“‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘all these potato-bug stories don’t begin to compare with the breed they had down near Brattleboro, where I come from. Down there I used to clerk in Si Toner’s grocery and general store. Well, the potato bugs used to come into the store in the spring and look over Si’s books to see who’d been buying potato seed.’”
“Funny thing your uncle never met the wonderful rifle shot, Philander Potts,” said the professor musingly, after the laughter over Hiram’s yarn had subsided.
“Philander Potts,” exclaimed the boys, “never heard of him.”
“Too bad,” said the professor musingly, “he was the best shot in the world, too, I guess. Why, once he undertook to fire at a rubber target 2,000 times in two minutes. The way he did it was this. He had a repeating rifle and kept firing as fast as he could at the india-rubber target. The bullets would bounce off and he caught them in the muzzle of his rifle as they flew back and fired them over again.”
“But what about the bullets that were coming out? Didn’t they collide with the ones coming back?” asked Andy Bowles in all seriousness.
“No,” said the professor gravely, “you see, Philander was so swift in his movements that he was able to fire and catch alternately.”
“I’ll have to practice that,” laughed Tubby.
Soon after the narration of this surprising anecdote, the major looked at his watch.
“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, “nine o’clock. Time for lights out. Andy, sound ‘Taps’ and we’ll post the sentries for the night.”
Tubby and Hiram were selected for the first watch. The major and young Andy were to stand the second vigil while the third period of sentry duty fell to Merritt and Rob. It seemed to the latter that they had not been asleep half an hour when the major entered their tepee and aroused them for their tour of duty. He reported all quiet, and a clear moonlight night.
Hastily throwing on their uniforms the Boy Scouts turned out. For some time they paced their posts steadfastly without anything occurring to mar the stillness of the night. The moon shone down brightly, silvering the surface of the lake which could be glimpsed through the dark trees.
Suddenly Rob, who had reached the limit of his post, which was not far from where the canoes had been hauled up, was startled by a slight sound. It ceased almost instantly, but presently it occurred again.
Cautiously the boy crept through the forest toward the water’s edge. He took every advantage of his scout training and carefully avoided treading on twigs or anything that might cause a sound of his approach to be made manifest.
Gliding from tree trunk to tree trunk he soon arrived at the spot in which the canoes had been dragged ashore. At the same instant he became aware of several dark figures moving about among them. Suddenly, right behind him, a twig snapped. In the stillness it sounded as loud as the report of a pistol. Rob wheeled round swiftly, but not before a figure leaped toward him from behind a tree trunk. Before Rob could raise a hand in self-defense another form sprang at him.
The lad tried to cry out and discharge his rifle, but before he could accomplish either act he was felled by some heavy instrument, and a gag thrust into his mouth. The next instant, bound and incapable of uttering a sound, he was borne swiftly toward the canoes.
But silently as the attack upon Rob had been made, it had not taken place without causing some disturbance. Moreover, the sharp crack of the snapping twig which had attracted Rob’s attention to his trailers, had also reached Merritt’s sharp ears. In the silence of the night-enwrapped forest sounds carry far.
Merritt was all attention in a flash. The snap of the twig might have been caused by some prying animal or——
“Gee whiz! That’s the scuffling of feet!” exclaimed the young sentry the next moment as the sounds of the tussle came to him.
His first act was to fire a shot. It should have been aimed in the air, but in his excitement Merritt fired low. The bullet whizzed in the direction of the camp, struck a tin kettle which was piled up with a number of other tin utensils, and brought the whole pile down with a crash. Now Jumbo’s chosen sleeping place was right behind this barricade of tin hardware. When it fell it came crashing about the colored man in an ear-splitting avalanche. Jumbo leaped to his feet with a howl. He was attired in his shirt, trousers and shoes, not having bothered to remove these when he retired.
“Fo’ de lan’s sake what dat gum gophulous racket?” he yelled. In a flash his long legs began to move.
“Ah’ll bet a pint uv peanuts dat’s Injuns!” he shouted as he sped along, “mah goodness, ah wish ah had mah uncle’s gun. But as ah ain’t ah’s jes’ a gwine te trus’ ter mah laigs.”
