CHAPTER XXXV.

With his hands bound behind his back, unable to help himself, Frank reeled forward into the embrace of the deadly vine, each branch of which was twisting, curling, squirming like the arms of an octopus.

He nearly plunged forward upon his face, but managed to recover and keep on his feet.

He felt the vine whip about his legs and fasten there tenaciously, felt it twist and twine and crawl like a mass of serpents, and he knew he was in the grasp of the frightful plant which till that hour he had ever believed a creation of some romancer's feverish fancy.

Frank did not cry out. A great horror seemed to come upon him and benumb his body and his senses.

He could feel the horrid vines climbing and coiling about him, and he was helpless to struggle and tear them away. He knew they were mounting to his neck, where they would curl about his throat and choke the breath of life from his body.

It was a fearful fate—a terrible death. And there seemed no possible way of escaping.

Higher and higher climbed the vine, swaying and squirming, the blood-red flowers opening and closing like lips of a vampire that thirsted for his blood.

A look of horror was frozen on Frank's face. His eyes bulged from his head, and his lips were drawn back from his teeth. He did not cry out, he did not seem to breathe, but he appeared to be turned to stone in the grasp of the deadly plant.

It was a dreadful sight, and the two sailors, rough and wicked men though they were, were overcome by the spectacle. Shuddering and gasping, they turned away.

For the first time, Gage seemed to fully realize what he had done. He covered his eyes with his hand and staggered backward, uttering a low, groaning sound.

Merriwell's staring eyes seemed fastened straight upon him with that fearful stare, and the thought flashed through the mind of the wretched boy that he should never forget those eyes.

"They will haunt me as long as I live!" he panted. "Why did I do it? Why did I do it?"

Already he was seized by the pangs of remorse.

Once more he looked at Frank, and once more those staring eyes turned his blood to ice water.

Then, uttering shriek after shriek, Gage turned and fled through the swamp, plunging through marshy places and jungles, falling, scrambling up, leaping, staggering, gasping for breath, feeling those staring eyes at his back, feeling that they would pursue him to his doom.

Scarcely less agitated and overcome, Bowsprit and the negro followed, and Frank Merriwell was abandoned to his fate.

Frank longed for the use of his hands to tear away those fiendish vines. It was a horrible thing to stand and let them creep up, up, up, till they encircled his throat and strangled him to death.

Through his mind flashed a picture of himself as he would stand there with the vines drawing tighter and tighter about his throat and his face growing blacker and blacker, his tongue hanging out, his eyes starting from their sockets.

He came near shrieking for help, but the thought that the cry must reach the ears of Leslie Gage kept it back, enabled him to choke it down.

He had declared that Gage should not hear him beg for mercy or aid. Not even the serpent vine and all its horrors could make him forget that vow.

The little red flowers were getting nearer and nearer to his face, and they were fluttering with eagerness. He felt a sucking, drawing, stinging sensation on one of his wrists, and he believed one of those fiendish vampire mouths had fastened there.

He swayed his body, he tried to move his feet, but he seemed rooted to the ground. He did not have the strength to drag himself from that fatal spot and from the grasp of the vine.

It seemed that hours passed. His senses were in amaze, and the whole world was reeling and romping around him. The trees became a band of giant demons, winking, blinking, grinning at him, flourishing their arms in the air, and dancing gleefully on every side to the sound of wild music that came from far away in the sky.

Then a smaller demon darted out from amid the trees, rushed at him, clutched him, slashed, slashed, slashed on every side of him, dragged at his collar, and panted in his ear:

"White boy fight—try to git away! His hands are free."

Was it a dream—was it an hallucination? No! his hands were free! He tore at the clinging vines, he fought with all his remaining strength, he struggled to get away from those clinging things.

All the while that other figure was slashing and cutting with something bright, while the vine writhed and hissed like serpents in agony.

How it was accomplished Frank could never tell, but he felt himself dragged free of the serpent vine, dragged beyond its deadly touch, and he knew it was no dream that he was free!

A black mist hung before his eyes, but he looked through it and faintly murmured:

"Socato, you have saved me!"

"Yes, white boy," replied the voice of the Seminole, "I found you just in time. A few moments more and you be a dead one."

"That is true, Socato—that is true! I owe you my very life! I can never pay you for what you have done!"

In truth the Indian had appeared barely in time to rescue Frank from the vine, and it had been a desperate and exhausting battle. In another minute the vine would have accomplished its work.

"I hear white boy cry out, and I see him run from this way," explained the Seminole. "He look scared very much. Sailor men follow, and then I come to see what scare them so. I find you."

"It was Providence, Socato. You knew how to fight the vine—how to cut it with your knife, and so you saved me."

"We must git 'way from here soon as can," declared the Indian. "Bad white men may not come back, and they may come back. They may want to see what has happen to white boy."

