The snaky tongues of fire coming on swift, almost, as the wind itself, were but two hundred yards away when the rescuers and rescued embarkedupon the raft. Boxes and camp equipage afforded seats. Billy had trimmed a couple of extra long poles with which to move the clumsy craft, and present safety for all was assured.
The dawn was just breaking. Once out on the water the coming daylight was quite clear despite the smoke that in vast clouds rolled swiftly over, whipped and torn by the wind.
"Thank goodness there's no fire to the north–not yet anyway," said Phil rubbing his face, grimy with smoke and ashes. He was thinking of MacLester and for the information of the Andersons briefly told of Dave's unaccountable disappearance.
"There's a long stretch of pine on the other side," said the stranger, still wearing his golfing cap, by the way. "There are a couple of streams there, though, both of them flowing into the lower end of the lake. If your friend is lost and should remember that, he couldfollow either one of them and not come out wrong."
Dave was more than merely lost, Paul thought and said so. And, "You know this country pretty well," he added, addressing the former speaker. "You belonged to the Longknives," he went on rather tartly. "It will be the last of the old clubhouse."
"Yes, one blot will be wiped out. It is only too bad that so much that is good must go with it."
Paul glanced at Phil and his eyes also met Billy's. The man's words were puzzling.
"We saw–" Paul began, but a shout interrupted him–
"There'sDave! There's Dave now and some man with him!" yelled Chip Slider suddenly. His voice was like a burst of ecstasy. His eyes scanning the distant shore, he had instantly caught sight of the two hats waved as a signal.
The joy of the three chums, that the fourth member of their almost inseparable quartettewas safe and sound, it would take pages to describe. With the most delighted waving of his own hat, Phil shouted to MacLester about the skiff still moored on the north shore. His voice was lost in the roar of the wind and the flames now sweeping very near the water's edge. By signals, however, he quickly made Dave understand and the latter and the man with him were seen to hurry forward to where the boat was tied.
All the time the golfing man watched MacLester and the person with him keenly. "Impossible!" he muttered at last. "I thought for a moment I knew the old chap your friend seems to have in tow."
But it was not impossible, apparently, for even before MacLester and his chums could exchange greetings, as the skiff drew near, the small, elderly man in the stern of the boat cried: "Oh! 'tis there ye air then, Mr. Beckley! Oh, ho! hurray! I dunno!" A laugh that was equally like a sob accompanied the words,and "Oh, ho! oh, ho! I dunno!" the old fellow cried again and again.
"It's 'Daddy' O'Lear, right from my own home," the golfing man explained briefly.
The three boys again exchanged quick glances. Instantly as he heard the name "Beckley" Phil had remembered the initial B on the shaving cup found in the clubhouse. Was the man trying to carry on a deception even as to his name, and at such a time, his thoughts inquired. No, he quickly decided, there was some mistake.
"I do hope it may be no bad news he may be sent with, Meester Beckley," said Mrs. Anderson. She had been sitting silent on one of the boxes Billy provided, the little girl leaning on her knees. All the Andersons had watched the fire constantly, their heavy hearts revealed in their sad faces.
"I–I think not," spoke the man in a puzzled way, glancing toward the fire now almost bursting through the shore line.
"It will be hot here, and dangerous," saidPhil, looking in the same direction. "We must shove down the lake. Our poles won't reach to go out farther. The water's too deep. We'll lie off opposite the marsh near the Point."
Shouting to the approaching boat to follow, Way and Billy slowly pushed their heavy craft to the west. The skiff overtook them easily and quickly.
"Hello!" grinned Paul Jones as Dave faced quickly about when the boat came alongside. But his half-jocular tone fell on ears attuned to serious matters.
"Oh! this is a terrible thing," said MacLester, his eyes fixed on the flood of flames.
"I was never so glad as I am this minute! What in the world happened to you, Dave? But never mind; you're safe now," Way answered with emphasis.
Somehow all felt it was no time for conversation. Dave made no response to Phil's question. But Billy Worth–Chef Billy–remembered one thing.
"Have you had anything to eat?" he demanded. "I'll bet you haven't!"
"Mighty little–either of us," was the answer. "We were lost,–just about."
"Here's something!" and Worth drew a basket out from beneath a blanket. "Guess we'll all feel better for a bite of breakfast," he added.
Crackers, cheese, bread and butter and bananas were in the "ship's stores," as Billy expressed it, and there was enough for all.
The simple matter of eating served not only to relieve hunger but gave all present a sense of better acquaintance and far greater freedom in talking with one another.
"'Tis an awful waste of wood, sure!" said Mr. O'Lear.
Obviously he referred to the fire. The flames now swept the shore line from the Point to the lake's eastern boundary. For miles upon miles the forest was a whirlwind of furiously roaring flames, or a desolate waste of blazingwreckage, smoldering stumps and blackened, leafless tree trunks.
"The clubhouse! The roof has caught!" cried Billy Worth suddenly. "And look! It's a man!–two men, on the porch roof!" he yelled.
"Great heavens! it's Lew Grandall!" cried the stranger on the raft. "And the other man! They're fighting!"
"It's Murky! The other one is Murky!" Paul's sharp voice fairly shrieked. "It's the suit-case! They have the suit-case! Murky's trying to get it away from him!"
"Oo–ho there!" shouted the golfing man with all his force. "Get to the ground! The fire's all around you! Get into the lake quick or you're dead men!"
For an instant the two who fiercely struggled on the small balcony seemed to answer to the voice. Grandall would have leaped, it was apparent, but the other seized him furiously, and drew him forcibly back. Then a thick burst of smoke concealed them both.
Wearily had Lewis Grandall lain himself down to sleep in his hot, close room. It was his last night in the old clubhouse. He might have been quite comfortable, so far as his physical self was concerned, had he been willing to open the door-like window that led to the small balcony and admit the air; but this he feared to do.
Some sense of danger, a feeling of some dreadful peril impending, harassed him. He tried to reason it all out of his mind. He had not felt so before having actually in his possession the moldy, discolored leather suit-case, he reflected. Why should it make a difference?
There was no good cause for its doing so, he told himself, and resolved to think of other things. But always his thoughts came backto the one point–some great peril close before him. What was it? He could not fathom the distress of his own mind.
Often as Grandall tried wearily to forget, to turn and sleep, some lines of a tale he had somewhere heard or read,–a pirate's song you'll recognize as being in a book of Stevenson's–struck into his mind. It was as if someone sang or called aloud to him:–
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest!Yo-ho-ho! And a bottle of rum!"
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest!
Yo-ho-ho! And a bottle of rum!"