Jumbo, in great leaps and strides, arrived at the lake-side in a few instants. In the meantime, the camp behind him was in an uproar of excitement over the midnight alarm.
The negro had already reached the waterside before he felt himself knocked flat by a heavy blow on the head. Now Jumbo’s head, like all negroes’, was about as hard as a bit of adamant. But the cowardly fellow deemed it better to lie perfectly still when he was knocked flat. Presently he felt himself being picked up and thrown into something that the next instant began to move off. He realized in a flash that he was lying in the bottom of one of the canoes.
“Hailp! Hailp!” he began to yell, but was silent instantly as a harsh voice breathed in his ear:
“You shut up if you don’t want a bullet in your black head.”
Jumbo lay silent after that. But his thoughts were busy.
“Bullet in mah haid, eh?” he mused, “mah goodness, ah don’t want nuffin’ lak dat. Mah cocoanut feels now laik ah’d done tried ter butt a locusmocus off’n de track. Wondah what deportentiousness uv all dis unusualauness done mean?”
His meditations were interrupted by a shout from the shore.
“Bring back those canoes at once!”
“Mah goodness, dat am de majah,” exclaimed Jumbo, but to himself. “He shuh am po’ful mad. Wondah if dem boys is playin’ pranks. If dey is dey’ll be sorry fer it.”
The black ventured to raise his head a little and peep up to see who was in the canoe with him. In doing so his eyes fell on another figure lying beside him. In the moonlight he could see the cords that bound it. The radiance of the moon also revealed the Boy Scout uniform.
“Gabriel’s Ho’hn! Dat’s one of dem Boy Scrouts!” he exclaimed, “an’ mah gracious, ah wondah who dat fierce lookin’ man am whose paddlin’ dis yar boat. Reckon ah’d better lay quiet. He looks pretty frambunctious.”
In the meantime, the aroused inmates of the camp had rushed to the shore. They reached it just in time to see their entire flotilla of canoes being paddled swiftly off across the smooth, moonlit waters. Tubby and Hiram raised their rifles when a hoarse laugh of defiance greeted the major’s command to the marauders to halt. But in a flash the officer saw what they were about to do.
“None of that, boys,” he ordered sharply, “put down those rifles.”
“No use for them now,” grumbled Tubby, “see, they’ve disappeared round that point.”
“Let’s get after them,” suggested Hiram.
The major shook his head.
“Over this rough ground they could easily outdistance us,” he said, “is anyone missing?”
It took but a few minutes to ascertain that both Rob and Jumbo were not among them.
“This is even more serious than the theft of the canoes,” exclaimed the professor, “do you suppose that it was Hunt’s gang that took them?”
“I don’t doubt it,” said the major, “who else would be interested in annoying us? But let’s hear Merritt’s story. What did you hear, my boy?”
Merritt soon told his narrative of the crackling twig and the struggle. A visit to the beach showed that there had, indeed, been a struggle before Rob had been landed in the canoe. A disconsolate silence fell on the little party.
“What are we to do now?” wondered Hiram.
“Get in pursuit of them as quick as possible, I should think,” opined Tubby.
The major shook his head.
“Not much use in that,” he decided, “we would not be likely to find them. No, the best plan is to wait right here. If Rob escapes he will be able to find his way back again.”
“Do you think they mean him harm?” inquired little Andy Bowles tremulously.
“I hardly think so,” responded the major, “they wouldn’t dare to do much more than keep him prisoner. But even that’s bad enough.”
“But what object can they have in all this except to annoy us?” asked the professor.
“Simple enough,” said the major, rather bitterly, “I guess they are going to hold Rob as a hostage.”
“What do you mean?”
“That if they manage to keep him prisoner we shan’t see him again till I have given them the plans to the location of the Dangerfield treasure cave.”
“They wouldn’t dare——” began the professor. But the major interrupted him.
“We have already had a proof of what they will dare,” he said, “they are as desperate a band of ruffians as I have ever heard of.”
“I guess that’s right,” agreed Tubby, “but I’ll bet,” he added stoutly, “that Rob will find a way out of it yet.”
