CHAPTER XX.BRICK’S DEFENCE.
First of all, Raikes followed Sparwick’s trail to where it entered the woods. He plunged a few yards into the heavy undergrowth and timber. Then he retraced the entire distance backward, leaving a plain imprint with every step. Brick’s heart sank. He thought he knew what this proceeding meant.
The two men next removed their snowshoes, and made Brick do likewise. They put the three pairs under the luggage on the sled, and drew the straps as tight as possible. Raikes hoisted the heavy sled to his right shoulder. Then the start was made, in the following order: Raikes first, Brick in the middle, and Bogle bringing up the rear, whence he could watch every movement of the prisoner. The three followed the ledge of rocks to its very end, and stepped off into the swift, open channel of the brook. The water was shallow, but fearfully cold. It quickly penetrated Brick’s boots and made him shiver. Raikes and Bogle did not seem to mind it. The latter turned and looked back.
“Well done,” he muttered. “That would almost throw a bloodhound off the trail.”
“There’s better luck in store for us,” replied Raikes. “We’ll have snow before morning.”
“I believe it,” assented Bogle, glancing up at the murky sky. “Go ahead. Don’t you plant your feet anywhere but in the water, youngster.”
Raikes led the way down the center of the brook, between deep and gloomy woods. The chilling journey lasted for more than a mile. The water sometimes took the waders almost to their knees. Brick was heartily glad when the open lake came in sight. It was frozen hard against the shore.
The party pushed rapidly up the lake, evidently with a fixed destination in view. Here and there were great drifts of snow, but, for the most part, the ice was bare. The travelers left no trace behind them. Raikes bore the heavy sled as though it was a trifling burden.
About midafternoon, when the head of the lake was several miles distant, a lively snowgust came on. Raikes and Bogle held a short conversation.
Then they headed due east, across the lake. Before they tramped a mile the snow had turned to a steady fall of fine flakes. It quickly covered the ice to the depth of an inch. Raikes lowered the sled and trailed it behind him.
It was quite dark when the eastern shore of Chesumcook was reached—so dark that the forest was only a blurred blot against the night.
The snow was several inches deep, and still falling in a white, stealthy cloud. There was scarcely enough wind to stir the tops of the pine trees.
Brick had hoped that his captors would pitch camphere. He was hungry and tired, and his frosted feet ached with every step.
However, he was destined to disappointment. No doubt Raikes and Bogle were equally disposed to rest, but, nevertheless, they lit a lantern and plunged into the forest.
As before, Raikes took the lead, while Bogle followed on Brick’s heels. All wore their snowshoes again, and they traveled at a fair rate of speed.
Brick speedily lost all track of his bearings. For nearly two hours he followed the misty gleam of Raikes’ lantern—over hills, across open meadows, and through narrow ravines. The snow grew deeper and deeper, and at times it fairly blinded him. Then, without knowing how or when it began, he found himself threading the mazy windings of a vast, frozen marsh.
The path was a tortuous one. It led over rocks, and fallen trees, and patches of tangled grass. At times it slipped under canopies of interlaced bushes. Here it was necessary to stoop very low.
A whole hour was spent in traversing this gloomy and boundless place. Brick began to believe that it had no end.
“A little faster, youngster,” urged Bogle, in a gruff voice. “We don’t want to spend the night out of doors. A lovely hiding-place, this, ain’t it? An army could never find us here. If we should turn you loose now, you would wander about till you died of starvation. You could never get out.”
Brick shuddered. He tried hard to quicken his pace.Raikes was moving rapidly, and in a manner that betokened familiarity with the ground.
“It’s not far now,” he called back to Brick. “You’ll soon have supper and sleep.”
Five minutes later the tangle of the undergrowth and young timber ended abruptly on the edge of a small clearing. Here, faintly outlined against the driving snow, stood a low, flat-roofed log cabin.
Raikes grunted with satisfaction as he opened the door. Bogle pushed Brick inside, where the scene was in strong contrast to the outer storm.
The floor was planked. A pile of wood was stacked by the open fireplace. The furniture consisted of two benches and a table. One end of the room was spread with pine boughs, on top of which were blankets.
A blazing fire was quickly built. The sled yielded provisions in plenty, and from a small cupboard Raikes took dishes and cooking utensils.
A little later the three sat down to a tempting supper. The fact that he was a prisoner did not interfere with Brick’s appetite, and he ate heartily.
When the meal was over, the men prepared for bed. They made Brick lie down between them, and his left wrist was fastened to Bogle’s right by a pair of slender, steel bracelets.
Brick was too sleepy to mind this indignity. From the moment his head touched the pine boughs, he knew nothing until he woke, to find the light of day shining through the cabin’s one window.
The fire was roaring, and the table was set. Raikes was frying bacon and potatoes, and Bogle sat near by, smoking a pipe.