In vain he told himself that it was nothing–nothing! That he must not let himself fall a prey to such silly dread, an unidentified fear, like a child afraid in the dark. But ever the sense of peril oppressed him. Ever there came to his haunted thoughts–
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest!Yo-ho-ho! And a bottle of rum!"
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest!
Yo-ho-ho! And a bottle of rum!"
At last he rose and sat a long time on the edge of the bed. Then he dressed himself. For a great while, as the night crept slowly on, hesat thus fully clothed. He did not know why he did this. The fear of some unknown, threatening thing was not removed or altered. The ringing in his brain–
"Fifteen men on the dead man's chest!" was just as it had been before.
He lighted a match and looked at his watch. Four o'clock. Soon it would be daylight. Then he would go–leave this terrible place forever! Leave everything he hated–and that was all persons and all things. Leave the guilt he vowed he would never face–if he could. So thinking, he lay down once more and sheer exhaustion let the wretched man sink into heavy slumber.
Lynx-eyed, the scowling Murky waited. The black shadows of the thick shrubbery near the clubhouse door concealed him. A long, long time passed. It was quite evident, the tramp reflected, that the man with the suit-case had gone to bed.
Should he break in on him? Break in thehouse, slip up to his bed, strike one swift blow and end the whole search for that twenty thousand dollars quickly? End it all so quietly that the one who had played him false would never be conscious of the outcome?
No, that was not the plan Murky chose to follow. It might result in his obtaining the prize he sought, but he desired more. He wanted revenge. He wanted Grandall to know, too, that hewasavenged,–would have him fully realize that it was Murky,–Murky whom he had tricked and deceived, that had found him out and vanquished him at last.
Daylight was necessary to the tramp's plan. He wanted Grandall to see and recognize him. He pictured in his mind how, when suddenly awakened, the trickster should find looking down into his face a pair of eyes that were sharper and just as unmerciful as his own. Then he would speak, make sure he was known–strike quickly and effectively, and be gone.
He would not commit murder–unless obligedto do so; it might make trouble. But he would leave Grandall so hopelessly senseless that there would be no possibility of early pursuit from that quarter, as there would probably be none from any other.
Oh, they were black, black thoughts that coursed in Murky's mind!–hardly the thoughts that should come to a man in his last night on earth. But they were very pleasing to the tramp. With a kind of wild, wolfish relish, he pondered over the details of his plan.
Satisfied that Grandall would not leave the clubhouse before morning, confident of his own ability to awaken at the slightest sound of footsteps near, and resolving to be astir before daybreak, anyway, if he were not disturbed earlier, which he regarded as quite improbable, the scowling wretch allowed his eyes to close.
Even in sleep Murky's face bore an expression little short of fiendish. He was lying quite under the thick foliage of the bushes. They screened him from view and from thebreeze that had sprung up out of the west. But also they screened from his eyes the glow that now lit up the heavens, in the distance, for miles around.
It was the smoke, strong in his nostrils, that at last startled the fellow into sudden wakefulness. He had been too long a woodsman, had had too thorough a knowledge of the great forests in his earlier, better days, not to know instantly what it meant. He sprang up and looked about. The course of the wind was such, he reasoned, that the fire would not reach this particular vicinity. But what if it should? Why, so much the better, he reflected. The clubhouse would burn. If Grandall, dead or unconscious, burned with it–Murky's smile was hideous.
For some time he watched the progress of the fire, yet in the distance. But presently he became aware that the daylight was near. It was time for him to act.
Stealthily Murky crept to the broken windowat the west side of the clubhouse and entered. He knew the first floor doors were locked, but he did not know that Grandall had secured his bedroom door. This he discovered in due time. Just outside the room he listened. Sounds of heavy breathing assured him his victim slept.
It took a good while for Murky's heavy knife to cut in a panel of the pine door a hole large enough to permit him to reach in and turn the key; for he worked very slowly, very quietly. The daylight was coming in at the window of the narrow hallway when his task was done–the daylight, the dull glare of the advancing flames and the sound of their roar and fury.
The door creaked slightly as ever so slowly its hinges were moved, but in another second Murky stood inside.
The man on the bed awoke–leaped to his feet–saw–recognized–gave forth a yell the like of which even the wildest places have seldom heard.
Instantly Grandall knew his danger. Seizingthe leather case, for whose stolen contents he had risked so much, he threw open the balcony window. In another moment he would have leaped to the ground below but Murky caught him and they grappled.
It was in the midst of this first fierce struggle that the two were seen by those on the raft. Murky's greater strength was fast overpowering the other's soft muscles. Grandall breathed in choking gasps.
Then came the shouted warning from the lake. For an instant the surprise of it caused the tramp to relax his hold, but only for an instant.
"Blameme!" like some wild beast he growled, though there was savage delight in his tones as well, "Blameme! but I'd as soon leave my bones here as anywhere, to see you get what's comin' to ye, you lyin' skunk!" He fairly hissed the epithet in Grandall's ear.
It was at this juncture that Murky first drew his panting adversary back into the flamingclubhouse. Grandall knew he was no match for his enemy in strength.
"Wait, you fool!" he gasped. "There's a fortune for you–ease–luxury! Take it! I'll add as much more to it!"
As the lying wretch hoped, Murky's wild thoughts were for the moment attracted by the words. His grip upon Grandall's great, fat neck was weakened. Like lightning and with a vicious curse the latter threw him off, put forth all his strength and hurled the tramp to the floor.
For himself there was aid in sight, was Grandall's thought. If he could escape to the water below, he could make some explanation to those on the raft, whoever they might be. They would save him from the fire and from Murky, whom he feared still more.
Far more quickly than you read the words, the idea flashed in the mind of the frightened scoundrel. The instant he freed himself heleaped again through the window. With the yell of an enraged maniac Murky followed.
The Auto Boys and their companions on the great raft, floating but a few hundred feet from shore, saw Grandall reappear. With horrified faces they saw about him the smoke and flame that now raged in the roof above, and throughout the whole lower floor of the clubhouse, below the balcony,–saw him seize the leather case and pitch it far forward to the water's edge–saw him glance down as if, in desperation, to leap.
Again a blood-thirsty savage scream sounded above the fury of the fire and wind, and Murky also appeared on the flame-shrouded balcony.
Grandall was too late. No more than a child could he cope with the mad strength of his assailant. Like a great bag of meal, or other heavy, limp and lifeless thing he was dragged in through the open, blazing window. A fiendish but triumphant yell once more came out of the leaping smoke and flame. It was the voiceof the infuriated tramp, to be heard on earth again, no more forever.