Frank knew this was true, but for some time he was not able to get upon his feet and walk. At length the Indian assisted him, and, leaning on Socato's shoulder, he made his way along.

Avoiding the place where the sailors were camped, the Seminole proceeded directly to the spot where his canoe was hidden. Frank got in, and Socato took the paddle, sending the light craft skimming over the water.

Straight to the strange hut where Frank and his companions had stopped the previous night they made their way.

The sun was shining into the heart of the great Dismal Swamp, and Elsie Bellwood was at the door to greet Frank Merriwell.

Elsie held out both hands, and there was a welcome light in her eyes. It seemed to Frank that she was far prettier than when he had last seen her in Fardale.

"Frank, I am so glad to see you!"

He caught her hands and held them, looking into her eyes. The color came into her cheeks, and then she noted his rumpled appearance, saw that he was very pale, and cried:

"What is it, Frank? You are hurt? You are so pale!"

Socato grunted in a knowing way, but said nothing.

"It is nothing, Miss Bellwood," assured the boy. "I have been through a little adventure, that's all. I am not harmed."

He felt her fingers trembling in his clasp, and an electric thrill ran over him. He remembered that at their last parting she had said it were far better they should never meet again; but fate had thrown them together, and now—what?

He longed to draw her to him, to kiss her, to tell her how happy he was at finding her, but he restrained the impulse.

Then the voice of Barney Mulloy called from within the hut:

"Phwat ye goin' to do me b'y—shtand out there th' rist av th' doay? Whoy don't yez come in, Oi dunno?"

"Come in, Frank—come in," cried Professor Scotch. "We have been worried to death over you. Thought you were lost in the Everglades, or had fallen into the hands of the enemy."

"Your second thought was correct," smiled Frank, as he entered the hut, with Elsie at his side.

"Phwat's thot?" shouted the Irish boy, in astonishment. "Ye don't mane to say thim spalpanes caught yez?"

"That's what they did, and they came near cooking me, too."

Frank then related the adventures that had befallen him since he started out on his own hook to give Leslie Gage a surprise. He told how Gage had made love to him in the boat, and Barney shrieked with laughter. Then he related what followed, and how his life had been saved by the locket he carried, and the professor groaned with dismay. Following this, he related his capture by Gage and how the young desperado flung him, with his hands bound, into the clutch of the serpent vine.

The narrative first amused and then thrilled his listeners. Finally they were horrified and appalled by the peril through which he had passed.

"It's Satan's own scum thot Gage is!" grated Barney, fiercely. "Iver let me get a crack at th' loike av him and see phwat will happen to th' whilp!"

"I hate and despise him!" declared Elsie. "He is a monster!"

Then Frank explained how he had been saved by Socato, and the Seminole found himself the hero of the hour.

"Soc, ould b'y," cried Barney, "thot wur th' bist job ye iver did, an' Oi'm proud av yez! Ye'll niver lose anything by thot thrick, ayther."

"Not much!" roared the little professor, wiping his eyes. "Man, give me your hand!"

Then the Seminole had his hand shaken in a manner and with a heartiness that astonished him greatly.

"That was nothing," he declared, "Socato hates the snake vine—fight it any time. Don't make so much row."

When all had been told and the party had recovered from the excitement into which they had been thrown, Barney announced that breakfast was waiting.

Elsie, for all of her happiness at meeting Frank, was so troubled about her father that she could eat very little.

Socato ate hastily, and then announced that he would go out and see what he could do about rescuing Captain Bellwood.

Barney wished to go with the Seminole, but Socato declared that he could do much better alone, and hurriedly departed.

Then Frank did his best to cheer Elsie, telling her that everything was sure to come out all right, as the Indian could be trusted to outwit the desperadoes and rescue the captain.

Seeing Frank and Elsie much together, Barney drew the professor aside, and whispered:

"It's a bit av a walk we'd better take in th' open air, Oi think."

"But I don't need a walk," protested the little man.

"Yis ye do, profissor," declared the Irish boy, soberly. "A man av your studious habits nivver takes ixercoise enough."

"But I do not care to expose myself outdoors."

"Phwat's th' matther wid out dures, Oi dunno?"

"It's dangerous."

"How?"

"There's danger that Gage and his gang will appear."

"Phwat av they do? We can get back here aheed av thim, fer we won't go fur enough to be cut off."

"Then the exercise will not be beneficial, and I will remain here."

"Profissor, yer head is a bit thick. Can't ye take a hint, ur is it a kick ye nade, Oi dunno?"

"Young man, be careful what kind of language you use to me!"

"Oi'm spakin' United States, profissor; no Irishmon wauld iver spake English av he could hilp it."

"But such talk of thick heads and kicks—to me, sir, to me!"

"Well, Oi don't want to give yez a kick, but ye nade it. Ye can't see thot it's alone a bit Frank an' th' litthle girrul would loike to be."