“Get up, youngster,” he called out, when he saw that Brick was awake. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Pretty good,” answered Brick.
He was puzzled to account for the ruffian’s affable manner.
Raikes now announced that breakfast was ready. He pulled a bench to the table, and the three sat down. Bogle was the last to finish. He rose and opened the door.
“Come here, youngster,” he said.
Brick obeyed. From the threshold the prospect was dreary and dismal. No snow was falling, but it lay deep on the bit of clearing. Overhead was the murky, gray sky; in front the tangled thickets of the marsh.
“I want to tell you where you are,” resumed Bogle. “This cabin is in the biggest and loneliest swamp in the State of Maine. Raikes and I built it two years ago. No one ever comes near the locality. The swamp is regarded as inaccessible. Your friends would not find you, if they searched for ten years. Even if you escaped, you could never get put of the swamp. You would lose yourself, and travel around in a circle.”
Brick did not doubt the truth of this. A lump rose in his throat as he turned away from the door. He could scarcely repress the tears. Raikes was just putting away the last of the dishes. He glanced meaningly at Bogle. The latter opened thecupboard, and brought out a bottle of ink, a pen, some sheets of paper, a pack of envelopes, and arranged these things on the table.
Brick wondered what was coming next. He felt more curiosity than fear. He did not have long to wait.
Bogle drew a packet of letters from his pocket and held them up. They bore foreign stamps and postmarks.
“Do you recognize these?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Brick, in an aggressive tone. “You stole them out of my coat on the night of the tenth of December.”
His face flushed with anger as he remembered all that happened on that occasion.
“No impudence,” growled Bogle. “I won’t have it. I’m showing you these letters in order that you may see the uselessness of telling us any lies. We know who you are and all about you. You are the son of John Larkins, the wealthy contractor of New York.”
“Well, I don’t deny it,” replied Brick. “What’s that to you?”
“You will find out presently,” said Bogle, with a mocking smile. “I want a little information first. These letters were written to you by your father. The last one is dated at Mentone on the twenty-fourth of November. Is he still there?”
“Yes.”
“And how long will he remain?”
Brick hesitated an instant.
“My parents intend to stay in the south of France untilspring,” he replied. “My mother’s health is poor. My father took her abroad to avoid cold weather.”
“And you were left at college in New York,” added Bogle, “in care of a lawyer, who acts as a sort of guardian. What brought you to Maine at this time of year?”
“I won’t answer that,” replied Brick, sullenly.
Bogle’s eyes flashed. He made a threatening move forward. But a glance from Raikes checked him.
“If the answer was of any importance, I’d soon find a way to open your lips,” he said, coolly. “Now sit down at that table and take the pen. You must write two letters—one to your father, the other to this lawyer, Frederick Glendale, whose address you know. I will dictate them. Do you understand?”
A light broke suddenly on Brick’s bewildered mind. He saw now why he had been brought to this lonely place. His blood fairly boiled with indignation. He faced Bogle with flashing eyes.
“You may keep me here for a lifetime,” he cried, angrily, “but I won’t write a line.”
CHAPTER XXI.PLUNGED UNDER GROUND.
For two reasons Jerry and Hamp stayed but a short time at their temporary camp by the Mallowgash.
In the first place, Hamp quickly recovered from the chilling effects of his bath, and refused to be considered an invalid any longer. In the second place, both lads felt a growing uneasiness concerning Brick. They had no tangible suspicions or fears. They were merely anxious to overtake him, since they were, in a measure, responsible for his safety.
Accordingly, in a little more than an hour after the parting, they were ready to start. They crossed the Mallowgash at the frozen spot, and easily picked up the trail. The two heavy sleds delayed them somewhat. On the whole, they did not travel quite so rapidly as the other party. As time slipped by, their uneasiness grew upon them. They had expected, ere this, to meet Brick coming back. They were alarmed, too, by the threatening aspect of the weather.
Finally they reached the clearing by the stream. Here the short trail of blood gave them a terrible fright. Their looks meant what their lips were afraid to utter—the dread word “murder.”
Then Jerry laughed.
“This is nonsense,” he said. “It’s nothing to be scared about, Hamp. One of the party fell on the snow and scraped his nose. Look! here’s where the crust is dented in.”
“That’s so,” replied Hamp, in a relieved tone. “Cracky! I was scared for a minute.”
“So was I,” admitted Jerry. “They must be having a long, hard chase. Still, they can’t be much farther ahead.”
“Let’s walk faster,” urged Hamp. “It’s going to snow soon.”
They turned to the right, barely glancing at the ledge of rocks and the brawling stream. They left the clearing and plunged into the scrub and timber in the direction of the lake.
They were moving too rapidly to notice that the imprint of but one pair of snowshoes was ahead of them. As they neared the lake, they struck a pitch of rising ground.