In the meantime the canoes sped on through the night. Rob mentally tried to keep some track of the distance traversed, but he was totally unable to do so. He judged, however, when the paddles finally ceased their splashing, that they must have come some distance, for it was day-break when the canoes came to a halt.
Rob was roughly jerked to his feet and then, for the first time, became aware of Jumbo. For his back had been toward the negro in the canoe.
“Mah goodness, Marse Blake,” exclaimed the black, “ain’ dis de mostes’ parallelxillus sintuation dat you ever seen. Ah declar’——”
But further remarks on Jumbo’s part were roughly checked by the man who had paddled the two prisoners to their present situation. He was none other than the big-limbed rascal, Jim Dale, who had played such a prominent part in the theft of the pocket-book.
“Shut your black head, nigger,” he ordered gruffly.
“Ah ain’t no niggah. Ah’s a ’spectabilious colored gent”; protested Jumbo, “’nd I kain’t shut mah haid nohow ’cos it keeps openin’ an’ shuttin’ of its own accord whar you busted me on it.”
But a fierce look from the man made even the garrulous negro subside. As for Rob, he disdained to talk to the fellow, or bandy words with him. Instead, he gazed around while the other canoes, filched from the Boy Scout camp, were coming up. He noted that one was paddled by Peter Bumpus, while the third one contained Stonington Hunt and his son Freeman, the lad who had already given the Boy Scouts so much trouble.
It was a curious place in which the boy found himself. But Rob, with his scout instinct, could not but admire the skill with which it had been chosen as a retreat.
The spot was like a large basin with steep rock walls on all sides but one. On the open side a narrow neck of the lake led into this natural fortress. Great trees and luxurious water growth masked the entrance and anybody, not knowing of it, might have passed by it on the lake side a hundred times without noting its presence. The canoes had been paddled through this natural screen of water maples and rank growth of all kinds, which had closed like a curtain behind them.
A beach, narrow except at the far end of the cove, ran round the water’s edge at the foot of the rocky walls. A small tent was pitched there, and a fire was smoldering. Evidently the place had been occupied for some little time as a camp. Rob found himself wondering how the men, in whose power he now was, had ever found the place. He did not know then that Jim Dale and Pete Bumpus had once been associated with a gang of moonshiners, whose retreat this had been before the officers of the revenue service broke the gang up and scattered them far and wide.
Hunt had gleaned enough knowledge from the plan, during his brief possession of it, to divine which route the party would take to the hidden treasure trove. He had, therefore, sought out this place when Dale and Bumpus told him of it. The boys’ enemies had made straight for it, and had been encamped there some days awaiting the arrival of the party. The notes of Andy Bowles’ bugle floating out across the lake the night before had apprised them of the arrival of the party, and plans had immediately been made for a hasty descent on the Boy Scouts’ mountain camp. How successful it had proved we already know. But of course, to Rob, all this was a mystery.
The canoes were grounded at the end of the cove on the broad strip of beach. Rob and Jumbo were at once ordered to get out, and Rob’s leg-bonds being loosened and gag removed, he followed Jumbo on to the white sand. Hardly had their feet touched it before Stonington Hunt and his rascally young son, the latter with a sneer on his face, also landed.
“Fell neatly into our little trap, didn’t you?” jeered Stonington Hunt, staring straight at Rob with an insolent look.
“Yo’ alls kin hev yo’ trap fo’ all I wants uv it”; snorted Jumbo indignantly, as Rob disdained to answer.
“Be quiet, you black idiot!” snapped Hunt, “we didn’t want you, anyhow. I’ve a good mind,” he went on with a brutal sort of humor, “to have you thrown into the lake.”
“By golly yo’ jes bring on de man to do it,” exclaimed the negro with great bravado, “ah reckon ah kin tackle him. Ah’m frum Vahgeenyah, ah is, an——”
But Hunt impatiently checked him. He turned to Peter Bumpus. “Cook us up a meal,” he ordered.
“For them, too?” asked Bumpus, jerking his thumb backward at Rob and Jumbo.
“Of course. You may as well get used to it. I expect they’ll make quite a long stay with us.”
