No sooner had the dessert dishes been cleared away than the space in front of the blackened fireplace was transformed into a stage. Benches were ranged in rows for the seating of the camper audience, and a makeshift curtain of bed-sheets strung on a wire was hung across that end of the lodge. Darkness had just fallen when a boisterous crowd of leaders and boys took their seats, awaiting the drawing of the curtain on the opening act, announced by Sax McNulty, master of ceremonies, as “Captain Colby’s Army,” a Tent Fifteen Feature Production.
Joey Fellowes, who with his brother Ted made up the Lenape bugle corps, sounded Reveille on his muted instrument. The curtains parted to reveal a morning scene in Tent Fifteen. A great fuss was made by Ollie Steffins, dressed in a scout uniform with many medals and much gold braid, who in the person of Mr. Colby himself, went about getting the snoring sleepers to waken for morning drill. The drowsy boys were finally put on their feet and each armed with a broom-stick gun, with which they went through a series of clumsy maneuvers, knocking each other over the head, facing the wrong way, and otherwise tangling themselves in a travesty of a squad of rookies at drill. The concluding evolution brought them into line facing the audience, singing off key their rallying song:
“We are Mr. Colby’s army,Mr. Colby’s army we,We cannot shoot, we won’t salute,What earthly good are we?”
“We are Mr. Colby’s army,
Mr. Colby’s army we,
We cannot shoot, we won’t salute,
What earthly good are we?”
The curtains closed amid cheers, boos, and stamping of feet, during which Mr. Colby sat with a self-conscious smile on his disciplinarian’s face.
The acts followed swiftly after that. Tent Twelve put on a pirate play, Tent Three showed to advantage in a lady-like game of basketball, in which each side begged the other to kindly accept the ball on pain of being slapped on the wrist. Tent Four gave a ventriloquist act, with Peanut Westover as the talking dummy.
“The Mysterious Mandarin Magician,” with an all-star cast from Tents Eight and Ten, was the next to the last number on the evening’s program. At the parting of the curtain, Wild Willie Sanders in a high, battered black silk hat, wearing the curling mustache of a circus ringmaster, pointed out the main attraction to a gaping crowd of boys from the participating tents, dressed in wild garbs of every description. “Laydeez and gen-tul-men! TheoneandonlyChinese magician, brought at great expense from the Flowery Kingdom to mystify you to-night!” Chink Towner, his naturally oriental cast of countenance exaggerated by a line of grease-paint above each slanting eye, and dressed in a pair of colorful silk pajamas borrowed from Councilor Lane, sat cross-legged above the crowd on a blanket-draped table, his features masked in Chinese calm. “Step right up, laydeez and gen-tul-men, and see theoneandonly!”
Fat Crampton, tittering sweetly, walked by, dressed as a beautiful damsel in a skirt fashioned from Howard Chisel’s spare kitchen apron. The Mysterious Mandarin descended from his throne and expertly drew half-dollars from the hat, sleeve, and nose of the “lady.” He then gave an exhibition of sleight-of-hand, at which he was an adept of no mean skill—making a collection of red balls appear and disappear between his nimble fingers, shaking a flying pack of cards from his fan, collecting the cards in a neat pile and drawing forth at one flip the card desired by any of the nondescript crowd about him.
When he returned to his elevated throne once more, Wild Willie announced that the Mandarin would now display the powers of his X-ray eye. Chink turned his back to the audience, and Happy Face Frayne, one of the judges who would later award the prizes for the best performance of the night, adjusted a bandage over the magician’s eyes to make sure there was no deception. Jake Utway now walked out into the ranks of the audience, and touched a sweater worn by one of the listeners.
“What is the color of the object I am touching, Mandarin?” he called out.
“Blue,” answered the blindfolded Chink promptly.
“Correct. Now what color am I touching?” Jake held up Soapy Mullins’ neckerchief.
“Orange.”
“And now?”
“White.”
“Correct,” answered Jake, putting Slim Yerkes’ sailor hat back on the astonished boy’s head. All about him were faces wonder-stricken at the accuracy of the magician’s responses. Jake, however, was not astonished, for he was in on the secret. The series of colors had been arranged with Chink ahead of time, and all Jake had to do was to find and point to an object of the required hue. “And now, what is the color of the thing I’m pointing at?” He held a finger to his damaged left eye.
“Rainbow!”