The boys dropped into single file. Hamp preceded, and Jerry followed with both sleds.
“I can see a bit of the lake through the trees,” said Hamp. “It’s not more than half a mile away. We ought to overtake the party between here and the shore.”
Just then he struck a slippery pitch of rock and snow, and began to feel his way very cautiously. Six feet below was a fringe of bushes that shut off further view.
Meanwhile Jerry had fallen a little behind. He suddenly observed how slim and indistinct was the trail. He paused at once, and the sleds backed up against his ankles.
He bent over and keenly scrutinized the impressions on the snow.
“Hold on, Hamp,” he cried. “Something wrong here. I see the marks of your snowshoes and of another pair. By cracky! we’ve blundered. There’s been only one man ahead of us.”
“How can that be?” exclaimed Hamp. “We didn’t see any marks branching off.”
He was startled by his companion’s assertion. He tried to stop, but, unluckily, one foot slipped. He came forcibly down on the snow-crust in a sitting posture.
With a yell of dismay he shot down the slope and plunged through the fringe of bushes. A brief glimpse showed what was below—a circular depression of glistening snow screwing downward like a funnel, until it ended in a jagged black hole of extreme narrowness. The same glimpse made clear to Hamp that some one had created the depression by breaking through the crust of snow and gliding into an underlying cavity of unknown depth. For a fraction of a second Hamp stuck on the brink. He clutched vainly at air and snow. Then he shot down the abyss, feet first, and vanished through the black fissure at the bottom!
Jerry heard his companion’s horrified cries. He knew that some catastrophe must have happened. He forgot all about his recent discovery, and plunged recklessly forward. The natural result was that the sleds banged him violently from the rear. Then came a dizzy drop through space, and a collision with something soft, that yelled lustily in Hamp’s familiar tones.
“I—I couldn’t help it,” grasped Jerry, as he rolled to one side.
A second later it was his turn to sing out. A rifle, a haunch of venison, and half-a-dozen tin dishes pelted him in quick succession on the head and shoulders. He looked up with blinking eyes. Then he understood what the avalanche meant.
Ten feet overhead was the gap through which he had fallen. Both sleds had stuck there, and blocked it so completely that only a slim crevice of light was visible. The straps on one of the sleds had broken, allowing part of the contents to fall through.
Jerry held his breath for an instant, expecting another avalanche. When nothing more fell, he recovered his presence of mind.
“That you, Hamp?” he whispered. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. I fell on a pile of snow.”
“Neither am I,” declared Jerry. “It was a lucky escape for both of us. I haven’t got a bruise.”
“No wonder,” replied Hamp, in an injured tone. “You landed right on top of me. I’m just getting my wind back.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Jerry, “but I couldn’t help it.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Only if I had known you were coming, I would have crawled out of the way. Where are we, anyhow?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Jerry replied. “It must be a cavern, Hamp. The entrance was on top, and it got snowed over in the big storm.”
“Some one broke through the crust before us,” said Hamp, “for I saw the marks as I was falling.”
“Then he’s in here now, whoever he is,” whispered Jerry, in a startled voice. “He couldn’t have reached the hole to get out.”
There was a moment of terrible silence. The boys huddled close together and shivered with fear. Their hearts beat loudly and rapidly.
“I don’t hear anything,” whispered Hamp. “Do you?”
“Not a sound,” replied Jerry. “Wait a second. I’ll settle the matter.”
He pulled out his metal box of matches and scraped one. As the light flared up, the lads glanced anxiously around them.
They saw at once that they were in an underground cavern. To right and left stretched a gloomy passage, ten feet wide. The sides and roof were of jagged, slimy rock, dripping with moisture.
Deep footsteps crossed the snow and led into the yawning blackness to the right. They were of recent origin, for the white imprint was visible in half-a-dozen places on the smooth, rocky floor.
“Do you see that?” Jerry whispered, hoarsely. “There is some person here, sure enough.”
“Who can it be?” said Hamp. “Perhaps it’s Brick.”
In a clear, distinct voice he called the missing lad’s name several times. But there was no reply. Jerry shook his head.
“It’s not Brick,” he muttered. “How would he getseparated from his companions? We were following only one trail toward the last, so this may be Sparwick.”
“Then why did Brick and those men give up the chase and branch off?” asked Hamp. “It’s too deep a mystery for me.”
“It is sort of puzzling,” admitted Jerry, “but we won’t bother about that now. Whoever it was that fell into the cavern, I believe he has found a way out by this time, and that’s the first thing we want to do.”
“I hate the idea of crawling through the dark,” muttered Hamp.
“The matches will last if we use them sparingly,” Jerry replied. “We’ve got to take this stuff with us, though. No; we’ll leave the venison behind. Here’s the rifle. Be careful, for it’s loaded.”