Rob’s heart sank. He was a lad who always schooled himself to look on the brightest side of things. But no gleam of hope lightened the gloom of their present situation. Things could not have been much worse, he felt.
The meal, a sort of stew composed apparently of rabbits, partridges and other small game, was despatched and then Rob, who had been released from his bonds while he ate, was tied up once more.
“These fellows don’t think much of breaking the game laws,” he thought as he ruminated on the contents of the big iron pot from which their noon-day meal had been served. Then came another thought. If they so openly violated the laws, the country was surely a lonely one, and seldom, or never, visited. Indeed, the thick forest of hemlock and other coniferous trees that fringed the cliff summits, would seem to indicate that the spot was well chosen.
Jumbo was not confined. The gang seemed to esteem him as more or less harmless for, although a sharp watch was kept on him, he was not fettered. Once or twice he caught Rob’s eye with a knowing look. But he said nothing. One or another of the men kept too close and constant a watch for that. And so the hours wore on. Tied as Rob was, the small black flies and other winged mountain pests made life almost intolerable. With infinite pains the lad dragged himself to a spot of shade under a stunted alder bush. He lay here with something very like despair clutching coldly at his heart. The canoes had been anchored, with big stones attached to ropes, at some distance out in the little bay. Only one remained on shore, and by that Jim Dale kept an unrelaxing vigil.
Jim and Peter were talking in low voices. Rob overheard enough to know that their talk was of the old lawless days when the moonshine gang made the hidden cove their rendezvous.
“Those were the days,” Dale said with a regretful sigh, “money was plenty then. By the way, Pete, did you ever hear what became of Black Bart and the others after the revenues broke us up?”
“No, I never wanted to take a chance of inquiring,” rejoined Peter, puffing at a dirty corn cob. “I did hear, though, that they had resumed operations some place around here.”
“They did, eh? I suppose they figgered that lightning don’t never strike twice in the same place.”
“Just the same, they are taking a long chance. With revenues against you it’s all one sided—like the handle of a jug.”
“That’s so. But there’s good money in it, and Black Bart would risk a lot for that.”
The conversation was carried on in low tones. Rob, intent though he was, could not catch any more of it. But he pondered over what he had heard. If what Jim Dale and Peter had said was correct, a gang of moonshiners still made the mountains thereabouts their habitat.
“It’s a strange situation we’ve stumbled into,” thought the boy.
Then he fell to observing Stonington Hunt and his son, Freeman. The man and the boy were talking earnestly at some distance from Peter and Jim Dale. From their gestures and expressions Rob made out that the conversation was an important one. From the frequent glances which they cast in his direction he also divined that he himself, was, in all probability, the subject of it.
All at once Stonington Hunt arose and came toward him. Freeman followed him. They came straight up to Rob and stood over him.
“Well, Rob Blake,” sneered young Hunt, “I guess things are different to what they were the time you drove me out of Hampton and forced my father to profess all sorts of reformation.”
“I don’t know,” rejoined Rob coolly and contemptuously, “you seem to me to be very much the same sort of a chap you were then.”
The inference, and Rob’s unshaken manner, appeared to infuriate the youth.
“We’ve got you where we want you now,” he snarled, “it would serve you right if I took all the trouble you’ve caused us out upon your hide. You and that patrol of yours cost us our social position, then that Hopkins kid lost our sloop for us——”
“The sloop in which you meant to decamp with the major’s papers,” put in Rob in the same calm tones, “don’t try to assume any better position than that of a common thief, Freeman.”
With a quick snarl of rage the boy jumped on the helpless and bound boy. He brought his fist down on Rob’s face with all his force. Then he fastened his hands in Rob’s hair and tugged with all his might. But suddenly something happened. Something that startled young Hunt considerably.
Rob gave a quick twist and despite his bonds managed to half raise himself. In this position he gave the other lad such a terrific “butt” that Freeman was sent staggering backward, with a white face. Unable to regain his balance he presently fell flat on the sand. He scrambled to his feet and seized a big bit of timber, the limb of a hemlock that lay close at hand. He was advancing, brandishing this with the intention of annihilating Rob when Stonington Hunt, who had hitherto been an impassive observer, stepped between them.