"Why should they wish to be alone?"

"Oh, soay! did ye iver think ye'd loike to be alone wid a pretty swate girrul, profissor? Come on, now, before Oi pick ye up an' lug ye out."

So Barney finally induced the professor to leave the hut, but the little man remained close at hand, ready tobolt in through the wide open door the instant there was the least sign of danger.

Left to themselves, Frank and Elsie chatted, talking over many things of mutual interest. They sat very near together, and more and more Frank felt the magnetism of the girl's winning ways and tender eyes. He drew nearer and nearer, and, finally, although neither knew how it happened, their hands met, their fingers interlocked, and then he was saying swiftly, earnestly:

"Elsie, you cannot know how often I have thought of you since you left me at Fardale. There was something wrong about that parting, Elsie, for you refused to let me know where you were going, refused to write to me, expressed a wish that we might never meet again."

She caught her breath. Her head was bowed, and her cheeks were very pale.

"All the while," she softly said, "away down in my heart was a hope I could not kill—a hope that we might meet again some day, Frank."

"And we have met!" he cried, exultantly. "When we have to part again, Elsie, you will not leave me as you did before? You will let me write to you? You will write to me occasionally?"

"Would it be right?"

She was looking straight into his eyes now, her face was near his, and the temptation was too great for his impulsive nature to resist. In a moment his arm was about her neck, and he had kissed her.

"Right!" he cried. "I do not know! Oh, we cannot always be right!"

She quickly released herself from his hold and sprang to her feet, the warm blood flushing her cheeks.

"We cannot always be right," she admitted; "but we should be right when we can. Frank, Inza Burrage befriended me. She thinks more of you than any one else in the wide world. Do not forget Inza!"

He lifted his hand to a round hole in his coat where a bullet from Leslie Gage's revolver had cut through, and beneath it he felt the ruined and shattered locket that held Inza's picture.

"I will not forget!" he said, his voice far from steady.

The forenoon passed, and the afternoon was well advanced, but still Socato the Seminole did not return.

But late in the afternoon a boat and a number of canoes appeared. In the boat was Leslie Gage and the two sailors, Black Tom and Bowsprit. The canoes were filled with Indians.

"Great shnakes av Ireland!" cried Barney Mulloy, amazed. "Phwat th' dickens does this mane, Oi dunno?"

"It means trouble," said Frank, quickly. "Have the rifles ready, and be prepared for hot work."

"Indians!" gurgled Professor Scotch. "We're all dead and scalped!"

"Those must be Seminoles," said Frank. "It is scarcely likely that they are very dangerous."

The boat containing the three white persons ran boldly up to the shore, and Leslie Gage landed. Advancing a short distance toward the hut, the door of which was securely closed, he cried:

"Hello in there!"

"Talk with him, Barney," Frank swiftly directed. "The fellow does not know I am alive, and I do not wish him to know it just now."

So Barney returned:

"Hello, yersilf, an' see how ye loike it."

"You people are in a bad trap," declared Gage, with a threatening air. "Look," and he motioned toward the water, where the canoes containing the Indians were lying, "these are my backers. There are twenty of them, and I have but to say the word to have them attack this hut and tear it to the ground."

"Well, Oi dunno about thot," coolly retorted the Irish lad. "We moight have something to say in thot case. It's arrumed we are, an' we know how to use our goons, me foine birrud."

"If you were to fire a shot at one of these Indians it would mean the death of you all."

"Is thot so? Well, we are arrumed with Winchester repeaters, an' it moight make the death av thim all av we began shootin'."

"They do not look very dangerous," said Frank. "I'll wager something Gage has hired the fellows to come here and make a show in order to scare us into submitting. The chances are the Indians will not fight at all."

"You're not fools," said Gage, "and you will not do anything that means the same as signing your death warrant. If you will come to reason, we'll have no trouble. We want that girl, Miss Bellwood, and we will have her. If you do not——"

He stopped suddenly, for there was a great shouting from the Indians.

"The phantom! the phantom!" they cried, in tones that betokened the greatest terror.

Then they took to flight, paddling as if their very lives depended on it.

At the same time, the mysterious white canoe, still apparently without an occupant, was seen coming swiftly toward them, gliding lightly over the water in a most unaccountable manner.

Exclamations of astonishment broke from the two sailors, and Leslie Gage stared at the singular craft in profound astonishment.

When the attention of the crowd was on the remarkable sight, Frank unfastened the door and before Gage was aware of it, our hero was right upon him.

"You are my prisoner, Gage!" Frank shouted, pointing a revolver at the fellow. "Surrender!"

Gage saw the boy he believed he had destroyed, uttered a wild shriek, threw up his hands, and fell in a senseless heap to the ground.

Frank swiftly lifted the fellow, and then ran into the cabin with him, placing him on the couch.