A hearty laugh arose, for Jake’s “shiner” had indeed developed the color of a sunset, and was by now one of the sights of the camp.
“Here—I bet you my life I can do that, too!” broke in Spaghetti Megaro of Tent Eight, now assuming his role in the show.
“All right,” agreed Jake, returning to the stage.
From his capacious bathrobe, Spaghetti drew forth a spreading assortment of vegetables. “Now, Mandarin,” he said loudly, “I’m going to see if you cheat me, huh? Tell me quick—what color is this spinach?”
“Green.”
“Well, what color is this lemon?”
“Yellow.”
“Right again. Now, I ask you, what color is this orange?” The Italian boy held the fruit high in the air.
“Orange.”
“Plenty smart, all right.” Spaghetti shook his head and began eating the orange. “No can foola da majish’!”
This bit of comedy was greeted with high amusement by the audience. Again Wild Willie stepped forward.
“Laydeez and gen-tul-men, the Mysterious Magician will end his exhibition with a death-defying display of his great powers. Never before has this breath-taking miracle been performed on any stage! The Mandarin will make a person vanish, and then make him appear again somewhere else!”
These words were Jake’s cue to move again. He glanced quickly overhead, and made sure that Jerry was in his place, ready for the disappearing act that would give a climax to their stunts. He was rewarded by a nod from Jerry, who sat perched on the rafters high above the floor of the lodge and the rows of watchers in the camp audience. This was Chink’s great idea—a disappearing act in which the twins would take part. Jake, dressed in his camp uniform, would be selected from the crowd to enter a large packing-box on the stage, and at Chink’s command, a flashlight would be thrown aloft, and Jerry dressed in a like costume, would swing down from his high position and drop to the stage and there, his hidden twin’s exact counterpart, would receive the applause due to this miraculous reappearance.
“Who wishes to disappear into thin air, laydeez and gen-tul-men?” cried out Wild Willie.
A chorus of voices rose on the stage, Jake’s among them. “I do!” “Me!” “No, take me!”
“You’ll do.” Wild Willie, according to plan, pointed out Jake, who stepped forward. “You will now enter this large chest. No deception, folks!” The boy in the high silk hat lifted the box to show that there were no false bottoms or secret exits. “That’s right! Pretty soon you’ll disappear, and come back from somewhere else. Now, step inside, and you”—he pointed to Fat Crampton—“you sit on the lid. All set, Mandarin!”
Chink again descended to the level of the stage, his blindfold now removed. Calmly and impressively he took his hands from his sleeves.
“Heap hard trick!” the magician grunted. “Make ’um white boy no-see, plitty soon come-see some place else, velly smart!” He waved his arms over the box, upon which Fat Crampton sat. “Hocus-pocus. Comehigh!”
The audience was bent forward in silence. Jake, crouched within the narrow darkness of the box, pictured to himself the scene outside. At the magic words, a flashlight would shoot upward toward the rafters where Jerry had taken his station, and Jerry would drop to the stage and finish the act amid the plaudits of the crowd.
“Hocus-pocus. Comehigh!” repeated Chink, in a nervous tone. Jake wished he could see out of his tight prison, and wondered at the delay. Titters came from the smaller boys in the front of the audience. Why didn’t Jerry come down?
“Comehigh!” Chink sounded disgruntled. “Maybe so white boy no come, no can fly out. That’s all—goo’-bye!”
The rings of the curtain rattled as they were drawn together to cut off the scene. The big act had failed. There was a half-hearted clapping from the audience, who of course did not see any point in the sudden ending of the act. With such an anti-climax, the Magician sketch could scarcely hope to win a prize.
Jake squirmed in a frantic effort to get out of the box. “Get up, Fat!” he called urgently, and felt the heavy boy’s weight removed from the lid. Jake sprang out like a Jack-in-the box, alive with eagerness to see why their carefully-laid scheme had fallen through. He met a disgusted look from the grease-painted face of the Mysterious Mandarin.
“Fine brother you’ve got!” muttered Chink. “I thought he was going to be all ready up there when the time came!”
“But—but he was!” stammered Jake. “I—I saw him up there just a minute ago!”
“Well, he’s not there now,” Chink growled, turning away. Jake cast his eyes aloft.
The beam of a flashlight still slanted upward toward the raftered corner under the roof. But Jerry Utway was nowhere in sight!
Where was Jerry?