He gave Hamp the weapon and some of the dishes. The rest he took himself. When he picked up the tin coffeepot, it rattled. He lifted the lid, and found two sperm candles.
“Here’s luck,” he exclaimed. “How did they get here? We’re sure of light now.”
“Brick put them in the coffeepot this morning,” said Hamp. “He had them in his pocket, and didn’t want to carry them.”
“Brick ought to have a medal for that,” declared Jerry, as he lighted one of the candles. “Have we got everything? Yes; come on.”
They trampled over the snow and went cautiously and slowly along the gloomy passage. The yellow gleam of the candle danced ahead of them and threw grotesqueshadows on the slimy walls and roof. They advanced ten feet. The distance increased to twenty. As yet, not a speck of daylight could be seen.
Suddenly a rustling noise was heard. A low, angry growl followed instantly. Beyond the radius of candlelight the terrified boys saw a pair of fiery, snapping eyes. They stopped and turned half around.
“The rifle, quick!” cried Jerry.
He snatched it out of his companion’s hands and gave him the candle instead. But before Jerry could lift the hammer of the weapon a startling interruption came from an unexpected quarter.
CHAPTER XXII.AN UNEXPECTED ALLY.
A little in front of the lads, and to their left, a slab of rock jutted out from the side of the passage.
From behind this suddenly emerged a tall, gaunt figure. It was no less a personage than Kyle Sparwick.
No doubt Sparwick had also seen the snapping eyes, and it was this which had scared him from his hiding-place.
A low, savage growl rang through the cavern. Sparwick uttered a yell, and dashed forward. In his terror, he probably thought only of flight.
But the glare of the candle led him astray, and he collided blindly with Jerry. Both came to the rocky floor with a crash, and each imagined that the other had attacked him.
The two rolled over and over, locked in a tight embrace, and uttering hoarse cries. Jerry had dropped the rifle; nor could he reach for it, since his hands were needed for other purposes.
With one fist Sparwick pounded his antagonist on the face and breast. Jerry warded off the blows as well as he could, and tried to return them.
“Let me go!” he cried. “Help! help!”
“Let me go,” yelled Sparwick, in shrill tones. “There’s some sort of wild critter in this here place.”
Jerry did not understand what he said. There was a comical side to the struggle, for each was trying to break away, and each imagined that the other was striving to hold him.
Meanwhile, Hamp held the candle and looked on like a piece of statuary. In fact, he did not know what else to do.
“Put the candle down,” yelled Jerry. “Get the rifle and hit this fellow on the head.”
But before Hamp could make a single move toward the execution of this order, he saw something that made his eyes fairly bulge out of their sockets. Where the fiery eyes had been seen a moment before, now appeared a monstrous bear.
The creature was fat, and his short, black fur bristled with rage. He was evidently ravenously hungry, and came swinging down the passage, uttering growl after growl.
Just when bruin was within six feet of them, Jerry and Sparwick caught sight of him. Their yells of fright blended into one. Who broke loose first, it is impossible to say. They tumbled apart, and scrambled in hot haste to their feet. Sparwick slipped back against the wall, and the delay proved fatal.
The bear was right upon him, having risen to his hind legs. A single blow from one of the great paws toppled the unfortunate man over on hands and knees.
Jerry saw the disaster, made a frantic dash, and ran into Hamp’s arms. The latter dropped the candle, andit was extinguished as soon as it struck the floor, plunging the scene in utter darkness.
The first impulse of the terror-stricken lads was to get as far away as possible. But Sparwick’s shrill cries for help checked them. The panicky feeling fled, and they regained their courage and self-possession.
“Hold on!” cried Jerry. “We can’t leave the fellow to such a fate, even if he is a rascal.”
“That’s so,” replied Hamp. “Strike a match, quick!”
Jerry already had the metal box out of his pocket, and the words were barely spoken when the tiny flame of a match pierced the darkness.
Jerry spied the candle as quickly. He grabbed it, and lit the wick. Then the brighter light showed the boys a startling picture.
Ten feet distant stood the bear, still erect on his hind legs. He had his forepaws about Sparwick, and was straining him to his breast. The angry growls of the animal mingled with the shrill, pitiful cries of the man.
“Look, there’s the rifle!” exclaimed Hamp.
It lay two or three feet this side of the bear.
“I see it,” cried Jerry. “Here, take the candle.”
Then, by a swift and clever dash, he captured the weapon and retreated a few paces. He hesitated only long enough to pull back the hammer. Springing forward again, he fearlessly pressed the muzzle of the rifle against the bear’s head, and pulled the trigger.
A frightful report followed. The whole cavern seemed to shake. Flakes of stone and dirt fell from the roof and walls. The boys were dazed and deafened by the sound.The candle was extinguished, and by the time Jerry struck a match and relit it, the powder smoke had lifted.