The two sailors did not pursue. In fact, they seemed almost as badly scared as the Indians, and they got away in their boat, rowing as if for their very lives, soon passing from sight.

"Well, begobs!" exclaimed Barney Mulloy; "this isphwat Oi call a ragion av wonders. It's ivery doay and almost ivery hour something happens to astonish ye."

Gage was made secure, so he could not get away when he recovered from the swoon into which he seemed to have fallen.

A short time after, Socato was seen returning, but he was alone in his canoe.

"He has not found my father—my poor father!" cried Elsie, in distress. "Those terrible men will kill my father!"

"Wait!" advised Frank. "Let's hear what he has to say. I have great confidence in Socato."

"The bad white men leave their captive alone," said Socato, "and I should have set him free, but the great white phantom came, and then the white captive disappeared."

"What's that?" cried Frank, in astonishment. "Make it plain, Socato. Whom do you mean by the great white phantom?"

"The one who owns the canoe that goes alone—the one who built this house and lives here sometimes. Every one fears him. My people say he is a phantom, for he can appear and disappear as he likes, and he commands the powers of light and darkness. Socato knew that the bad white man had hired a hunting party of my people to come here and appear before the house to frighten you, but he knew you would not be frightened, and the bad men could not get my people to aid them in a fight. Socato also knew that the great white phantom sent his canoe to scare my people away, but he does not know what the great white phantom has done with the man who was a prisoner."

"Well, it is possible the great white phantom will explain a few things we do not understand," said Frank, "for here he comes in his canoe."

"And father—my father is with him in the canoe!" screamed Elsie Bellwood, in delight.

It was true. The white canoe was approaching, still gliding noiselessly over the water, without any apparent power of propulsion, and in it were seated two men. One had a long white beard and a profusion of white hair. He was dressed entirely in white, and sat in the sternof the canoe. The other was Captain Justin Bellwood, quite unharmed, and looking very much at his ease.

The little party flocked to the shore to greet the captain, who waved his hand and called reassuringly to Elsie. As soon as the canoe touched and came to a rest, he stepped out and clasped his daughter in his arms, saying, fervently:

"Heaven be thanked! we have come through many dangers, and we are free at last! Neither of us has been harmed, and we will soon be out of this fearful swamp."

The man with the white hair and beard stepped ashore and stood regarding the girl intently, paying no heed to the others. Captain Bellwood turned to him, saying:

"William, this is my daughter, of whom I told you. Elsie, this is your Uncle William, who disappeared many years ago, and has never been heard from since till he set me free to-day, after I was abandoned by those wretches who dragged us here."

"My uncle?" cried the girl, wonderingly. "How can that be? You said Uncle William was dead."

"And so I believed, but he still lives. Professor Scotch, I think we had the pleasure of meeting in Fardale. Permit me to introduce you to William Bellwood, one of the most celebrated electricians living to-day."

As he said this, Captain Bellwood made a swift motion which his brother did not see. He touched his forehead, and the signal signified that William Bellwood was not right in his mind. This the professor saw was true when he shook hands with the man, for there was the light of madness in the eyes of the hermit.

"My brother," continued Captain Bellwood, "has explained that he came here to these wilds to continue his study of electricity alone and undisturbed. He took means to keep other people from bothering him. This canoe, which contains a lower compartment and a hidden propeller, driven by electricity, was his invention. He has arrangements whereby he can use a powerful search-light at night, and——"

"That search-light came near being the death of me," said Frank. "He turned it on me last night just in time to show me to my enemy."

"He has many other contrivances," Captain Bellwood went on. "He has explained that, by means of electricity, he can make his canoe or himself glow with a white light in the darkest night."

"Begorra! we've seen him glow!" shouted Barney.

"And he also states that he has wires connecting various batteries in yonder hut, so that he can frighten away superstitious hunters who otherwise might take possession of the hut and give him trouble."

"Whoop!" shouted Barney. "Thot ixplains th' foire-allarum an' th' power thot throwed me inther th' middle av th' flure! Oi nivver hearrud th' bate av it!"

"It is wonderful, wonderful!" gasped Professor Scotch.

At this moment, a series of wild shrieks came from the hut, startling them all.

"It is Gage," said Frank. "He seems to be badly frightened."

They hurried toward the hut, Frank leading. Gage was still on the couch, and he shrieked still louder when he saw Frank; an expression of the greatest terror coming to his face.

"Take him away! Take him away!" screamed the wretched fellow. "He is dead! I killed him! Don't let him touch me!"

Then he began to rave incoherently, sometimes frothing at the mouth.

"He is mad!" cried Professor Scotch.

"It is retribution!" came solemnly from Frank's lips.