Dazed, powerless, speechless, those on the lake helplessly witnessed the awful tragedy. With straining eyes and ears they watched and listened; but there came now no sound above the fitful roar and crackle of the fire and the surging wind.
Within a minute the roof of the clubhouse went down. The whole interior of the building followed, and where had stood the old house on the Point there remained only the walls of flaming logs, the mass of debris and the wreckage of wrecked lives that rapidly burned within them.
"You know what's in that bag he threw down to the water?" the golfing man asked. It was in the midst of the exclamation and words of awe of those who saw the terrible scene enacted, that the question was asked of Anderson. The Swede nodded.
"And you?" said the stranger, turning to Phil as spokesman for the boys.
"Yes, we know. We know the whole story. We–we thoughtyouwere–We saw you about the clubhouse and we got it into our heads thatyouwere–Was it really Grandall that we saw on the balcony?"
"ThoughtIwas Grandall?" muttered the man, mystified. "Why should you? Did you know he was in the woods? For I did not. But it was Lewis Grandall and no other that went to his death before our very eyes! The man with him–Murky was the name you used? Who was he?"
"Then you don'tknowthewhole storyof the robbery?" exclaimed Billy Worth. "Murky was the man Grandall got to go through the motions of robbing him of the twenty thousand dollars in the first place!"
It was with great interest, indeed, that Mr. Beckley heard the complete account of Grandall's double-dealing scheme as Chip Slider andthe Auto Boys had gathered the information.
Meanwhile there had come with the wind fitful dashes of rain that soon settled itself to a steady downpour. The forest fire had nearly burned itself out on the lake's south shore. Thousands of acres of smoldering ruins lay in its wake. Yet for a long time the refugees huddled upon the raft, protecting themselves from the storm as best they could with blankets and bedding. Not yet was it safe to venture ashore.
It was during this period that the golfing man made known his own identity and told why he happened to be hiding in the old clubhouse, resulting quite naturally, he freely admitted, in his being taken for the fugitive treasurer of the Longknives.
His name was Henry Beckley, he explained, and he had been one of the most active members of the Longknives Club. He had never been quite satisfied that the club's treasurer was really robbed of the money intended for theroad builders, but had never found any genuine evidence to the contrary.
A long time had passed since the loss of the money. The investigation of Grandall's crookedness, at home, was taken up by the Grand Jury. Mr. Beckley had reason to suspect the man of a number of dishonest practices, but feared for the safety of the bank, in which he was heavily interested, if the public suddenly learned that Grandall was a thief.
To avoid being called as a witness in the matter he decided to go away until the investigation was over. He would keep his going and his destination a secret from all, his own family excepted, he planned, and with no one suspecting where he might be, visit Opal Lake. Living in concealment at the clubhouse he would have an opportunity of investigating his suspicion that Grandall had made up the robbery story. Also he would satisfy himself, at least, that Nels Anderson had had no part in the disappearanceof the payroll money and settle, for all time, occasional rumors to the contrary.
Mr. Beckley had reached the lake only a day or two before the Auto Boys set up their camp there. He avoided them for he wished to work in secret. Also, for fear other strangers, or even some who might know him, should chance to visit the lake, he was careful not to disturb the deserted appearance of the clubhouse. He burned no light at night, and rarely sat anywhere but in his bedroom.
"You had a light there one night," spoke Paul. "We saw it flicker for just a second once, then after while saw the same thing again."
"It must have been matches to light my cigar that you saw," Mr. Beckley replied. "I knew you had discovered me and that in part was one reason that I went to Anderson's to stay. He brought me some provisions one evening and I agreed then to go to his house, and I did so within a day or two."
Paul could have said "Yes,Iknew he came to see you," if he had wished. But he was silent.
But MacLester spoke up: "And you went down on the old pier and threw something into the water the last thing before leaving. We saw that, too!"
"Yes, you're right. All the scraps of my lunches and the like I tied up and, putting a stone in the package to sink it to the bottom of the lake, I threw it in. You must have had pretty sharp eyes for the Point," the speaker added, pleasantly. "But it is no wonder. I would have been even more interested in my own investigations than I was had I known half as much of the true story of the Grandall robbery as you boys knew. And had I known of that awful Murky being around I'd most certainly have gone to stay with good old Nels Anderson much sooner than I did."
"Sure, I am worried sick to know what ever I would ha' done, a gettin' to the hoose an' notfindin' of ye there," put in Daddy O'Lear with a sorrowful shake of his head.
Mr. Beckley's faithful follower had already given that gentleman and MacLester an account of his adventures ending in his sudden appearance on the north shore, as the three sat by themselves in the boat some time earlier. Now the story was repeated for the information of all.
Mrs. Beckley, it appeared, having learned of the flight of Grandall wished her husband to be informed of this development. He had cautioned her that he could receive no letters without revealing where he was, and she could not write or telegraph. So with many instructions as to secrecy she sent the old family gardener, Daddy O'Lear, to tell all that had occurred.
The well-meaning old fellow left the train at a town to the north of Opal Lake, as told to do. He became quite confused and lost in the woods as he sought the clubhouse, and when he chanced to learn from MacLester that he had actuallyreached Opal Lake, though quite without knowing it, he was greatly alarmed. He feared the nature of his errand would be discovered by the young campers.
On the pretext of going for his baggage he walked back into the forest, MacLester accompanying him, instead of crossing over to the boys' camp. He wanted to gain time to think and plan. He finally decided that, a long way into the woods, he would give MacLester the slip and later reach the clubhouse and Mr. Beckley secretly, by walking around the lake to the other side.
This plan might have been more successful had "Daddy" not lost himself more hopelessly than ever, before he was ready to put it into execution. And if it had not been for Dave serving as his guide, at last, the good-natured Irishman never would have found his way to the lake again at all. This he freely admitted.
"I was satisfied that the stream we found must lead to the lake, or to some larger streamthat would do so," MacLester explained. "We were a long time getting here, but when I saw the fire burning so terribly I didn't know whether to be glad or sorry we had saved ourselves. Then I saw the raft, and–believe me!"
Very soon after reaching his friends MacLester had learned of the loss of the automobile. Naturally thoughts of the car were in the mind of every one of the boys, even in the midst of all they had lately passed through. But no word of complaint or grief was spoken. Possibly Mr. Beckley noticed this for his own thoughts were not idle.
The rain still fell in torrents, hissing and steaming in the smoldering ruins of the great fire. But the heat was almost gone now. The shore could be approached without inconvenience. Mentioning this, the golfing man suggested that it would now be possible to see if the general suspicion concerning the suit-case Grandall had thrown to the water's edge was correct.