The bear lay motionless on his back. Sparwick was crawling toward the lads on hands and knees. He stopped, and sat up against the wall of the cavern. His face was deathly pale, and a wheezy, gasping sound came from his lips.
Jerry first satisfied himself that the bear was dead. Then he turned to his former enemy.
“Are you hurt badly?” he asked.
“I reckon not,” replied Sparwick, with a painful effort. “I was purty well squeezed, but I’m gettin’ my breath back now. The critter hit me a lick here, but it ain’t no account.”
He pointed to his left shoulder, from which the coat and shirt had been partially torn away.
“I gave you up for dead,” said Jerry. “It was a close shave.”
“Close ain’t no word for it,” declared Sparwick. “You saved my life, young feller, an’ I ain’t the man to furget it. Words ain’t much in my line, or I might say I was sorry for certain things. Howsomever, here’s what I took from that pardner of your’n.”
He produced the watch and pocketbook, and handed them to the boys.
“Yes; they’re Brick’s,” said Jerry. “But didn’t you see anything of him yourself? He started after you this morning with two men. Hamp and I followed a couple of hours later. Somehow or other we lost their tracks, and got onto yours.”
“Yes; I seen them all,” replied Sparwick, in a peculiar tone. “Your pardner is in a bad way.”
“What do you mean?” cried Hamp and Jerry, in one breath.
Sparwick hesitated an instant to get his wind. Then he related, just as the reader already knows it, the assault on Brick, and the lad’s subsequent abduction.
“How I come ter see it was this way,” he explained, in conclusion. “I traveled purty fast arter leavin’ the Mallowgash, and when I reached that clearing back yonder, I was nearly done out. So I dropped down in the timber an’ bushes for a rest. I hadn’t been there more’n half an hour when the two men an’ the lad come along. Then happened what I just finished tellin’ you. The affair was none of my business, and I couldn’t a-helped the young fellow any if I’d wanted to. I struck back in this direction, an’ first thing I knowed, I broke through the crust, an’ found myself under ground. I was huntin’ the way out when you fellers tumbled in.”
The effect of Sparwick’s story upon Jerry and Hamp may be better imagined than described.
“I thought there was something wrong with those men,” exclaimed Hamp, wrathfully. “They’ve been dogging us ever since we came into the woods.”
“But why did they carry Brick off with them after they had all his money?” asked Jerry. “That’s the strange part of the affair.”
“It beats me, too,” admitted Sparwick. “They had his money, sure enough, fur I seen them countin’ it over.Mebbe they took him along for their own safety, an’ mebbe there’s a worse reason——”
“You don’t think they would kill him?” interrupted Jerry, quickly.
Sparwick looked grave.
“No; I wouldn’t like to say that,” he replied. “But them fellers are bad men, an’ there’s no tellin’ what they might do.”
“You know them?” asked Hamp, in surprise.
“Yes; this many a year. But I wanter hear this whole yarn afore I kin give any opinion.”
Accordingly, Jerry and Hamp related what little there was to tell. Brick’s abduction threw light on some things that had been mysteries before. It was Jerry’s keen wit that identified Joe Bogle with the missionary on the train. Sparwick took the same view of the matter.
“Yes,” he admitted, “I reckon Bogle is the party that tried to rob your friend at Bangor that night. Knowin’ the lad had money, he an’ Raikes planned to follow you chaps into the woods. As I said before, I know the men well. Bogle and Raikes ain’t their right names, for they have a heap of others. But we’ll call ’em that for the present.”
Brick’s abduction was discussed for half an hour longer, but neither Sparwick nor the boys could hit upon a plausible solution.
“Can’t we get out of this place and follow the rascals?” suggested Jerry. “There are three of us, and we have plenty of arms and ammunition.”
“If we do, we’ve got to hurry,” declared Hamp. “They’ve got a big start on us.”
“Look here,” exclaimed Sparwick. “You say this lad has a rich father in New York?”
“Yes,” replied Jerry.
“And the old man would likely fork over handsome if I was to get his son out of a tight place?”
“I suppose he would,” Jerry answered. “If we get all that money back, I’m sure Brick will give you a big reward himself.”
“Well, I’ll do my best,” declared Sparwick, with sudden energy. “I ain’t much on the fight, but I’m purty good on strategy. And that’s how we’ll tackle these fellows. I have an idea where they’ll strike for. If you lads say the word, I’ll lead you right to the spot.”
CHAPTER XXIII.BACK TO FREEDOM.
It is needless to say that Hamp and Jerry accepted Kyle Sparwick’s offer with ill-concealed eagerness. That it was prompted solely by greed made no difference to them under the circumstances.
They felt that Brick must be rescued at any cost.