Boys from Tent Four were crowding on the stage, getting the scene ready for the next act. Jake Utway stood stock-still, gazing at the rafters overhead, where his brother had been a moment since. He could not have descended into the lodge unobserved in the short time Jake had spent in his dark box. Why hadn’t he taken his cue and dropped to the stage at Chink’s summons? It was not like Jerry to do a thing like that. There must be some good reason——
Jake went over in his mind the plan they had made for this “disappearing act” which had turned out to be a disappearance in real earnest. Jerry was not to go on the stage with the others for the first part of the magic show. He was to get the long ladder, climb silently to the roof of the lodge porch, and then cautiously crawl through the open window in the far gable of the building——That was it! The window! Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Jake rushed through the bunch of amateur actors dressing in the Chief’s office, and emerged on the lodge porch. A ladder leaned against the building, but even in the dim light he could see that Jerry was not on the ladder.
He was aware of a voice at his elbow. “Looking for something?” It was Sherlock Jones, who had followed him from the lodge.
“Jerry! He’s gone!” Jake blurted. “He must have crawled out the window again, and gone off somewhere. Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Look for clues—that’s the thing to do in a case like this,” advised Sherlock with a business-like air. “He must have climbed down the ladder. Come on.” The two boys ran around to the steps, and presently Sherlock snapped on his flashlight at the base of the ladder.
“No footprints can show up on this rocky ground,” observed the detective. Jake glanced wildly at the surrounding trees and bushes, as if determined to make them give up their secret.
“Jerry!” he shouted desperately. “Jerry!”
There was no answer. Sherlock flickered his electric torch here and there about the scene of action. “No, sir, not a thing—— Wait, though! What’s this?” He caught the glint of metal about fifty yards in the direction of the tents, and ran toward it.
“This” proved to be a large-size can of tomatoes. A few paces down the hill was a similar can, and another of beans. Sherlock held them up for inspection.
“Clues! Jake, do you know where these came from?”
Jake groaned. It was as he feared. Even now Jerry might be wrestling in the darkness with a deadly foe, or lying senseless in the woods, struck down by a blow from behind——
“Come on!” he cried. “We’ve got to find him! Hurry!”
Above them, from the lighted lodge, streamed out a blare of music from the Lenape band. Pale stars glimmered overhead in the warm summer night.
“Which way?” asked Sherlock calmly.
Jake made no answer, but stumbled down the hillside, making to the left, where he remembered he had lost sight of his antagonist the night of the raid on Tent Fifteen. Then, the man had headed for the lake, and it was probable that under the same conditions he would again do likewise. It was a slim chance, but——
“Jerry!”
Their footsteps guided by the yellow splash of brightness from the flashlight, the two boys broke through the campus and into the stretch of woods beyond. It seemed to Jake, as he raced through the night, that hours had passed since he was released from the box to find Jerry missing.
“Not much chance—find anybody in these woods,” panted Sherlock, holding his side. “Stop a second, Jake—give me time to get my breath——”
“Wait here, then, if you’re winded,” answered Jake fiercely. “Here, lend me the light, and I’ll come back for you. I tell you, I’vegotto find him!” Before the other could protest, he seized the flash and was on his way toward the lake’s rim at a breakneck speed.
He was now almost to the rustic bridge that cut across the stream through the marsh at the head of the lake. Water shone glassily through the trees at his right hand. A huddled form loomed ahead in the path beyond the bridge, showing ghostly in the pale beam of the lamp.
“Jerry!”
“That you, Jake?” came his brother’s voice.
“Jerry—what’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“Sure.” Jerry rose and limped toward him. “I heard voices up the hill, and thought it might be you. Who’s with you?”
“I left that Jones kid up there—he got a stitch in his side. But are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I got off into the marsh, and banged into some birch trees, that’s all. To-night it seems to be my turn to chase around in the dark and bump into things. But I’m sure sorry I spoiled the act.”
“That’s all right, now I’m sure you’re safe,” answered Jake with relief. “You saw him—the man?”
“Clear as daylight. I happened to be looking out the little window in the top of the lodge, just about the time you got into the box, and I saw him sneaking down from the kitchen. He must have been prowling around again, looking for something to eat, and thought it was a good time to break in, when everybody was watching the show.”
“And you went after him?”
“There was just a chance to nab him—that’s why I didn’t yell out and get the whole camp on his trail. He might have got clean away by that time. Besides, we didn’t want to miss the reward, did we?” Jerry rubbed his bruised arm, which had suffered when his untimely fall had put an end to the chase.