The skiff was moored to the raft. Dave and Phil entered the boat and rowed up past the rotting and now half burned timbers of the old pier. The leather case had fallen partially into the water they saw, but quickly they recovered it.
"In spite of what has happened to this money, and we all know the terrible history now–I suppose we must agree that this bag and its contents are still the property of the Longknives Club," said Mr. Beckley solemnly. For, unopened, Phil had passed the discolored case at once to him. "At any rate," the speaker went on, very soberly, "we will see what is in it. I have a few things in mind regarding the club's disposition of this matter."
Without hesitation Mr. Beckley picked up the leather case and eyed it with a growing suspicion. It was now battered, almost shapeless. More than that it looked, somehow, almost too small. Finding that it was locked, he cut open one of the sides with his pocket knife.
But, instead of packages of bank notes and bags of gold and silver coin, there was disclosed brushes, comb, and a few other toilet accessories, together with a limited change of underwear and one bosom shirt. Of course these were soiled by mud and water, but not unduly discolored.
The varied expressions of dismay, vexation and amazement shown by those on the raft and in the skiff were almost comical.
Nels Anderson ventured an opinion that the bag was Grandall's, but wondered why the man had heaved it over first instead of jumping with it himself.
"He must have been crazed by terror," said Mr. Beckley. "But the question now is what did he do with the larger suit-case. He certainly had it somewhere, or that chap Murky wouldn't have been hanging round."
"Do you think both those men were burned to death?" This from Dave.
"I don't see how either could have escaped.The building was in flames when they disappeared. It is almost night and we're all tired. I think we perhaps had better to go back to camp, sleep quietly, and then in the morning we can search the ruins and see what we may find."
As everyone was weary, this received general assent. They were not only weary but discouraged. The unexpected and mysterious loss of the suit-case containing the money was, in itself, an unlooked-for defeat, and just as everyone felt sure that their difficulties were solved.
Scarcely had they reached the old camping ground than out of the still smoking wilderness came a loud shout. Link Fraley, his shapeless old hat pulled down almost over his eyes, his horses and wagon steaming wet and coated with ashes, drove up at a trot.
"Well, well!" he cried. "We've been worried about you all. Staretta's gone wild over this fire. Worried about the Andersons andthe Auto Boys; and I'm more worried about what I saw on the way here."
"What do you mean by that last?" asked Mr. Beckley, who was quick to hear the unusual note in this final remark by Fraley. "What did you see?"
"I ain't certain; but I'm almost sure I saw that scowling fellow we called Murky. I didn't get but a glimpse. 'Twas a mile or so back, where the half burnt logs was piled up thicker than usual near the trail. Before I could stop my team he was gone. No use to foller; besides, I was in a hurry to get on to where the camp was, hoping I'd find you folks all right."
Link's news occasioned somewhat of a flutter among the weary party thus gathered at the ruins of what had once been the Auto Boys' camp. After some discussion, while Chip and Worth were roasting potatoes and preparing hot coffee, it was determined that, after eating, they would return with Fraley to Staretta and sleep in warm beds once more. After that plansmight be made for investigating what Link had seen on the way over.
They hastened their meal and then, all climbing into the wagon, they started back. Probably a mile further on Fraley pointed at a confused tangle of fallen trees and logs which the fire had partially consumed, yet left in such profusion as to form a sooty labyrinth where a fugitive might easily escape unseen in that growing twilight. By now the moon was shining, for the rain had long passed. Link stopped the wagon and was pointing out where he had caught this flying glimpse. He was about to start on again when Phil Way, crouched at the wagon's tail-board, cried out as he jumped off:
"Hold on a minute, Link! I think I see something!"
Mr. Beckley, beside him, had seen it too, for the moonlight made things more distinct than when Fraley had passed an hour or so before. Beckley also descended.
When he reached Phil, the boy was raisingup a sooty, battered leather suit-case with several holes burnt partially through its thick sides. A wide flap was cut through the leather. It hung down as Phil held it up. It was some larger than the other bag and Beckley instantly knew that he was looking at the receptacle that had held the money.
Had held it, but now no longer.
"It's empty, Mr. Beckley. How did he come to leave it here?"
"Why, don't you see? Look at those holes." Beckley pulled at the edge of one and the burnt leather parted easily. "Murky–of course it was he–must have seen that this bag would no longer safely hold his plunder."
"Then he's taken it out and put it into something else," said Way. "Perhaps his coat, if he had one left."
"No; here's what looks like it had once been a coat."
Further search under the moon revealed only that certain foot tracks, found by Paul Jones,led off to the left through the wet ashes, as if the party who made them was in a great hurry. But, search as they might, only one pair of foot tracks could be seen.
"Evidently Grandall did not survive," said Beckley. "No wonder! He must have been all in when that scoundrel dragged him back inside the burning building. But how could Murky have gotten out alive? Probably Grandall, in his frantic haste, must have caught up the wrong bag, for it was the money he was after. When Grandall was finished his companion would, of course, try to make sure of the loot which both had schemed so hard to get and keep."
Reasoning thus, they all went on to Staretta, for nothing could be done that night, or without bloodhounds, which the county sheriff was known to have at his home at the county seat.
When the still struggling Grandall was dragged inside by Murky and hurled through the burning bedroom door into the flames beyond, the latter had one resource left, though it is doubtful if he would have thought of that but for one fact. In the brief struggle they had stumbled over another suit-case than the one Grandall had heaved to the water's edge.
Murky recalled that when he had at first entered he had seen two bags. One was the bag containing the money. Another, a trifle smaller, was the one brought by Grandall containing articles for his personal use while in the woods. In the fight Grandall had grabbed the smaller, whether by mistake or not will never be known. But in such a death-and-life struggle as went on, with Murky indisputablythe best man, such a mistake was likely, more than likely, to have been made by the despairing, frightened thief then being overpowered by a more ferocious, desperate rogue.
In less than a second Murky knew that there lay the treasure for which he had run such a terrible risk, and also that his only competitor was gone. Little would the fire leave of Grandall for after-recognition, when the ruins were searched. The heat was unbearable; Murky's clothing was already ablaze in spots. On the stand was a can of water, left by the now dead man.
In a twinkling he poured it over himself, seized the suit-case already scorched, and dashed for an open closet door. In this closet was a displaced trap door. Murky knew that under this was the hallway leading to the cellar stairs. In the cellar might be present safety–if he could make it. The clubhouse had caught from the roof. Probably the cellar was not yet reached. All this in less than no time,as he darted to the closet, kicked aside the trap which Grandall had overlooked, and jumped boldly down to the floor he had glimpsed beneath.