Sparwick bound the boys by a solemn agreement to do all in their power to procure for him a reward of five hundred dollars. They were staggered by the munificence of the sum, but they did not dispute it. Sparwick claimed the contents of the pocketbook as part payment in advance. He allowed Jerry to take possession of the watch.
The affair was settled without delay, and then they turned their attention to getting out of the cavern.
They regarded this as an easy matter, but a few minutes sufficed to show them that they were in a very ugly fix.
They first explored the passage beyond the dead bear. It terminated thirty feet distant in a hard wall of rock. Then they investigated the other end of the cavern with much the same results. It dwindled to a tiny crevice, through which a weasel could hardly have squirmed.
“It looks ugly,” muttered Sparwick, scratching his head. “The bear must a-had some way to get in. He never dropped ten feet through that hole.”
This was sound logic, as the boys well knew. Hamp suggested another search. Accordingly the cavern was gone over with extra care and patience.
The result was the same. No visible outlet existed, save the tiny hole overhead. Here the prisoners stopped and looked up. They quickly made a disheartening discovery. It was snowing fast outside. The white flakes were dropping through the dingy and trampled mass of crust.
“The trail of those rascals will all be covered up,” exclaimed Jerry, dolefully.
“It is out of sight by this time,” replied Sparwick. “But that won’t matter much. I can guess purty well where them fellars are going. I ain’t denyin’ that time is vallyble, though. There ought to be a way to climb out of here.”
“One of us might get on your shoulders,” suggested Hamp.
“No use,” Sparwick replied. “There ain’t nothin’ to ketch hold of but a rim of snow. It’s purty hard, but it wouldn’t bear the weight of one of you chaps.”
This was manifestly true. Various other plans were discussed, and abandoned as impossible.
Soon night came on, and the pale gray light faded away from the crevice. The boys and their companion were now face to face with a dreadful and terrifying fact. They were hopelessly entombed underground. Unless some rescuer should chance that way—and there was slight hope of this—they were doomed to certain death.
The disaster affected them differently. Sparwick fell into a dull, apathetic mood, from which he would rouse at times to wring his hands and groan. The man was plainly a coward at heart.
Outwardly, Jerry and Hamp made a braver show of courage. Perhaps they didn’t realize how black was the prospect. That they still clung to a ray of hope was shown by their actions. Again and again they traversed the entire length of the cavern, vainly searching for an outlet that had no existence.
As the night advanced, they suffered from hunger and cold. Only ten feet above them were the two sheds, laden with everything needful. The possession of these would mean, at the least, the power to endure a long siege of imprisonment.
An idea flashed into Jerry’s mind. He brought the rifle, and reached up with it, standing on tiptoe. He was not tall enough, so he gave the weapon to Sparwick. The latter was barely able to poke the sleds, but he could not budge them an inch. They were evidently wedged tightly across the hole. Their great weight held them there as though in a vise.
Sparwick dashed the weapon from him.
“It’s no use,” he cried. “I might as well try to move a mountain. A year’s poking won’t bring them sleds down.”
This ended the hopes of warmth and food. Death bystarvation now stared the captives in the face. A little later, the candle burned to the very bottom and went out. The remaining one was too precious to light. Sparwick crawled over against the wall. Jerry and Hamp followed him. There they spent the night, huddled close to one another for warmth.
The hours of darkness seemed like so many weeks. At last the pallid light of dawn appeared overhead. Another day had begun its course.
The day wore on with protracted suffering and monotony. Long after it seemed that night was surely due, the gray streak of light continued to quiver in the crevice.
At length Jerry sprang fiercely up and lit the precious candle. Lured on by a hope that was born of despair, he staggered up and down the cavern. He stared at the slimy walls and roof. From very weakness he reeled against them time and again. Perhaps his wits were hunger-sharpened, as he was more alert than usual. At all events, he discovered something that had previously eluded him.
On the right-hand wall of the cave, close to the dead bear, was a sort of rude path. It sloped up the rock by crevices and little ledges and projecting knobs.
Jerry held the candle as far overhead as possible. The light shone into a narrow, black recess under the roof. He shouted with all his might, again and again, till the cavern rang with the echoes.
Hamp came in haste to the spot, and close behind staggered Sparwick. They wonderingly demanded of Jerrywhat he meant. Possibly they believed, at first, that suffering had turned his brain.
Jerry pointed out the path and the crevice above it. Then they understood.
“It is where the bear entered,” exclaimed Sparwick. “Look, here’s proof enough.”
He gathered from one of the crevices several stiff, black hairs.
Jerry had already commenced the ascent. He held the candle tightly in one hand as he scaled the rugged face of the rock. Hope mastered weakness. He did not slip or fall.
His companions were close behind him when he gained the top. Here was a tortuous passage, three or four feet broad, leading off at right angles from the main cavern. The little party followed it eagerly.
