See!” suddenly exclaimed Bart. “There’s his hat!” and, turning to one side he picked it up from the ground, where it had fallen when poor Fenn took his tumble. “This shows he was here.”
“We were sure enough of that before,” said Frank, “but it certainly does seem to indicate that Fenn went down there. I wonder whether he fell, or whether those men thrust him down?”
Bart threw himself, face downward, close to the edge of the hole. He looked carefully at the marks on the edges. Then he got up and began looking about in a circle. Finally, he walked back some distance down the hill.
“I have it!” he finally announced.
“All right, let’s have it and see if we agree with you,” spoke Ned.
“Fenn came up this hill all alone,” declared Bart. “If you had looked closely enough you could see that the footprints of the Chinese and the white man go around the base of the hill tothe right. Probably they made a turn, when Fenn wasn’t looking. He thought they went up the hill. He hurried after them, and stepped right into this trap. Probably it was covered over with leaves or grass, and he couldn’t see it, until it was too late. That’s my theory.”
“And I believe you’re right,” declared Frank. “It sounds reasonable.”
“Then the next question is; what are we going to do about it?” inquired Ned. “No use standing here discussing what happened, or how it happened. What we want to do is to get busy and rescue Fenn.”
“That’s the way to talk,” declared Frank.
“Wait a minute,” suggested Bart. Once more he got down close to the hole, and peered into the depths.
“See anything?” asked Ned.
“There a way to get down,” replied Bart, after a moment.
“How; a ladder?”
“No. Ropes. See, there are cables fastened to the sides of this shaft, and it looks as if they had been used several times.”
Bart reached down and got hold of a clay-covered rope, one of those which Fenn had tried so vainly to grasp.
“That’s funny,” remarked Frank. “Looks as if this was a regular underground railway system.”
“I’ll bet that’s what it is,” cried Ned. “This must be one of the means whereby the smugglers get the Chinamen ashore. Why didn’t we think of it before? Let’s go down there. We can easily do it by holding on to the ropes.”
“It’s too risky,” decided Frank. “There’s no telling what is at the bottom.”
“But we’ve got to save Fenn!” exclaimed Bart, who rather sided with Ned.
“I know that, but there’s no use running recklessly into danger. We can’t help him that way. If he’s down that hole, or in the hands of the smugglers, we can do him more good by keeping out of that pit, or away from the scoundrels, than we can by falling into their hands. Fenn needs some one outside to help him, not some one in the same pickle he’s in.”
Frank’s vigorous reasoning appealed to his chums, and, though they would have been willing to brave the unknown dangers of the hole, they admitted it would be best to try first some other means of rescuing their chum.
“Let’s prospect around a bit,” proposed Frank. “Maybe we can find some other way of discoveringwhere this hole leads to. The lake can’t be far away, and if we can get down to the shore we may see something that will give us a clue.”
“All right, come on,” said Bart, and the Darewell chums started down the hill, in the direction of Lake Superior.
As they emerged upon a bluff, which overlooked the vast body of water, they came to a pause, so impressed were they, even in their anxiety, with the beautiful view that stretched out before them. Under the bright rays of the morning sun the lake sparkled like a sheet of silver.
“I wish we were all safe together again, aboard theModoc,” remarked Ned, after a moment’s pause.
“Same here,” echoed Bart. “But, if we’re—”
He was interrupted by a sound off to the left. Gazing in that direction the boys saw, coming along the trail toward them, a man and girl. Something about them seemed familiar.
“Mr. Hayward!” cried Ned.
“And his daughter!” added Frank, in a lower voice.
“Well! Well!” exclaimed the man, whose lucky escape from the automobile accident in Darewell, had led to the boys’ acquaintance with him. “If here aren’t my young friends, the DarewellChums, come to pay me a visit! I’m very glad to see you, but I thought there were four of you.”
“So there are, father,” interrupted Ruth. “Where is Fenn?” she asked, turning quickly to the three boys. “Is he ill—didn’t he come with you?”
“He’s lost!” replied Frank. “We’re hunting for him.”
“Lost?” repeated Mr. Hayward. “How? Where?”