“Here, here, what’s all this?” he snapped angrily. “This isn’t a fighting ring. Put down that stick, Freeman, and you, young Blake, listen to me.”
“I’m listening,” said Rob, in the same cold, impassive way that had so irritated Freeman.
“You want to regain your freedom and rejoin your friends, don’t you?” was the next question.
“If it can be done by honorable means—yes. But I doubt if you can employ such, after what I’ve seen of you.”
“Hard words won’t mend matters,” rejoined Hunt with a frown, “after all, I’ve as much right to this hidden treasure as anyone else—if I can get it.”
“Yes, if you can get it,” replied Rob with meaning emphasis, wondering much what could be coming next.
“Your liberty depends on my getting it,” resumed Hunt.
“My liberty?” echoed the boy, “how is that?”
“I want you to write a note to Major Dangerfield. He thinks a good deal of you, doesn’t he?”
“I hope so,” responded Rob, mightily curious to know what Hunt was driving at.
“He’s responsible, too, in a way, for your safety, isn’t he? I mean your parents rely on him to bring you back safe and sound?”
“I suppose so. But why don’t you come to the point. Tell me what it is you want.”
“Just this: You write to the major. I’ll see that the note is delivered. You must tell him to give my messenger the plan and map of the treasure’s hiding place. If he does so you will be returned safe and sound. So will the nigger and the canoes. We didn’t want that nigger anyhow. In the darkness we mistook him for the major.”
Rob could hardly repress a smile at the idea of the dignified major being confused with the ubiquitous Jumbo.
“Are you willing to write such a letter?”
“You mean am I willing to stake my safety against the major’s hopes of recovering his relative’s hidden fortune?”
“That’s about it—yes.”
Rob’s mind worked quickly. It might be dangerous to give a direct negative and yet he certainly would have refused to do as the rascal opposite to him suggested.
“I—I—Can you give me time to think it over?” he hesitated, assuming uncertainty in decision.
“Yes, I’ll give you a reasonable period. But mind, no shilly-shallying. Don’t entertain any idea of escape. You’ll be guarded as closely here as if you were in a stone-walled prison.”
“I know that,” said Rob, feeling an inward conviction that Hunt’s words were literally true. The cliff-enclosed cove was indeed a prison. Hunt turned away, followed by his son. The latter cast a malevolent look back at Rob as he went.
“My! His father must be proud of that lad,” thought Rob.
Hunt and his followers fell to playing cards. Rob was left to his reflections. Jumbo sat gloomily apart and yet in full view of the card players. After a while Rob’s thoughts reverted to the conversation he had overheard between Dale and Peter Bumpus. In this connection he suddenly bethought himself of something. Jim Dale had spoken of the revenue officers raiding the moonshiners’ plant. If that was the case, and the miscreants had all escaped, how did they go?
The revenue officers probably attacked the place from the lake side of the cove. This would have effectually shut off all hope of escape in that direction. The only conclusion left, to account for the freedom of the gang was a startling one.
The cove must have some secret entrance or exit. If such were the case it could only be by a passage or by steps cut in the seemingly solid rock. Rob’s heart began to beat a bit faster. There might be a chance of escape after all, if only he could discover the means of exit he was now certain must exist somewhere in the cove.
But a careful scrutiny failed to show any indications of such a device as he was looking for. The walls were bare and clean as cliffs of marble. Not more than two or three stunted conifers grew out of an occasional crevice. The enclosing walls would not have afforded footing to a fly.
“Guess I was wrong,” thought Rob to himself and lying back on the sand he closed his eyes the better to concentrate his thoughts. But what with the strain of the early hours and the warm, sultry atmosphere, the lad found his ideas wandering. Presently, without knowing it, he had dropped off into a sound slumber.
When he awoke it was with a start. The long shadows showed him that the day was far spent. All at once voices near at hand struck in upon his half awakened senses.
Rob heard a few words and then, with wildly beating pulses, he fell to simulating sleep with all his might. From what he had heard of the conversation he believed that a hope of escape lay in the words of the talkers.
It was Peter Bumpus and Jim Dale who were talking. From their first words Rob gathered that Stonington Hunt and his son had gone fishing, and that Jumbo, like himself, was asleep.