Murky was strong, tough, and such a leap was easily made. Already the lower rear rooms were blazing, and he had barely time to rush through the advancing flames to reach the stair door. Jerking it open, he stumbled through, hurrying down into the obscurity below. It was not so dark as usual, for the wide flare of the burning house above lighted up the cellar dimly, also showing to Murky the gleam of a cellar window off to one side, the last side to be encroached upon by the fire.
There were smoke and sparks outside, while sundry sparkles overhead told him that the floors might shrivel into flames at any minute. In fact crumbs of blazing embers already were filtering down. In the light thus afforded, he saw some tow-bagging piled on one of the boxes that littered the cellar floor. At the same timea jingling thud announced that some of the coin had fallen from the scorched suit-case.
At once he seized the bagging, picked up the chamois-bag of coin and wrapped it round the leather case, including the escaped coin. With a rock from the crumbling wall he broke what remained of the window and crawled through.
Fortunately for him he was on the opposite side from the balcony where the amazed group on the raft and skiff were still watching, although they, too, were on the point of quitting.
Which way should he go? The rain was beginning to fall though the woods were still burning. But, close by, a small lagoon began. It was a part of the water that separated the point on which the clubhouse was built, making it an eligible site for the purposes of the Longknives when they erected the house. It offered Murky a chance and he jumped at it as a drowning man will dash for a straw. The water was shallow, yet deep enough to keep off much ofthe heat as he waded along, crouching, half creeping, his treasure now over his shoulder as he hurried to where the lagoon widened towards the open lake.
Here he waited while the rain poured down drenchingly, gradually putting out the fires that here had not the fierceness that had driven them in from the westward. As soon as it was possible he stepped ashore, walking as he thought towards the east and south. He was still trying to make sure of his course and the rain was still coming down when he heard the rattling of wagon wheels off to his right.
"Blameme!" he ejaculated. "What the–the–what can that be?"
Twilight was near, the air dim with falling rain, when a rough wagon, drawn by two horses driven by one man whom he thought he knew, came in sight. Before Murky could get out of view behind the sooty, smoking logs, he himself was seen. Link Fraley had been urging his horses faster. Before he could slow downthe scowling face he had seen was gone, as Link himself had told the others.
He felt sure that he knew that face, but being unacquainted with the events at the clubhouse, already described, he was in too great haste to reach the lake to stop and further investigate. So Link passed on while Murky, now sure that he was headed wrongly, turned away.
In order to make greater haste he took the money, bills and all, from the dilapidated bag, thrust it all inside the tow sack, and turning at last to the course he had mistakenly thought he was following, he disappeared within those slimy, sooty depths of the fire-ruined forest.
He plodded on, wondering at times if he was going right. Later in the night it became cloudy and there were symptoms of more rain. Strange to say, he did not reach any farms or houses or other signs of the railroad which he felt sure must run in this direction. That is,if he had kept the course previously laid out by himself.
As may be imagined, the going was not easy. The earth, at times strangely swampy, grew more and more difficult to pursue. He wiped the sweat from his head and neck more than once.
"Blame me!" he ejaculated. "Why don't I git somewhere? Looks like I've travelled long enough and fur enough!"
When it began to rain again he was compelled to take off his one remaining coat to wrap round the tow sack of money to keep it, at least, partially dry.
"The bulk of this money is paper," he reflected. "Paper won't stand too much wetting; not even gov'ment paper such as money is made of. Blame me! Wish I had a rubber blanket!"
Crossing a log over a slough just before daylight, feeling his way slowly, yet not daring tostop until he reached some sign of railroad or clearing, or at least a house or barn, his foot slipped on a log and down he went into a black pool of mud-encrusted water.
"Ugh–ow-w-w-wh!"
Would his feetneverstrike bottom? Yes–at last. But the water was up to his shoulders: the bag, coat and all was partly in the slime that wrapped him coldly, icily about. Though the night was summery, the chill of that involuntary bath was unpleasant. More than unpleasant; it was exhausting, even terrifying. He tried to wade out, but the mire deepened. He turned and tried to find the log again, but in the darkness all sense of direction seemed to have left him.
At last, when even Murky's resolution was about to give way to despair, his outstretched hand touched a limb. Convulsively he grasped it, both arms going out in eager hope to grasp something tangible amid that inky, nauseous blackness. As he did so a cry brokefrom him, for he felt the bag slipping from his shoulder. He clutched it desperately.
"Oh! Ugh-h! My Gawd!" The cry broke into stranglings as his head went under. A furious struggle then began, for Murky was not one to give up his hold on life, or plunder, or anything valuable to him, without fighting.
Somehow he grasped at the unseen limb. It broke just as his weight began to hang thereon. More splashings, strugglings. He found another limb, all dead, sooty, yet wet from the now pouring rain.
This one seemed to hold. Inch by inch Murky drew one leg, then the other from the sucking mud below, but as fast as one leg was released the other stuck fast again. It was like working in a treadmill, only far more perilous, fatiguing, and terrible. Would he ever get out–rescue himself?
After all, love of life was more powerful than money or aught else.
The next morning, though it was still cloudy and rain was falling, Link was prevailed to return with his team to the place where he had seen the man with the scowling visage. Meantime Nels Anderson and family had been made comfortable in a disused cabin in the edge of the village.
Nels, being comparatively useless, also remained. To him later in the day came Chip Slider, saying:
"I went with them folks and they didn't do nothin' much, except that Paul picked up a gold piece right near where they found that old suit-case. All at once it come to me that something's got to be did."
"Vell, vot you bane goin' to do?" Nels spokeindifferently, for he had his own troubles heavily on his mind.
"I don't want you to say much to the others. But if you find they ain't goin' to foller up that trail we lost in them burnt woods, 'count of the rain, I'm goin' to foller it myself. Say, Nels, I want to get your wife to cook me up some grub–on the quiet, see?"
"On de qviet–heh? V'ot for you bane goin' to do?" Nels was vaguely suspicious but kindly.
"They've gone for the sheriff and the dawgs. But they won't get back afore ter-morrer. I want that grub right away–see?"
Nels grunted a surly assent, adding: "Don' you forget to bring dat grub."
This Chip proceeded to do, managing to secure through Billy Worth and Phil Way a limited amount of flour, bacon and one or more minor ingredients. But both were curious, naturally.
"Look here, Chip," remarked Phil casually."You ain't going to leave us, are you? We–we rather like you, boy."
Chip took them both aside as he explained his purpose to some extent.