Frank briefly related what had happened since they had started from Darewell on the cruise to Duluth.
“Well I never!” exclaimed Robert Hayward. “That’s a great story! And the last trace you have of him is down that hole?”
“The very last,” answered Ned, looking at Ruth, and not blaming Fenn for thinking she was pretty.
“This must be looked into,” declared Mr. Hayward. “Lucky I happened to be out here with my daughter. You see I live several miles from here, but to-day, Ruth and I decided to take a little trip. I—I wanted to look at some land I—some property I am interested in out here. I was on my way to it when I saw you boys.”
The man seemed to have a curious hesitation inhis manner and his words, and Ruth, too, appeared under some strain. But the boys were too anxious about their comrade to pay much attention to this.
“Come on!” suddenly called Mr. Hayward.
“Where are you going, father?” asked Ruth.
“I’m going to find Fenn Masterson. I think I have a clue that will help us,” and he strode forward, followed by his daughter and the wondering boys.
Mutual surprise showed on the face of Fenn, as well as on the countenance of the man who made this surprising announcement in the cave, where we have left that rather unfortunate youth. The boy, who had been prepared to meet a band of Chinese smugglers, now saw before him the mysterious person, who appeared to have some interest in the affairs of Mr. Hayward, and who seemed to be pleased that misfortune should overtake the man who had recovered from the auto accident near Fenn’s house.
“Well, how’d you get here?” asked the man gruffly, advancing closer to the captive, and holding his torch to throw the light on Fenn’s face.
“Slid part way, and climbed the rest,” answered the lad, who decided to remain as cool as possible under the circumstances.
“Humph! Well, I reckon you know where you are now?”
“I haven’t the least idea, except that I’m under ground.”
“Yes, and you’re liable to stay here for some time. You’ll find, before I get through with you, that it isn’t healthy, out in this country, to pay too much attention to the business of other folks. I’ll pay you back for spying on me. I thought I’d gotten rid of you some time ago, but I see you’re still after me.”
“I’m not after you,” answered Fenn. “I didn’t expect to see you down here. Nor am I spying on you. You’re mistaken.”
“Weren’t you trying to hear what I was saying—the night of the fire—aren’t you in the employ of Robert Hayward?” demanded the man, asking his questions too quickly to permit of any answer.
“I’m not employed by Mr. Hayward, though I know him, and he is a friend of mine,” declared Fenn. “I wasn’t intentionally listening to what you were saying that night, but, when I found you were an enemy of Mr. Hayward, I wanted to know more about you.”
“How do you know I am his enemy?” asked the man.
“From the way you talked. Besides, why didyou chase after me, and try to catch us on theModoc?”
“That’s something for me to know, and for you to find out,” replied the man, with an unpleasant laugh. “You’re too wise, you are.”
“Maybe I’ll find out more than you want me to,” retorted Fenn.
“No danger. I’m going to put you where you can’t do anything for a while, and, after you’ve cooled down a bit, I’ll think of what to do next. Tom, come here,” he called.
A big man approached, and, at a nod from the fellow of the sinister countenance, gathered Fenn up in his arms, in spite of the resistance the lad made. Fenn soon found it was useless to struggle, so he remained quietly in the grip of the burly chap.
“Take him to the inner cave,” directed the man, whom the others addressed as Dirkfell, “and then come back. We need you in getting this last load out. After that we’ll take a rest.”
Fenn tried to see where he was being carried, but it was almost impossible in the darkness. There were several flickering torches, stuck in the earthen walls of the cavern, here and there, and, by the glimmers of them, the youth could see men hurrying to and fro. Some carried picks andothers shovels, while some bore boxes that seemed to be very heavy.
“I wonder what sort of a place I’ve gotten into,” thought Fenn. “Maybe it’s—yes, I’ll bet that’s what it is—a gold mine!”
For a moment the thought of this made his heart beat strangely fast. Then cooler reason came to him, and he recalled that the region around Lake Superior contained no gold, though there were mines of other minerals, some quite valuable.