For half-a-dozen yards it remained level. Then it dropped at a steep angle for almost an equal distance, meanwhile growing more and more narrow. Ah! here was the termination at last—not a hopeless wall of rock, but a mass of soft, powdery snow. This was a sure promise of deliverance. What could snow mean but that the outer world was close at hand?
“We are saved!” cried Jerry, as he placed the candle firmly on the floor of the passage.
“Yes, saved!” echoed Hamp, in a broken, husky voice.
“Derned if we ain’t,” declared Sparwick. “Dig, youngsters; dig.”
He dropped on his hands and knees, and started in.
The boys helped him from each side. They tore furiously at the soft snow, crushing it down as they advanced.
The tunnel grew deeper and deeper.
Suddenly, the light crust overhead broke of its own weight. All sprang erect, threshing out with their arms. They found themselves in the open air, and facing a level stretch of pine forest.
Behind them was the rugged hillside, under which lay the cavern. They were simply speechless with the joy of that first moment of freedom. They inhaled long, deep breaths of the frosty air. Twilight was just falling. It was not yet so dark but that a glimpse could be had through the trees of the misty, distant surface of Chesumcook Lake.
But hunger and cold were quick to assert their sway.
“We must get the sleds!” exclaimed Hamp. “That’s the first thing.”
“An’ we’ll have ter spend another night in the cavern,” added Sparwick. “We sart’nly ain’t fit to travel, even if we wanted to push on through the darkness.”
This was too self-evident for denial. The boys regretted the fact, since every hour of delay seemed to lessen the chances of saving Brick from the unknown fate that threatened him.
CHAPTER XXIV.A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.
It is time to take the reader back to the lonely cabin in the swamp.
Brick’s daring defiance of his captors fairly petrified them with astonishment and consternation. There was an ill-concealed twinkle of admiration in Raikes’ eyes. Bogle’s expression indicated only savage anger.
“You won’t write a line, eh?” snarled Bogle, with suppressed fury.
“No, I won’t,” repeated Brick. His voice was a trifle hoarse, but resolute. “I know what you’re after, but you shan’t succeed. You’ve robbed me of enough money as it is. I won’t help you to get any more out of my father——”
The words were cut suddenly short, for Bogle had fastened on the lad’s throat with the ferocity of a bloodhound. He shook him to and fro, dragged him half across the room, and then pitched him roughly on the bed.
Brick staggered to his feet. His face was purple, and he gasped painfully for breath. He glanced around him, but every avenue of escape was barred.
“Have you had enough?” demanded Bogle. “Are you ready to write now?”
“No,” came hoarsely from Brick’s lips.
The brutal treatment had only made him more dogged and determined.
With a savage exclamation, Bogle sprang forward. But before he could reach the lad, Raikes slipped between the two.
“Hold on, Joe,” he pleaded. “You’re going about it the wrong way. Violence won’t do any good. Try persuasion.”
“Persuasion be hanged,” growled Bogle. “I’ll bring the obstinate young fool to terms mighty quick. Stand aside, Silas.”
But Raikes did not move. He held his ground, and kept his angry companion at arm’s length.
“Better take my advice, lad,” he said, turning to Brick. “I’m peaceably inclined, and I don’t want to see you hurt. You’ve got to come to terms some time, and why not now? It’s not likely that we would let you slip through our fingers after going to all this trouble. We’re playing for high stakes, and we intend to win. It’s not much we ask of you. And as for your father—why, ten thousand dollars is only a drop in the bucket to him. He will gladly pay double that amount to save your life.”
“To save my life?” questioned Brick; and the pallor on his face deepened a little.
“That’s just it,” resumed Raikes in a coldly stern voice. “If you refuse to write the letters, you will never leave this cabin alive.”
“A bullet through your head, and a grave in theswamp,” added Bogle. “That’s what you may expect.”
“You would murder me?” cried Brick.
“Yes; if our plans failed,” was Raikes’ calm reply. “It would be necessary for our own safety. But you don’t intend to drive us to that, I know. Come; be sensible. There are the writing materials on the table. Put the matter through without delay, and you will get your freedom in two or three weeks.”
Brick’s face was deathly pale, but there was a resolute gleam in his eyes.
“You won’t dare to kill me,” he replied. “You would surely hang for it. My friends will hunt every place for me, and they will get the loggers to help them. If you let me go, I’ll promise not to say anything about the affair. And you may keep all that money.”
Raikes laughed contemptuously.
“You are a bigger fool than I took you for,” he said. “This cabin is as safe from detection as though it was in the center of Africa. We’re not worried about your friends. Once more, are you going to write those letters?”
Brick was deceived by the pacific tone and words. He concluded that his threat had made a wholesome impression.
“No, I’m not,” he replied, with an obstinate shake of the head.
“But you will,” thundered Bogle. “I’ll show you who is master.”