“You’re sure he was the man?”
“Couldn’t have been anyone else, Jakie. But he spotted me when I was coming down the ladder, and dropped his stuff and ran. I followed him down about to here, and then I slipped on some muddy rocks and lost him. But we know where to find him if we want him, don’t we?”
“Shh!” Jake said warningly. “Here comes Dopey Sherlock. Don’t say a word—he’s suspicious enough already.”
The doughty detective had at last found his breath, and came stumbling toward them.
“So you found him, did you?” he asked. “What was he doing down here?”
“Just taking a walk, Sherlock old boy,” said Jerry easily. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
“Yes—a whole lot. Did you drop some cans of tomatoes and stuff?”
“Oh, they were just part of the show. If you’d been at the rehearsal this afternoon, instead of moping around by yourself, you’d know all about these things. Now, which would you rather do;”—Jake’s tone was threatening—“shut up, or get a sock on that long nose of yours?”
Sherlock glanced timidly about him, and retreated a few steps. He knew that he was no match for the two Utway twins; and here in the darkness, far from the campers and protecting leaders, it would be unwise to arouse their ire.
Morning brought further news of the search for the escaped prisoner. The Chief announced that a band of volunteers, under the direction of prison guards, had made a prolonged search of the vicinity, but had found no traces of the missing criminal. The object of their search had been free for more than four days now, and it was thought by some that he might have gotten clear away and escaped unseen to a far city where he could go undetected for some time. However, it was best not to relax the precautions they had made; and therefore the plans for tent hikes that night would have to be changed. A storm of protest greeted these last words, for the campers dearly liked the fun that always came when each tent, under its leader, took its supper and made an evening’s camp in some favorite spot a few miles from their usual haunts on the campus. But the Chief was obdurate.
At lunch, the Chief rose and stated that so many boys had come to him to ask that his ban on the tent hikes be lifted, that he had decided to allow these hikes to take place after all. He silenced the cheering with a lifted hand, and added that no group should camp more than a mile away from the lodge, and all should be in their own tents by ten o’clock at the latest.
This was good news. Noisy discussions took place at each table, as to what spot should be selected as the site of their evening meal. Jerry Utway shouted down the others at Dr. Cannon’s table, and finally got them to lay claim to Pebble Beach, a narrow bit of ground on the northeast border of the lake.
“I’m going with Jerry’s gang, please!” requested Jake. Mr. Avery, who had decided to take Tent Ten no farther away than Church Glade, gave a ready consent; and so it was arranged.
Directly the afternoon swim was over, the campers dressed in their hiking outfits, and two boys were sent to draw each tent’s rations from the kitchen. Jake and Jerry Utway, burdened with pans full of beans, raw potatoes, bread, salt, butter, and other provisions, headed for the dock, where two rowboats, filled with the remaining boys of Tent Eight, waited to shove off for their short journey across to Pebble Beach.
“I don’t much like the look of the sky,” observed Dr. Cannon, sitting in the stern of one of the boats as the boys stowed away the provisions. “But I guess we’ll be all right. Everybody got his poncho or raincoat? If it starts to rain, we can get back to the dock in short order. Ready? Shove off!”
The two boats, manned by a husky youngster at each oar, drew away from the dock, and shot across the placid water in the direction of their chosen camping-ground. Thus calmly and unsuspectingly, Jake and Jerry Utway, at the oars of the foremost boat, embarked upon the wildest night of their lives.
The two boats grated on the shingle of Pebble Beach, and their gay crews disembarked and moored their craft to trees overhanging the water. Boys ran in all directions, fetching dry wood to the circle of blackened stones that marked the site of many a Lenape bivouac, and potatoes, in their jackets of damp clay, were thrust into the first embers of the small cooking fire that had been lighted under Dr. Cannon’s direction.
While the supper they had brought was cooking, Spaghetti Megaro organized a game of “duck-on-a-rock.” Twilight brought a gang of ravenous campers in a cluster about the fire, watching with alert eyes the drawing forth of the food whose steaming aroma, mingled with the bitter tang of wood-smoke, made every mouth water. The sun faded out into a gray foggy mass of clouds low-lying over the Lenape range across the lake, and by the replenished fire’s glow, the boys squatted about and ate their simple meal, spicing it with many a cheery quip and good-natured jest.