This train of thought was interrupted by the sudden stopping of the man who was carrying him, as though he was a baby. The fellow stooped down, kicked a door open with his foot, and, the next moment Fenn found himself in a small cave, lighted by a lantern hanging over a rough table, around which several chairs were drawn.
“Here’s where you stay until the boss tells you to come out,” fairly growled the man.
Fenn did not reply, and the fellow withdrew, taking care, as the lad noted, to lock the door after him. No sooner was the portal closed, than Fenn began an inspection of the place. He took the lantern and held it close to the door. It was made of heavy planks, and the fastening seemed to be on the outside. As for the remainder of the cave, the walls were composed of hard clay, orharder rock. The place was a sort of niche, hollowed out from the larger cavern.
“Well, I seem to be in a pickle,” observed Fenn grimly. “That comes of prying too much into other people’s affairs, I s’pose. No help for it, however. I’m here and the next question is how to get away. I wish the boys were with me—no, I don’t either. It’s bad enough to be here myself, without getting them into trouble.
“I guess they’ll be surprised when they get back to camp and find me gone. I wish I’d left some sort of a message. They won’t know where to look for me.”
But Fenn did not give his chums credit for their energy. The prisoner made a circuit of his dungeon, and concluded there was no way, at present, of getting out. He readily got rid of the rope that fastened his arms behind him.
“I will just take another look at that door,” mused Fenn, when, having completed his tour of inspection, which did not take him long, he again found himself in front of the portal. He held the lantern up as high as he could. “If I stood on a chair I could see better,” he reasoned. He got one of the rough pieces of furniture, mounted it, and, was just raising the light up to the top ofthe door when his hand slipped and the lantern fell, smashing the glass, and extinguishing the wick.
“Hu!” exclaimed Fenn, standing on the chair in the darkness. “Lucky it didn’t explode and set fire to the oil. I’d been worse off then I am now.”
He was in total darkness, and was about to get down off the chair, and grope his way back to the table, when a gleam of light, showing through a crack in the door, attracted his attention.
“Somebody is coming,” he said. “Maybe they’re going to let me out. Or, perhaps, they heard the lantern fall.”
But, as he looked, he saw that the gleam was not made by a torch or lantern being carried by someone approaching his dungeon. Instead it came from several torches stuck in the wall of the main cave.
And, by the light of these torches Fenn made an odd discovery. Several men were digging in the sides of the cavern, loosening the clay and soft rock with picks and shovels. They were piling the material in boxes which were loaded into a car, that ran on a small track, and were hurried off, to some place that the boy could not see.
As he watched he saw Dirkfell approach, and,by signs and gestures, for Fenn could not hear at that distance, the man urged the laborers to work faster.
“They’re mining,” thought Fenn. “It must be valuable stuff, too, or they wouldn’t take out such small quantities. And they must be working in secret, or they wouldn’t take all the precautions they do, to remain hidden. There’s something queer back of all this, and I’d like to see what it is.”
Fenn applied his eye closely to the crack in the door. He could see the men gathered about a cavity in the cavern wall, on which they were working, and, from the way in which they pointed at something the boy believed they must have come upon a rich deposit of whatever ore they were mining.
“I wish I was out of this place!” exclaimed Fenn to himself. “If I had the boys here to help me I’ll bet we could escape, and then there’d be a different story to tell.
“There must be an opening, somewhere,” he reasoned. “That air comes from under the door. It’s fresh, so there must be some communication directly with the outer air, from the big cave.”
He stretched out flat on his face, and put hiseyes as close as he could to the bottom of the portal. He saw light beneath it, and, jumping up, exclaimed:
“That’s it! I see a way to get out. But I must wait until the men have gone!”
An idea had come to Fenn. The floor of the small cave he was in, was of earth. Between it and the bottom of the door, was quite a space. If he could enlarge this space, it might be possible for him to crawl under the door, and this he resolved to attempt, as soon as it would be safe.
He felt in his pocket to see if his knife was there, and his heart beat more rapidly as his fingers closed on the handle. It contained a large, strong blade, and he thought he could do his digging with it. But it would be necessary to wait until the men got out of the way, and, if they worked in two shifts, this would not occur.