Two days later a party of eight persons emerged from the wilds of the great Dismal Swamp and reached a small settlement. They were Frank Merriwell, Barney Mulloy, Professor Scotch, Leslie Gage, Captain Bellwood and his brother William, Socato the Seminole, and last, but far from least, Elsie Bellwood.

"What shall be done with Gage?" asked Professor Scotch.

"He shall be given shelter and medical treatment," declared Frank; "and I will see that all the bills are paid."

"Thot's the only thing Oi have against ye, me b'y. Ye wur always letting up on yer inemies at Fardale, an' ye shtill kape on doin' av it."

"If I continue to do so, I shall have nothing to trouble my conscience."

Frank did take care of Gage and see that he was given the best medical aid that money could procure, and, as a result, the fellow was saved from a madhouse, for he finally recovered. He seemed to appreciate the mercy shown him by his enemy, for he wrote a letter to Frank that was filled with entreaties for forgiveness and promised to try to lead a different life in the future.

"That," said Frank, "is my reward for being merciful to an enemy."

If Jack Jaggers did not perish in the Everglades, he disappeared. Ben Bowsprit and Black Tom also vanished, and it is possible that they left their bones in the great Dismal Swamp.

William Bellwood, so long a hermit in the wilds of Florida, seemed glad to leave that region.

Leaving their friends in Florida, Frank, Barney and the professor next moved northward toward Tennessee, Frank wishing to see some of the battlegrounds of the Civil War.

The boys planned a brief tour afoot and were soon on their way among the Great Smoky Mountains.

Professor Scotch had no heart for a "tour afoot" through the mountains, and so he had stopped at Knoxville, where the boys were to join him again in two or three weeks, by the end of which period he was quite sure they would have enough of tramping.

Frank and Barney were making the journey from Gibson's Gap to Cranston's Cove, which was said to be a distance of twelve miles, but they were willing to admit that those mountain miles were most disgustingly long.

They had paused to rest, midway in the afternoon, where the road curved around a spur of the mountain. Below them opened a vista of valleys and "coves," hemmed in by wild, turbulent-appearing masses of mountains, some of which were barren and bleak, seamed with black chasms, above which threateningly hung grimly beetling crags, and some of which were robed in dense wildernesses of pine, veiling their faces, keeping them thus forever a changeless mystery.

From their eyrie position it seemed that they could toss a pebble into Lost Creek, which wound through the valley below, meandered for miles amid the ranges, tunneling an unknown channel beneath the rock-ribbed mountains, and came out again—where?

Both boys had been silent and awe-stricken, gazing wonderingly on the impressive scene and thinking of their adventures in New Orleans and in Florida, when a faint cry seemed to float upward from the depths of the valley.

"Help!"

They listened, and some moments passed in silence, save for the peeping cry of a bird in a thicket near at hand.

"Begorra! Oi belave it wur imagination, Frankie," said the Irish lad, at last.

"I do not think so," declared Frank, with a shake of his head. "It was a human voice, and if we were to shout it might be—— There it is again!"

There could be no doubt this time, for they both heard the cry distinctly.

"It comes from below," said Frank, quickly.

"Roight, me lad," nodded Barney. "Some wan is in difficulty down there, and' it's mesilf thot don't moind givin' thim a lift."

Getting a firm hold on a scrub bush, Frank leaned out over the verge and looked down into the valley.

"I can see her!" he cried. "Look, Barney—look down there amid those rocks just below the little waterfall."

"Oi see, Frankie."

"See the flutter of a dress?"

"Oi do."

"She is waving something at us."

"Sure, me b'y."

"She has seen us, and is signaling for us to come down."

"And we'll go."

"Instanter, as they say out West."

The boys were soon hurrying down the mountain road, a bend of which quickly carried them beyond view of the person near the waterfall.

It was nearly an hour later when Frank and Barney approached the little waterfall, having left the road and followed the course of the stream.

"Is she there, Frankie?" anxiously asked Barney, who was behind.

"Can't tell yet," was the reply. "Will be able to see in a minute, and then—— She is there, sure as fate!"

In another moment they came out in full view of a girl of eighteen or nineteen, who was standing facing the waterfall, her back toward a great rock, a home-made fishing pole at her feet.

The girl was dressed in homespun, the skirt being shortand reaching but a little below the knees, and a calico sunbonnet was thrust half off her head.

Frank paused, with a low exclamation of admiration, for the girl made a most strikingly beautiful picture, and Frank had an eye for beauty.

Nearly all the mountain girls the boys had seen were stolid and flat-appearing, some were tall and lank, but this girl possessed a figure that seemed perfect in every detail.

Her hair was bright auburn, brilliant and rich in tint, the shade that is highly esteemed in civilization, but is considered a defect by the mountain folk. Frank thought it the most beautiful hair he had ever seen.

Her eyes were brown and luminous, and the color of health showed through the tan upon her cheeks. Her parted lips showed white, even teeth, and the mouth was most delicately shaped.