"You know Paul found a gold piece where that suit-case was picked up. That shows as how Murky, or whoever it was, must 'a' been puttin' the money in something else. It's rained on that trail, and even if the sheriff comes with his dawgs, they can't foller it to do any good."
"Well then, how the mischief can you follow it?" demanded Worth. "You just can't! Believe me, Chip, you're going up against a hard thing."
But Chip persisted. The sooner he got off, the better. After all, seeing he was bound to go, they wished him luck. But meanwhile Paul had come up and was listening eagerly. When Phil and Billy turned away, he clapped Chip on the back, saying:
"Chip, you're the goods–sure! I'm going with you, see?"
Chip looked so astonished that Paul hastened to add: "Don't you worry! I'll have some grub of my own, too. More'n that, I'll get a couple of our camp blankets. Now that our Thirty is gone, we won't be using much of our camp supplies. Say, it's up to us to help get back that twenty thousand dollars or what's left of it–hey?"
So it was arranged. During the afternoon Mr. Beckley and a constable came back but without either the sheriff or the dogs. To the anxious queries put to them Beckley shook his head discouragingly.
"We talked to the sheriff. He seemed anxious to do all he could; but he was positive that the rains and the strong scent of burnt ashes over soil would baffle the hounds. Said he: 'I'm used to bloodhounds. I know what I am talking about. My dogs are useless here.' Buthe was insistent on our notifying the police of the nearer towns by wire. He also 'phoned to the nearest big cities, in case Murky turned up at any of them. We gave a description of the fellow as best we could, and also charged him with murder."
"I suppose you mean Grandall," remarked MacLester.
"Certainly! I think, considering what we saw on the balcony especially when Murky was dragging Grandall back into the burning building, there can be little doubt but that Murky made an end of him. It was undoubtedly to his interest to get Grandall out of the way; especially if Murky had a notion of making off with the plunder himself."
No one disputed this. And so the matter rested. During the day men were sent off to notify the nearest settlers. In case Murky appeared, they were to arrest the man or, if unable to do that, to let folks in Staretta know at once.
Meanwhile Link Fraley, having turned the store over temporarily to his father, who was the real proprietor after all, and an assistant, spent most of his time going round with the Auto Boys and Mr. Beckley.
"It's this way," he remarked. "I've been so much with you lads in this business that I feel somehow as if we were all interested. By the way, kids, where is that chap Slider? And I don't see your chum Paul round here."
These remarks were made along in the afternoon, after a busy morning of investigation involving a good deal of running round generally. For the first time it suddenly occurred to three of the Auto Boys that one of their number had not showed up, even at the dinner taken at noon at the one tavern of the place. Also, where was Chip Slider?
"Gee whiz-z!" Phil wondered that he had not noticed their absence before. "I remember him and Chip whispering together after we got back. Don't you, Link?"
Link did and said so emphatically, adding:
"Now come to think, I seen them two moseyin' off down where the Andersons be."
"By ginger!" This from MacLester. "I bet they're off to help Nels fix up that old cabin a bit. It sure needs fixing if I'm any judge."
"Tell you what, boys," put in Worth, "suppose we all go down there and give poor Nels a lift. He's half helpless himself. These Staretta folks sent them in some things. We'll do our bit while we're waitin' for Mr. Beckley to get that automobile he thinks he needs."
Now that the Thirty belonging to the boys had been destroyed Beckley, on reaching Staretta, had sent a man to the nearest town to bring some kind of motor car, for it was plain to him that if he was to get anywhere with his faithful assistant Daddy O'Lear, some kind of assistance more to be depended on than Link's scraggy horse team should be secured.
So while Beckley waited the boys set out for Anderson's cabin. But upon reaching thereno sign of either Paul or Chip was to be seen. Instead Nels himself sat despondent in the doorway, while inside Mrs. Anderson and the child were striving in a desultory, hopeless way to arrange the inside of the unkempt cabin.
"We came down to see if we could help about anything to make you all more comfortable," said Phil, still looking for Jones and Chip. "We kind a thought Paul and that Slider boy was down here."
"So they was," remarked Mrs. Anderson, apathetically wiping out a frying pan, "but they went off soon as they had their grub cooked. And a job it was, too."
"Just what do you mean, Mrs. Anderson?" put in Billy uneasily.
"They was goin' somewhere, I think. Then–"
"Yah–yah!" This from Nels in the doorway. "They bane had der dinners."
Meanwhile Phil was thinking what Chip had told them that morning. Paul's absence was now explained. Worth also felt that an astonishinglight had dawned on him somehow. He turned to Way, saying:
"What doughheads we were when Chip was talking so glibly about what he was going to do! Why, the thing is sheer nonsense!"
"More than that, it is dangerous!" exclaimed Phil. "Suppose them two boys meet up with Murky way off in the burnt over woods. What'll Murky do to 'em?"
"Don't talk punk, Phil!" Billy was in cold earnest now. "You know what he'd do or try to do, if he thought they had come after that money. There's nothing hewouldn'tdo if he could, that would put them off his trail and land them–oh, goodness! It makes me cold when I think of Paul."
Here the Anderson girl timidly approached, holding out a scrap of paper.
"He give it me," said the child. "Pap was away and ma was busy."
"Who gave it you?" demanded Phil as Worth took the soiled, folded paper.
"One of you boys. They was leavin'. Ma didn't know," seeing Mrs. Anderson looking on with astonishment written all over her. "I fergot it 'til now."
"Boys," the pencilled scrawl began. "I'm off with Chip. We got some grub along, and a pair of blankets. Chip thinks we can follow Murky. I just got to go along, too. Paul. P.S. Don't worry."
Nels' wife was fishing out a blanket from a scant pile of bedding in one corner, and held it out, saying:
"He says wrong, sir. They ain't got but one blanket; for Mr. Paul he–offered us one of the two he had. I wouldn't take it but he piled it with the things folks brought in. Then they both hurried off."
"Ve nefer see dat blanket," began Nels. "No. He done left it. Mein frau, she find it v'en day bane gone."
The situation now looked more grave to the boys than ever. Little was said, however.Even Dave would only commit himself so far as to ejaculate:
"Paul always was a fool!"
But this was said in no animadversive sense. It was wholly sympathetic, even while Dave might have disapproved. Finding there was nothing more to be done for Nels they were about to leave when Anderson, who had been whispering with his wife, suddenly announced:
"I bane go mit you. I know de woods. I lif in de woods. I go mit you!"
"It won't do, Nels," remonstrated Worth. "You ain't fit. You're needed more here."
"How did you know we were going after Paul and Chip?" asked Phil.
Nels smiled for the first time that day. His wife explained.