When pans and mess-kits had been washed by the simple method of rubbing dirt on their surfaces to remove the grease, afterward dipping them in the lake, dead limbs and brush were heaped on the fire, and in the circle of light sent forth by the jolly blaze, the boys of Tent Eight settled themselves for an evening of campfire talk.
One story followed another, most of them having to do with strange occurrences, haunted houses, ghosts whose touch made the victim’s hair turn White in a single night. As the hours passed, the air about the little encampment became decidedly spooky. A wailing wind had arisen, and swept mournfully through the overhanging trees. Down the lake on the other side, a leaping torch of flame marked the spot where Tent Two, camped below the baseball field, had built a high fire that danced with every gust and spouted a hail of sparks toward the murky sky.
Oscar Hansen, a freckle-faced blonde boy, was relating the tale of the Golden Hand. He raised his voice as the climax of his story drew near. “—And he heard a footstep outside the door of the room, and a scary voice said: ‘Who’s got my Golden Hand?’ Then he heard the door swing open, and something said, in a louder voice: ‘Who’s got my Golden Hand?’ But he couldn’t see anything there. His hair stood on end. He sat up in bed. The thing was right at the foot of his bed, saying in an awful screech: ‘Who’s got——’”
“Good evening!”
Everybody jumped, and little Barstow cried out in fear. A dislodged stone rolled down into the fireplace. Peering eyes made out the towering form of a stranger just beyond the circle of firelight. A man had come upon them unawares as the group sat absorbed in the ghostly tale.
“Hope I don’t interrupt your fun. But I saw the fire, and just thought I’d step over and warm my hands a bit.”
Dr. Cannon rose to greet the newcomer. “Glad to have you. We were telling ghost stories, and I’m afraid you’ startled us a bit, Mr. ——”
“Diker. I’m from the state penitentiary over beyond Elmville.” The stranger shook hands, and pulled aside his slicker for a moment; the red glow flashed on the metal of an official badge. “Glad to know you, sir. Well, if it isn’t my friends the twins!”
Jerry stuck his elbow in Jake’s ribs. It was the man in blue again! The prison guard! Now that they looked closely, they could see that what they had first taken for a stick in the man’s hand was in reality the gun which he never seemed to be without.
“Hello, boys. I’m just staying a minute,” the guard went on. “A warm fire feels mighty good. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had a good-sized storm before morning. You’re lucky you don’t have to prowl around here in the dark all night, the way I do.”
“Here, have a seat,” said Dr. Cannon hospitably. “You’re still after that prisoner who got loose, I suppose. Are there any further developments?”
“No such luck. He’s disappeared completely; but sooner or later, he’ll be starved out of the hole where he’s hiding, and then we’ll get him again. It won’t be an easy job in these woods, though, because Burk—that’s the man’s name—used to be a hunter’s guide and is a real woodsman.”
“What kind of a fellow is he? Any objection to telling us?” asked the doctor.
“None at all,” said Diker cheerfully. “From what I’ve seen Of him, Burk is not a bad chap. Short, slender fellow—always quiet and well-behaved, never gave any trouble, until last Saturday morning, when he was discovered missing. We still can’t figure out how he got away from the prison grounds. It was a foolish thing for him to do, too; he only had a year more to serve, and now, when he’s caught, it will mean added time for breaking prison.” Diker held out his hands thoughtfully over the fire. “As I say, he was a guide for hunters—he knows the Lenape hills about as well as anybody—and most of the year he was caretaker at the Canoe Mountain Sportsman’s Club, down below Wallistown. Well, he was caught stealing money or jewelry or something when he was there alone, in charge of the place—I don’t think I ever rightly heard the exact circumstances. Probably some temptation came his way, and he wasn’t strong-willed enough to resist.”
“He doesn’t sound like a very dangerous character,” remarked the doctor.
“No, he’s not a fighter—but any man in a corner will fight for his liberty when he has to do it. I wish we could get him soon, though—I’m a bit tired of hiking through the country day and night in all sorts of weather. If we could only spot the smoke of his fire, or——”
“Say!” burst out Al Canning, nerving himself to speak. “Say, Mr. Diker—you said something about smoke. Me and another kid named Toots saw some smoke over here a couple days ago, right on this very side of the lake! Down below a ways where the trees are thickest—we saw it from a boat——”
“So?” The prison guard bent a sharp glance on the flushed face of the youngster. “Well, there’s a chance he may be in there. If nothing else happens, I’ll take a bunch of deputies in there first thing to-morrow, and if he’s there, we’ll get him! But say, young fellow, if you saw this smoke several days ago, why didn’t you report it?”