"Hivvins!" gasped Barney, at Frank's shoulder. "Phwat have we struck, Oi dunno?"

Then the girl cried, her voice full of impatience:

"You-uns has shorely been long enough in gittin' har!"

Frank staggered a bit, for he had scarcely expected to hear the uncouth mountain dialect from such lips as those but he quickly recovered, lifted his hat with the greatest gallantry, and said:

"I assure you, miss, that we came as swiftly as we could."

"Ye're strangers. Ef you-uns had been maounting boys, you'd been har in less'n half ther time."

"I presume that is true; but, you see, we did not know the shortest way, and we were not sure you wanted us."

"Wal, what did you 'low I whooped at ye fur ef I didn't want ye? I nighly split my throat a-hollerin' at ye before ye h'ard me at all."

Frank was growing more and more dismayed, for he had never before met a strange girl who was quite like this, and he knew not what to say.

"Now that we have arrived," he bowed, "we shall be happy to be of any possible service to you."

"Dunno ez I want ye now," she returned, with a toss of her head.

"Howly shmoke!" gurgled Barney, at Frank's ear. "It's a doaisy she is, me b'y!"

Frank resolved to take another tack, and so he advanced, saying boldly and resolutely:

"Now that you have called us down here, I don't see how you are going to get rid of us. You want something of us, and we'll not leave you till we find out what it is."

The girl did not appear in the least alarmed. Instead of that, she laughed, and that laugh was like the ripple of falling water.

"Wal, now you're talkin'!" she cried, with something like a flash of admiration. "Mebbe you-uns has got some backbone arter all. I like backbone."

"I have not looked at mine for so long that I am not sure what condition it is in, but I know I have one."

"An' muscle?"

"A little."

"Then move this rock har that hez caught my foot an' holds it. That's what I wanted o' you-uns."

She lifted her skirt a bit, and, for the first time, they saw that her ankle had been caught between two large rocks, where she was held fast.

"Kinder slomped in thar when I war fishin'," she explained, "an' ther big rock dropped over thar an' cotched me fast when I tried ter pull out. That war nigh two hour ago, 'cordin' ter ther sun."

"And you have been standing like that ever since?" cried Frank, in dismay. "Lively, Barney—get hold here! Great Scott! we must have her out of that in a hurry!"

"Thot's phwat we will, ur we'll turrun th' ould mountain over!" shouted the Irish lad, as he flew to the aid of his friend.

The girl looked surprised and pleased, and then she said:

"You-uns ain't goin' ter move that rock so easy, fer it's hefty."

"But your ankle—it must have crushed your ankle."

"I 'low not. Ye see it couldn't pinch harder ef it tried, fer them rocks ain't built so they kin git nigher together;but it's jest made a reg'ler trap so I can't pull my foot out."

It was no easy thing for the boys to get hold of the rock in a way to exert their strength, but they finally succeeded, and then Frank gave the word, and they strained to move it. It started reluctantly, as if loath to give up its fair captive, but they moved it more and more, and she was able to draw her foot out. Then, when she was free, they let go, and the rock fell back with a grating crash against the other.

"You-uns have done purty fair fer boys," said the girl, with a saucy twinkle in her brown eyes. "S'pose I'll have ter thank ye, fer I mought a stood har consider'bul longer ef 'tadn't bin fer ye. Who be ye, anyhow? an' whar be ye goin'?"

Frank introduced himself, and then presented Barney, after which he explained how they happened to be in the Great Smoky Mountains.

She watched him closely as he spoke, noting every expression, as if a sudden suspicion had come upon her, and she was trying to settle a doubt in her mind.

When Frank had finished, the girl said:

"Never heard o' two boys from ther big cities 'way off yander comin' har ter tromp through ther maountings jest fer ther fun o' seein' ther scenery an' ther folks. I s'pose we're kinder curi's 'pearin' critters ter city folks, an' you-uns may be har ter cotch one o' us an' put us in a cage fer exhibition."

She uttered the words in a way that brought a flush to Frank's cheeks, and he hastened to protest, halting in confusion when he tried to speak her name, which he did not know as yet.

A ripple of sunshine seemed to break over her face, and she laughed outright, swiftly saying:

"Don't you-uns mind me. I'm p'izen rough, but I don't mean half I say. I kin see you is honest an' squar, though somebody else mought think by yer way that ye warn't. My name's Kate Kenyon, an' I live down toward ther cove. I don't feel like fishin' arter this, an' ef you-uns is goin' that way, I'll go 'long with ye."

She picked up her pole, hooked up the line, and prepared to accompany them.

They were pleased to have her as a companion. Indeed, Frank was more than pleased, for he saw in this girl a singular character. Illiterate though she seemed, she was pretty, vivacious, and so bright that it was plain education and refinement would make her most fascinating and brilliant.