“You’re sure that kid is off good and sound, too?” asked Dale.
“Soon find out,” rejoined Bumpus.
Rob felt the man bend over him, his hot breath fanning his ear. It was a hard job not to open his eyes, but Rob came through with flying colors.
“He’s sound as a top,” decided Pete, “and old Hunt and the kid won’t be back for half an hour anyway. Now’s our time to see if the old rope ladder is still there.”
“It sure did us a good turn the night the revenues came,” said Jim Dale.
“Let’s see, it was over this way, wasn’t it? Right under that big hemlock on the top of the cliff?”
“That’s right.”
Rob heard them cross the sandy strip of beach. Luckily, he was lying with his face toward that side, and by half-opening his eyes could observe their movements without danger of being discovered.
They approached a clump of bushes and fumbled about in it for a brief time. Peter did most of the searching, for that was what it seemed to be, while Dale stood over him.
“Well?” demanded Dale at length, “is it there?”
“Is what there?” wondered Rob.
“It’s here, all right,” responded Peter Bumpus and in triumph he held up something which only by great straining of his eyes Rob was able to recognize as a strand of wire. It was so slender that if his attention had not been drawn to it he would never have seen it.
“I’d like to give it a yank and bring the rope ladder down,” said Dale.
“I wouldn’t mind a run in the old woods myself,” said Peter. He seemed half inclined to pull the wire, which Rob judged, though he could not distinguish it against the dull background of rock, must lead to the cliff summit. On that cliff summit the boy also assumed, from what he had heard, there must lie a rope ladder. The mystery of the escape of the rascals from the revenue officers was solved. They had mounted by the rope ladder on the first alarm and pulled it up after them. Rob could hardly help admiring the strategy that had conceived such a scheme.
Suddenly, while Peter Bumpus still hesitated, there came the sharp “splash” of a paddle.
“Here comes the boss,” warned Dale.
Instantly the two men strolled aimlessly across the beach, as if their minds were vacant and idle. Evidently then, Hunt was not aware of the existence of the rope ladder, and the two men had some strong object in wishing to hide it from him.
The two Hunts brought back several fish, perch and pickerel, which were cooked for supper. After that meal the men sat about and talked a while, and then preparations were made for bed. Jumbo was tied hand and foot, much as Rob was. But not content with these precautions, Dale was stationed to watch the captives. From what Rob could hear he was to be relieved by Bumpus at midnight.
That Dale took his duty seriously was evident by the fact that, beside him, as he crouched by the fire, he laid out a ready cocked rifle, and kept one eye always upon the two prisoners. To amuse himself during his vigil he drew out a big case knife and began whittling a bit of driftwood into the likeness of a ship—a reminder of his old seafaring days. Rob, watching the ruffian at this innocent employment while the firelight played on his rough features, caught himself wondering what sort of childhood such a man could have had, and how he came to drift into his evil courses.
“I’ll bet that the Boy Scout movement in big cities is keeping hundreds of lads out of mischief,” he thought, “and helping to make good men out of them. After all, or so dad says, most bad boys are only bad because they have no outlet but mischief for their high spirits.”
After a while, Dale finished his carving. Then he darted a cautious look about him.
“Wonder if any of that old moonshine is still in the hiding place?” he muttered.
For a while he remained still. Then he once more cast a scrutinizing look around him. Rob interpreted this as a meaning that Dale was anxious to see if everything was quiet. The boy lay still and silent and Dale evidently assumed he was asleep. After a careful inspection of the spot where the others slumbered, the fellow cautiously made for the base of the cliff near the clump of bushes where he and Bumpus had investigated the wire that afternoon. Reaching toward a stone he pulled it aside, and thrust his arm into a recess which was suddenly revealed. When he drew his hand out it clasped a demijohn. The recess was the hiding place formerly used by the moonshiners to conceal their product.
With a swift glance about, to make sure he was not observed, Dale raised the demijohn to his lips. It stayed there a long time. He set it down and looked about him furtively once more. Then he raised the jug again and took another long swig of the poisonous stuff. Rob, through lowered lids, watched him with a shudder of disgust.