He pushed Raikes aside and knocked Brick to the floor by a heavy blow. Swearing violently, he lifted him by the hair, and dragged him over to the table. He forced him down on the bench, and pointed to the pen and ink.
“Now will you write?” he cried. “I’ll give you one minute to obey.”
Brick yelled loudly for help. He kicked and fought with all his might. In the scuffle the bench was overturned, and both landed on the floor. Brick jerked loose from his enemy, and rolled a few feet to one side. He sprang up, enraged and desperate. Bogle, too, was on his feet. Murder flashed from his eyes as he rushed at the lad.
Brick met the attack by a heavy blow of his fist. The ruffian staggered. He uttered a snarling cry. He lifted one hand to stanch the blood that flowed from his nose. Brick took advantage of this brief respite. He dodged cleverly by Raikes, who tried to stop him, and gained the farthest corner of the room. A rifle rested on two hooks above his head.
Just as he got possession of the weapon, Bogle dashed at him with a cry of fury. The ruffian was half insane. He snatched the weapon, and lifted it with both hands for a blow that would surely have split Brick’s skull open.
But just in the nick of time Raikes gained the spot and seized his comrade by the collar. He jerked him back so forcibly and quickly that the heavy stock of the riflemissed the lad by a hair’s breadth, and crashed to the floor.
“Do you want to ruin everything?” he demanded, hotly. “I saved you from murder.”
“You won’t prevent it this time,” cried Bogle.
He tore loose from Raikes, and pulled the hammer of the rifle back. He took hasty aim at Brick, who gave himself up for dead. Then Raikes snatched the barrel of the weapon, and knocked it upward. The two men struggled for its possession, swaying backward and forward. Raikes was comparatively cool. Bogle was insane with passion. The latter slipped and came to his knees, dragging Raikes after him.
“Let go!” he cried, with a violent oath.
“No,” refused Raikes. “You shan’t murder the lad. You don’t know what you are doing, Joe.”
Snap! Bang! The weapon had gone off. Raikes’ nerveless fingers let go of the barrel. Without a cry, he toppled over on his side. When the smoke cleared, a few seconds later, his white face stared up at the roof, and from his forehead trickled a little stream of blood.
Brick looked on, mute with horror. The sad disaster instantly sobered Bogle. He dropped the rifle, and staggered to his feet. Then he bent over his companion, and rubbed the white, still face.
“Silas! Silas!” he called, hoarsely.
There was no movement or reply. Bogle groaned aloud, and covered his face with his hands.
It was then that the thought of escape flashed intoBrick’s mind. The odds were against him, but anything was preferable to staying here at the ruffian’s mercy.
Snatching up the rifle, he sped across the floor. He reached the door, and flung it open. A hoarse cry rang in his ears as he leaped across the threshold. He ran on without even a backward glance.
“Stop! Stop, or I’ll kill you!”
Bogle’s voice was husky with anger. His heavy steps came clattering in pursuit.
Brick was now across the clearing. He plunged into the tangled thickets of the swamp. He strained every muscle to escape. His heart beat high with hope.
For five minutes he twisted and dodged in every direction, planning thus to throw his enemy off the track. The fresh snow offered little resistance, and the older crust underneath easily bore his weight. Finally he stopped to listen. To his dismay, he heard a snapping and threshing of dry bushes not far behind him.
“What a fool I am!” he muttered. “I forget that every step I take can be traced. It’s a question of speed now—nothing else will save me.”
So he dashed on at a striding gait, paying scant heed to brambles or thickets or obstructing rocks. The rifle swung lightly in one hand. He almost forgot that he had it.
Nearer and nearer came Bogle, noisily threshing the undergrowth. In vain Brick made desperate spurts. In vain he twisted to right and left. He knew that he must soon be overtaken. He shuddered to think of what would happen then. He need hope for no mercy. Strengthbegan to fail him. There was a throbbing pain between his eyes.
Suddenly he came to a fallen tree, with a thick copse of bushes behind it. He tried to mount the obstacle, but slipped back. Before he could make a second attempt, Bogle was at his heels.
“I’ve got you!” he cried. “Your time has come.”
Brick wheeled around like a panther at bay. He cocked the rifle, and pointed it at the ruffian.
“Stop!” he shouted. “I’ll shoot you if you come closer.”
“The gun’s empty, you fool!” exclaimed Bogle, with a mocking laugh.
He came on, fearlessly.
Brick thought the scoundrel was lying. In desperation he pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with a dull snap.
But Brick was determined to make the most of his freedom. He eluded Bogle’s grasp and sprang over the tree, still holding the useless rifle. He plunged through the copse of bushes, and saw before him a strip of level, open ground, on which rested a thin covering of slushy snow. He went across in a dozen leaps, though more than once he sank above his ankles in what felt like soft mud. As he reached the bushes on the other side, he heard a shrill yell of terror behind him.