The boys did not get to Cranston's Cove that night, for Kate Kenyon invited them to stop and take supper at her home, and they did so.

Kate's home was much like the rough cabins of other mountain folks, except that flowering vines had been trained to run up the sides and over the door, while two large bushes were loaded with roses in front of the house.

Kate's mother was in the doorway as they approached. She was a tall, angular woman, with a stolid, expressionless face.

"Har, mammy, is some fellers I brung ter see ye," said this girl. "This un is Mr. Merriwell, an' that un is Mr. Mulloy."

The boys lifted their hats, and bowed to the woman as if she were a society queen. She nodded and stared.

"What be you-uns doin' 'round these parts?" she asked, pointedly.

Frank explained, seeing a look of suspicion and distrust deepening in her face as he spoke.

"Huah!" she grunted, when he had finished. "An' what do you-uns want o' me?"

"Your daughter invited us to call and take supper," said Frank, coolly.

"I ain't uster cookin' flip-flaps fer city chaps, an' I don't b'lieve you kin eat the kind o' fodder we-uns is uster."

The boys hastened to assure her that they would be delighted to eat the plainest of food, and their eagerness brought a merry laugh from the lips of the girl.

"You-uns is consid'ble amusin'," she said. "You is powerful perlite. I asked 'em to come, mammy. It's no more'n fair pay fer what they done fer me."

Then she explained how she had been caught and held by the rocks, and how the boys had seen her from the mountain road and come to her rescue.

The mother's face did not soften a bit as she listened, but, when Kate had finished, she said:

"They're yore comp'ny. Ask 'em in."

So the boys were asked into the cabin, and Kate herself prepared supper.

It was a plain meal, but Frank noticed that everything looked neat and clean about the house, and both lads relished the coarse food. Indeed, Barney afterward declared that the corn bread was better than the finest cake he had ever tasted.

Frank was particularly happy at the table, and the merry stories he told kept Kate laughing, and, once or twice, brought a grim smile to the face of the woman.

After supper they went out in front of the cabin, where they could look up at the wild mass of mountains, the peaks of which were illumined by the rays of the setting sun.

Mrs. Kenyon filled and lighted a cob pipe. She sat and puffed away, staring straight ahead in a blank manner.

Just how it happened Frank himself could not have told, but Barney fell to talking to the woman in his whimsical way, while Frank and Kate wandered away a short distance, and sat on some stones which had been arranged as a bench in a little nook near Lost Creek. From this position they could hear Barney's rich brogue and jolly laugh as he recounted some amusing yarn, and, when the wind was right, a smell of the black pipe would be wafted to them.

"Do you know," said Frank, "this spot is so wild and picturesque that it fascinates me. I should like to stop here two or three days and rest."

"Better not," said the girl, shortly.

"Why?" asked the boy, in surprise.

"Wal, it mought not be healthy."

"What do you mean?"

"You might be tooken fer revenue."

"For revenue? I do not understand."

"I wonder ef you air so ignerent, or be you jest makin' it?"

"Honestly and truly, I do not understand you."

"Wal, I kinder 'low you-uns is all right, but thar'sothers might not think so. S'pose you know what moonshine is?"

"Yes; it is illicitly distilled whiskey."

She nodded.

"That's right. Wal, ther revenues say thar's moonshine made round these parts. They come round ev'ry little while to spy an' cotch ther folks that makes it."

"By revenues you mean the officers of the government?"

"Wal, they may be officers, but they're a difrrunt kind than Jock Hawkins."

"Who is Jock Hawkins?"

"He's ther sheriff down to ther cove. Jock Hawkins knows better'n to come snoopin' 'round, an' he's down on revenues ther same as ther rest o' us is."

"Then you do not like the revenue officers?"

"Like 'em!" cried the girl, starting up, her eyes seeming to blaze in the dusky twilight. "I hate 'em wuss'n pizen! An' I've got good cause fer hatin' 'em."

The boy saw he had touched a tender spot, and he would have turned the conversation in another channel, but she was started, and she went on swiftly:

"What right has ther gover'ment to take away anybody's honest means o' earnin' a livin'? What right has ther gover'ment to send spies up har ter peek an' pry an' report on a man as is makin' a little moonshine ter sell that he may be able ter git bread an' drink fer his fam'ly? What right has ther gover'ment ter make outlaws an' crim'nals o' men as wouldn't steal a cent that didn't b'long ter them if they was starvin'?"

Frank knew well enough the feeling of most mountain folks toward the revenue officers, and he knew it was a useless task to attempt to show them where they were in the wrong.

Kate went on, passionately.

"Yes, I has good right to hate ther revenues, an' I do! Didn't they pester my pore old daddy fer makin' moonshine! Didn't they hunt him through ther maountings fer weeks, an' keep him hidin' like a dog! An' didn't they git him cornered at last in Bent Coin's old cabin, an' when he refused ter come out an' surrender, an' kep' 'em off with his gun, didn't they shoot him so he diedthree days arter in my arms! Hate 'em! Wal, I've got good reason ter hate 'em!"