When Dale finally thrust back the jug into its hiding place and returned to the firelight, his step was unsteady and his eyes had a strange, glassy light in them. He sank down on the log which served him as a seat, and once more drew out his knife. His intention, apparently, was to resume his whittling. But after a few unsteady strokes at the bit of wood he had selected, he gave over the attempt.
His head lolled limply forward and the corners of his mouth drooped. One by one his fingers relaxed their grip on the knife, and, resting his head on his hands, he allowed himself to sink into oblivion.
Instantly the Boy Scout’s faculties were alert and at work. The firelight played temptingly on the knife the liquor-stupefied man had dropped. Very cautiously the fettered Rob rolled over upon his stomach and, slowly as a creeping snail, began a tedious progress toward the weapon. How he blessed the days he had spent practicing such stealthy means of advance. It was the old scouting crawl of the Indians he used. A means of approach as silent as that of a marauding weasel.
It was ticklish, scalp-tightening work, though. But Rob did not dare to hurry it. The rattle of a misplaced stone, the snap of a twig, might spoil all. To add to the peril at any moment, either the drowsy man by the fire, or one of the sleeping men beyond, might awaken.
But at last, without a single accident, Rob reached the proximity of the precious knife. It was a heavy weapon and lay on the rock-strewn ground with its blade upward. The boy noted this with a quick gulp of thankfulness. For, fettered as he was, he could not have manipulated it till he got his hands free.
With infinite caution he rolled his body so that his wrists were close to the keen blade. Then he began sawing at the ropes, rubbing them back and forth against the blade. At length one of the strands parted. Then another was severed, and, with a strong jerk, Rob tore loose the rest. Then, cautiously picking up the knife in his freed hand, he slashed his leg-bonds. In less time than it takes to tell it he was free.
His next task was to liberate Jumbo. And then——
Rob had allowed his thoughts to dwell on the daring possibility of recovering the canoes and paddling away with them. But on second thoughts he deemed this too risky. Instead he determined to trust to the rope ladder. It had flashed across his mind in this connection, that the strands of the ladder might be too weak to support his weight, or the much greater avoirdupois of Jumbo. But the lad felt that they must risk it.
Jumbo very nearly ruined everything. For, as Rob bent over him, he awakened with a start.
“Oh, fo’ de lan’s sake, massa, don’ you go to confustigate dis yar——”
But in a flash Rob had clapped his hand over the garrulous black’s capacious mouth. Jumbo’s first fear that his last hour had come was speedily relieved as he saw who it was.
Rob, after a quick look about, assured himself that Jumbo’s words had not aroused any of the sleepers. Then, taking his hand from the negro’s lips, he quickly slashed his bonds. In another instant Jumbo, too, was at liberty.
“Wha’ you go fo’ ter do now, Marse Blake?” he whispered.
“Hush! Not a word. Follow me,” breathed the boy.
“Dis suttingly am a pawtuckitus state of affairs,” muttered the black, “don’ see no mo’ how we can git out uv this lilly place dan er fly kin git out of a mo’lasses bar’l.”
However, he followed Rob, who, on tip-toe, approached the clump of bushes where he knew the wire he had observed that afternoon lay hidden. With beating pulses he poked about in the scrub-growth till, suddenly, his fingers encountered the filament of metal. The most dangerous step of their enterprise still lay before him. What would happen when he pulled it? Would the ladder come down with a crash that would awaken their foes, or——
Rob lost no time in further indulging his nervous thoughts, however. He gave the wire a good hard tug. Simultaneously, from out of the blackness above them, something came snaking down. Rob dodged to avoid it.
He could have cried aloud with joy as, in the faint glow cast by the fire, he saw that, right in front of him were the lower rungs of a rope ladder. It was padded at the bottom so that its descent, abrupt as it had been, was almost noiseless. Rob noted, too, with inward satisfaction, that the ropes seemed strong and in good condition.
“Up with you, Jumbo,” he ordered in a tense, low whisper.
The black turned almost gray with apprehension.
“Ah got ter clim’ dat lilly ladder lak Massa Jacob in de Bibul?” he whimpered.