"He knew you boys were good and that you loved your chum. Perhaps he felt that you were sorry for Chip, too. He wants to do his part. But I think you are right. In his fix he'd better stay with us."
All three boys insisted that Nels' place waswith his family. It looked that way, anyhow. But Nels shook his head rather grimly. Finally he retired to the doorsteps, neither taking part in further discussion nor saying much of anything more at all.
After the boys left, however, he bestirred himself. His wife, understanding him better than others, mutely began preparing more food. Meanwhile Nels, from some recess in his rough clothing, resurrected two one-dollar bills. These he forced upon his wife, who meantime had wrapped up certain provisions and made him take the blanket left by Paul.
On the way back to town the boys encountered Link Fraley; and he, being in their confidence, was briefly told all that had occurred. As they explained the grin on Link's face grew broader, his eyes twinkled and he seemed vastly tickled at something.
"Well, what you goin' to do?" He asked it as if he already knew.
They told him, and he slapped the boys onthe shoulders congratulatingly as he rejoined:
"Bully for you, boys! Stick to your friends! That's the way to git along in this world. That little hungry looking cuss Chip–why, somehow I kinder liked him. Lemme tell you something. I'm goin' 'long, too."
Here Link's smile grew so broad that it nearly met his ears. "I been doin' some thinkin' of my own. I ain't after money in this. Yet, if we should happen to git that money back, or he'p 'em git it, I rather guess Mr. Beckley would do the right thing."
"He would; I feel sure of that." Phil was speaking. "But that isn't worrying us so much as that Chip and Paul should start out that way without even letting out a cheep what they was up to."
"We-ell!" Link looked uncommonly wise. "You see, they two had seen that ugly cuss first. Then ag'in, I think Chip felt sore 'cause Murky beat him up so. He'd sorter like to git even, I reckon."
"Another thing," put in Phil. "Chip knows that his dead father didn't act up square 'bout that money either. Grandall put him up to it. But Chip, I'm thinkin', wants to do the fair thing."
"You say you are going along, too?" asked MacLester. "That is good of you, Mr. Fraley. We've lost our car and the Longknives have lost their money. I guess it's right that we should all help to try to get the money back. As for the car–our bully old Thirty–well, we'll have to get home without it. But what made Paul and Chip in such a hurry?"
"Chip's knocked about a good deal. He knew that if Murky got out of the big woods our chance to get him would be small." This from Worth. "By the time it all got into the hands of the police there'd be more or less costs and–and expenses. As for Paul Jones, he just couldn't help it, I guess."
"When will you be ready, Link?" queried Phil. "That is, if you are really going along."
"Ready right now, boys. When will you start?"
"It's now mid-afternoon," remarked Phil. "I propose we get ready and start at daylight tomorrow. It has rained off and on all day–hullo! Here comes Mr. Beckley."
Beckley, still followed by his henchman Daddy O'Lear, came hurriedly out of the only telephone office in Staretta. When he learned what the boys together with Fraley were up to, he looked dubious. Finally he said:
"Perhaps it is the best way after all. Nothing more can be done here. Whether we recover the money or not, it is right that you should look after your chum and–and that Slider boy." Mr. Beckley spoke this last as if he rather had doubts if Chip were worth looking after. But, with the Auto Boys on the trail he felt safe as far as the money went, provided they found Murky, and the spoil Murky would be apt to have with him.
Several miles away from the wagon trail that led from Staretta to the now destroyed Longknives' clubhouse, two boys were groping along in the falling twilight in a discouraged manner.
Around them stretched seemingly endless vistas of burned and blackened forest, stark, leafless, forbidding. Under foot was a sooty, miry quagmire of rain-soaked soil, naturally low, swampy in places, and now all but impassable. The rain had subsided into a misty drizzle, soft, fine, yet penetrating.
"Gee but I'm tired, Chip!" said the younger of the two, lifting with effort one foot after the other from the deep mud underneath.
"Well, sheisgettin' rather bad," replied the other. "Won't be much moon tonight, I reckon."
"D'you suppose the other boys will start out such a day as this?"
"Dunno; hard to tell. But we've come a right smart ways, Paul, and so far as I kin see we're gettin' further and further into these big woods."
"But we've never lost old Murky's trail. Have we, now?"
"Nope! Dark as it is, I kin make it out. You know when we started out we noticed that one of his shoes or boots had a prong on one side of the heel. Well, here she is–see?"
And Chip Slider pointed to a deep impression made apparently by a big shoe-nail or some other peculiarity which the lads had noted earlier when the light was better. Paul grunted a tired assent.
"Where do you reckon we are, anyhow?"
Chip was staring at a high bulge ahead as if some huge rock or boulder protruded upward from the nearly level ground.
"I dunno. There's something ahead that looks like we might find a shelter. Come on, Paul."
The two plodded on, one carrying the lone blanket and the other the small store of eatables that remained after their last inroad upon it. When they were nearly up to this unusual obstruction there came a sparkle of light that hit the damp air momentarily, then went out. It seemed to Chip, who had the keenest eyes of the two, as if it might have been the flare of a match.
The boys halted at once and stood staring, listening, perplexed and yet most curious. Finally they heard a snapping of twigs, and then came another flare and still another. Nothing else could they see for, as Chip suspected, it was only the reflection of a light that they had seen. Evidently there must be someone behind that bulge. While they waited breathless, there came a confirmation of their fears–or rather was it their hopes?
"Blame me!" growled a heavy voice. "Why in sin won't she get afire?"
With one accord the two boys stood and stared–at each other. Finally Paul leaned forward, whispering:
"Murky, Murky!"
Chip more composedly nodded; then he too whispered:
"We must slip up behind that thing. It's a rock, I reckon."
Paul said nothing but when Chip started, he did likewise.
"Step keerful," whispered Slider. "Don't let your feet make a noise when you pull 'em out of the mud."
A low rumble of thunder muttered its way out of the west indicating more rain. As if to emphasize the menace of this, they heard Murky cursing to himself. He, too, was aware that further rain and storm boded no good to himself.
More softly still the boys came gradually upunder the shelving sides of a great rock, that proved to be the termination of a chain of similar rocks which abutted from a ridge of low hills off to the northeast.
Beyond, on the other side of this last big boulder, they could still hear Murky–if it was Murky–renewing his attempts to make a fire. Under the shelving sides the boys had some shelter. But from the brighter glare on the other side they knew that the tramp had succeeded in starting his fire. Was he any better protected from the increasing rain than they?
For quite a time the two crouched, blanket over their shoulders, while the rain pattered harder and harder. Finally a slight shift of wind to the westward caused the rain to beat in on them more. They were very uncomfortable, squatting in the wet mould with their backs against the damp rocks.