Kate was wildly excited, although she held her voice down, as if she did not wish her mother to hear what she was saying. Frank was sitting so near that he felt her arm quivering against his.

"Hate 'em!" continued the girl. "I has more than that to hate 'em fer! Whar is my brother Rufe, ther best boy that ever drored a breath? Ther revenues come fer him, an' they got him. Thar war a trial, an' they proved ez he'd been consarned in makin' moonshine. He war convicted, an' he's servin' his time. Hate 'em! Wal, thar's nuthin' I hate wuss on this earth!"

"You have had hard luck," said Frank, by way of saying something. "It's lucky for us that we're not revenues."

"Yer right thar," she nodded. "I didn't know but ye war at first, but I changed my mind later."

"Why?"

"Wal, ye're young, an' you-uns both has honest faces. Revenues is sneaks. They show it in their faces."

"I don't suppose they have been able to check the making of moonshine—that is, not to any extent?"

She laughed harshly.

"Wal, I judge not! Did ye ever hear o' Muriel?"

"Who is he?"

"A moonshiner."

"What of him?"

"He makes more whiskey in a week than all ther others in this region afore him made in a month."

"He must be smarter than the others before him."

"Wal, he's not afeared o' ther revenues, an' he's a mystery to ther men ez works fer him right along."

"A mystery?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"None o' them has seen his face, an' they don't know Who he is. They ain't been able to find out."

"And they have tried?"

"Wal, Con Bean war shot through ther shoulder fer follerin' Muriel, an' Bink Mower got it in ther leg fer ther same trick."

"I rather admire this Muriel," laughed Frank. "He may be in unlawful business, but he seems to be a dandy."

"He keeps five stills runnin' all ther time, an' he has a way o' gittin' ther stuff out o' ther maountings an' disposin' of it. But I'm talkin' too much, as Wade would say."

"Who is Wade?"

"He's Wade Miller, a partic'lar friend o' our'n sence Rufe war tooken by ther revenues. Wade has been good to mammy an' me."

"I don't blame him. If I lived near, I might try to bother Wade somewhat."

She glanced at him swiftly. It was now duskish, but he was so near that he could see her eyes through the twilight.

"I dunno what you-uns means," she said, slowly, her voice falling. "Wade would be powerful bad to bother. He's ugly sometimes, an' he's jellus o' me."

"Then Wade is paying attention to you?"

"Wal, he's tryin' ter, but I don't jes' snuggle ter him ther way I might ef I liked him right. Thar's something about him, ez I don't edzac'ly like."

"That makes it rather one-sided, and makes me think all the more that I should try to bother him if I lived near. Do you know, Miss Kenyon, that you are an exceptionally pretty girl?"

"Go 'long! You can't stuff me! Why, I've got red hair!"

"Hair that would make you the envy of a society belle. It is the handsomest hair I ever saw."

"Now you're makin' fun o' me, an' I don't like that."

She drew away as if offended, and he leaned toward her, eager to convince her of his sincerity.

"Indeed, I am doing nothing of the sort," he protested. "The moment I saw you to-day I was struck by the beauty of your hair. But that is not the only beautiful feature about you, Miss Kenyon. Your mouth is a perfect Cupid's bow, and your teeth are like pearls, while you have a figure that is graceful and exquisite."

She caught her breath.

"Never nobody talked to me like that afore," shemurmured. "Round har they jes' say, 'Kate, you'd be a rippin' good looker ef it warn't fer that red hair o' yourn.' An' they've said it so much that I've come to hate my hair wuss'n pizen."

"Your hair is your crowning beauty. It is magnificent!"

"Say!" she whispered, drawing toward him.

"What?"

"I kinder take to you."

Her hand found his, and they were sitting very near together.

"I took to you up by ther fall ter-day," she went on, in a low tone. "Now, don't you git skeered, fer I'm not goin' to be foolish, an' I know I'm not book-learned an' refined, same ez your city gals. We kin be friends, can't we?"

Frank had begun to regret his openly expressed admiration, but now he said:

"To be sure we can be friends, Miss Kenyon."

"Partic'ler friends?"

"I am sure I shall esteem your friendship very highly."

"Wall, partic'ler friends don't call each other miss an' mister. I'll agree ter call you Frank, ef you'll call me Kate."

Frank hesitated.

"I am going away to-morrow," he thought. "It won't do any harm."

"Is it a go?" she asked.

"It is a go," he answered.

"Frank!"

"Kate!"

A fierce exclamation close at hand, the cracking of a twig, a heavy step, and then a panther-like figure leaped out of the dusk, and flung itself upon Frank.


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