“You certainly have, or——”
Rob made an eloquent gesture toward the camp of Hunt and his gang. The hint conveyed proved effectual.
“Mah goodness, dis am suffin’ dis coon nebber thought he hab to do,” muttered Jumbo, “but all things comes to him who waits—so heah goes!”
He set his foot on the ladder and, rapidly ascending it, soon disappeared in the darkness above. As soon as the slackness of the appliance showed Rob that the negro was at the cliff summit, the boy prepared to follow him.
But as he set his foot on the lower rung the man by the fire awakened with a start. Before Rob, climbing like a squirrel, could mount three more steps he became aware that his prisoners were missing.
Snatching up his rifle he ran straight toward the rope ladder. The next instant Rob, with a hasty glance backward, saw that the weapon was aimed straight at him. His blood chilled as he recollected having heard Dale that afternoon boasting of his ability as “a dead shot.”
For only an instant did Rob remain motionless. Then, as if by instinct, he suddenly crouched. It was well he did so. A bullet sang above his head as he clung, swinging on his frail support, and flattened itself with an angry “ping!” against the rock wall above him.
The report brought the rest of the sleeping camp to its feet. In an instant voices rang out and hastily lighted lanterns flashed. Rob, taking advantage of even such a brief diversion, sprang upward. But with a roar of fury, Dale sprang to the foot of the ladder. Desperation gave Rob nimble feet. He literally leaped upward.
In his mind there was a dreadful fear. The ladder was hardly strong enough to bear two. By placing his weight on the lower part of it, it was Dale’s intention to bring him down to the ground. That in such an event he could escape with his life, seemed highly improbable.
But fast as he went, he felt the ladder quiver as Dale’s hold was laid upon it from below. At this critical instant a sudden diversion occurred. From right above Rob’s head, or so it seemed, a voice roared out through the night.
“Tak’ yo’ dirty paws off’n dat ladder, white man, or, by de powers, it’s de las’ time you use ’em!”
It was Jumbo’s voice. But Dale answered with a roar of defiance. He shook the ladder violently. Rob felt himself dashed with sickening force against the cliff-face. But all at once there was a warning shout. Something roared past his ears, just missing him.
“Haids below!” sung out Jumbo as he watched the huge rock he had dislodged go crashing downward.
It missed Dale by the fraction of an inch. But his narrow escape unnerved the fellow for an instant. In that molecule of time Rob gained the summit of the ladder, and Jumbo’s strong arms drew him up to safety beside him.
“Well done, Jumbo,” he exclaimed.
“Oh, dat wasn’ nuffin’,” modestly declared Jumbo, “if dat no-account trash hadn’t uv leggo I’d have flattened him out flatter’n dan a hoe cake. Yas, sah.”
“I guess you would, Jumbo. But there’s no time to lose. Come, we must be getting on.”
“One ting we do firs’ off wid alacrimoniousness, Marse Blake,” said Jumbo.
“What’s that?”
“Jes’ len’ me dat lilly knife you take frum dat pestiferous pussonage below an’ I shows yoh right quick.”
Rob had thrust the knife into his scout belt. He now withdrew it and handed it to the negro. With two swift slashes, Jumbo severed the top strands of the ladder. A crash and outcry from below followed. Rob, peeping over, saw that Dale, who had just begun to mount after them, was the victim. He was rolling over and over, entangled in the strands of the ladder, while Stonington Hunt stood over him in a perfect frenzy of rage.
“Now den, Marse Blake, ah reckin’ we done cook de goose of dem criminoligous folks,” snorted Jumbo as he gazed. “He! he! he! dey is sure having a mos’ fustilaginal time down dere.”
“I guess they’ll have plenty to think over for a time,” said Rob, rather grimly; “come, let’s set out. Have you any idea in which direction the camp lies?”
“No, sah. But I raickon if we des foiler de lake we kain’t go fur wrong.”
“We must go toward the south, then. See, there’s the Scout’s star, the north one. The outer stars in the bucket of the dipper point to it.”
“Wish ah had a dippah full ob watah. I’m po’ful thirsty,” grunted Jumbo.
“We’ll run across a stream before very long, no doubt,” said Rob.