"See what I got?" Paul held up something that Chip cautiously felt.
"Where did you get that?" Chip was astonished.
"I knew we had one at the camp. But I thought it was lost. But today I found it in one of our bags. When we started I managed to slip it into my pocket. We're only two boys, and Murky is a grown man. Why, you've got bruises on you now that he gave you–" Paul was showing a pistol.
"Hs-sh!" whispered Chip. "Not so loud. Lemme see that gun!"
"All right," and Paul passed it over. Chip looked at it closely. "I can't tell yet if the chambers have any cartridges. We might need it."
By the mere feel of the thing they did not make sure, so Paul, before Chip had time to remonstrate, struck one of his own matches. By this light the two bent closely, the light flaring out into the night air. At last, as the match went out Chip declared:
"The chambers are all empty except one, and I can't see–hold on!"
Forgetting his previous caution, Chip himself struck another match. While they bent again to see if the cartridge was a full one they were appalled when a deep, rough voice from out the apparent wall of rock behind struck on their boyish ears like a knell of coming destruction.
They turned, Paul grasping the dubious pistol, while Murky, still wet, covered with mud and doubly forbidding by reason of this, seized Chip Slider in one hand and reached for Paul with the other.
Where had Murky come from? How did he suddenly appear apparently out of what the boys supposed to be a solid wall of rock? But at any rate there he was with Chip squirming in his grasp while Paul, darting to one side, barely eluded his left-handed clutch. Altogether it was a ticklish situation.
But Paul was plucky. In a trice, remembering the one cartridge, he levelled the pistol and began pulling the trigger.
"Let go that boy!" his almost childish treble rang out. "Leggo, I say!"
Click–click–click went the hammer as he pulled the trigger, at the same time jumping back further from Murky's gripping hand. Meantime Chip managed to loose himself. Murky, hearing the empty sound of the striking hammer, growled:
"Huh-h! She's empty, blame ye–"
Just then–crack! came the sound of the full cartridge; but Paul's aim being unsteady, the ball just clipped Murky's left ear.
It maddened him more than anything else. With a yell of rage and pain he sprang at Paul, catching the lad as the latter tried to spring backward, but stumbling in the mud, while the pistol flew from his hand. By this time the light of Murky's fire was blotted out by some passing object that darted swiftly out of the obscuritywhence Murky had sprung. At the same time Chip, now free, leaped pluckily to the assistance of his friend.
But on the instant the unknown object, emitting a Swedish howl of rage, burst through, striking Murky with an impact that sent him headlong out into the night. With this collision back came the light that had been momentarily blotted from view by the last welcome intruder.
When this last stood revealed, big, heavy, yet strangely hampered by his half useless arms, the two boys were in turn again astonished yet gratified to behold–Nels Anderson. Accompanying this appearance came the sounds of rapidly retreating steps as Murky, recognizing defeat, made himself scarce as fast as he could. The three looked at each other, grinning the while as they looked.
"Say, Mr. Anderson," began Paul, "it was bully of you to come, and you still crippled in your arms!"
At a glance both saw that Nels, while activeas ever in body and legs, held his arms loosely, both hanging down at his sides.
"My arms no good," he began, "but I bane all right yet. Coom–ve look fer dot feller."
He turned, diving through a side passage hitherto hidden from Paul and Chip, while they, following, emerged into a recess where two gigantic boulders, leaning together, made the shelter under which Murky had started the fire that, flaring out into the darkness, had so puzzled the boys before. Here Murky, becoming aware that someone was beyond him, had crept up between rocks, listening when the boys arrived, and had sprung upon them as has been described.
For half a minute Nels stood, glaring at the embers of the fire and around to see what else might be there. But there was nothing, apparently, beyond a few scraps of eatables and a remnant of wet tow sacking.
"Coom on!" shouted the big Swede. "We bane get nothin' here!" And he darted off inthe darkness towards where Murky's retreating steps had last been heard. But nothing resulted except a trio of tired searchers with deep mud on their legs and a sense that Murky had eluded them again.
"I don't see any signs of money round here," gloomily owned Paul, looking about the rocky recess where Murky had been quartered but a short while before. "It is dark as pitch everywhere else. One thing, Chip. I fancy we got his grub, whatever he had left after eating."
"That's something," owned up Chip. "A feller can't git along much in these woods unless he has something to fill his belly with."
Anderson, paying little heed to this, was staring into the fire, doubtless thinking matters over. Chip picked up the tow-bagging, scanned it closely and turned to Paul standing near. He pointed at a shred of the bagging that, without being detached from the sack, had somehow caught a small patch of greenish paper inside its loose clutch. Carefully Chippicked out this, and handed it to Nels and Paul.
"That looks like a piece of money," quoth Chip. "Ain't it the corner of a bill of some kind?"
Closer inspection revealed, even to Anderson's thicker brain, that the paper shred had undoubtedly been part of a bank note of some kind. Being wet, it was easily torn from the parent bank note in the rough handling the money had undergone. At least such was the conclusion drawn by all three after a short inspection. Paul was greatly excited.
"What did I say when Phil found that old suit-case? Murky must 'a' put the money in something else. It must 'a' been all wet. He must 'a' had that money here. What did he do with it?"
"I'm goin' to hunt for it right now!" said Chip now all eagerness.
"First we find Murky," interposed Nels. "Vere he be, dere ve find money."
"But Murky didn't have no load on him when he tackled us!" was Chip's objection.
"I goin' make light," said Nels. "You look roun'. Mebbe fin' money. Mebbe fin' nothin'. I bane go fin' Murky. Make heem tell. Yah!"
And Anderson, who still had some use of his big hands, picked up a hatchet left by the fugitive in his haste and clumsily began to split some dry pine which had long lain under shelter, doubtless left there by former campers or hunters. For several minutes the boys ferreted their way into or through the neighboring crevices among the jumble of rocks, even using part of Anderson's splinters to aid them; but nothing did they find.
"Now we go," said Nels at last. "You boys bane tired mooch?"
The truth was all were pretty tired, but not one would acknowledge the fact. Nels, used to long fatigues, and crippled besides, made both Paul and Chip reluctant to own up that they needed sleep more than further travel.
The upshot of all this was that, in a short time, all were following the mud trail left by Murky in his flight but a brief spell back. The fire had been replenished, so as to give them some clue as to where they were, should they wish to return. Chip bore the torch; Paul carried an armload of fat splinters; while Nels, plodding between, bent his woods-sharpened eyes on the tracks that were plain enough yet, for the rain had at last ceased.