“Well,” stammered Al, “me and Toots were going to tell it at Council Ring, but we forgot, and one of the Utway kids here said it wasn’t worth mentioning.” He pointed to the twins, and stopped, breathless.
Jake and Jerry faced the accusing glance of the guard. “Hmm! I seem to run into you two wherever I go. Now, will you kindly tell me——”
A crashing blast of thunder broke in upon his words, and a jagged stab of lightning illuminated the sky. Dr. Cannon jumped up hastily.
“Back to camp, boys!” he commanded. “Put out the fire, stow everything in the boats, and head for the dock! Everybody put on his raincoat—the storm will be here before we know it!”
The rising wind whipped a few stinging drops against their faces as he spoke. The prison guard stood motionless amid the bustle of breaking camp. In a few moments the little beach was crowded with the campers, who loaded their kits into the boats and climbed in after them. The fire hissed as Linder poured a bucket of water over the embers.
The return journey across to the dock was short, yet in that space of time the storm broke in fury. Stiff, white-crested waves slapped against the thwarts, and made smooth progress with the oars a difficult feat. Jake and Jerry bent their backs with a will, and their round-bottomed steel craft was the first to reach the dock. As the other two occupants clambered out, with water steaming from their rubber ponchos, Jerry caught his brother’s arm and drew him under the shelter of the diving platform.
“Whew, that was a close one!” he whispered. “That guard is sure suspicious of us—I could see it in his eye. And he means what he says. A gang of men can go over that patch of woods across the lake with a fine-tooth comb, and they’ll find our convict as sure as shooting. This is our only chance to get the reward—we’ll have to do it to-night!”
“I’m game!” Jake brushed the raindrops from his hair with a swift motion.
“Don’t get undressed. As soon as everybody is asleep, crawl out and meet me by the flagpole. Wear your poncho, and bring your big flashlight.” A rumble of thunder capped his words. “Jakie, we’ve got to do it! We’ve got to find our man, and bring him back!”
Jerry Utway lay in his bunk, fully dressed, for about an hour after Taps had summoned the campers to slumber. The storm had settled to a steady drumming torrent that would probably persist far into the next day. The sides of the tents had been lowered and fastened to the floor by their grommets, to afford the fullest protection from the blast. An occasional flash of lightning, accompanied by a crack of booming thunder, lit up the familiar tent at intervals. Jerry shivered slightly as he stretched out in his blankets and listened to the furious tattoo of drops on the tent-fly over his head. He would have liked a less tempestuous night for their expedition, but dawn would put an end to their hopes unless they moved speedily.
At last he judged it safe to make his getaway, and with infinite patience crawled into his boots and poncho, and shielding his flashlight, crept out into the night. The vicinity of the campus was black as pitch. Jerry felt his way through dripping underbrush, in order to avoid disturbing any sleeper. He found Jake by the flagpole, and without a word the two brothers stumbled down to the boat-dock.
On the unprotected platform of the dock they felt upon their wet faces the full power of the storm. Wicked-sounding waves swirled through the piles on which the dock was built; the little fleet of rowboats rocked and pounded each other at their moorings.
“Don’t put on your light,” cautioned Jake hoarsely. “That prison guard may still be patrolling over across, and if he happened to spot us, the game would be over. We’ll have to take a boat—we couldn’t get a canoe launched in this water to-night.”
“You untie a boat and pull it around in the lee of the dock, while I get the oars.”
In a few moments Jerry returned with the precious oars, and they were shoved into the locks of the boat Jake had selected. Before putting off, it was necessary to bail out the pool of rain-water that splashed in the bottom of the craft, and this Jake did, using his sou’-wester hat as a bail. When the duckboards beneath their feet no longer floated, the brothers cast off, seized the oars, and headed about on their second crossing that night.
“Head straight across!” ordered Jerry. “I figure that if we keep right into the teeth of the wind, we’ll come out at that pile of logs straight across, where the deer-trail comes down to the lake. Heave!”
Keeping the full sweep of the wind at their straining backs, the twins worked the oars with a heaving, united swing. Spray dashed over the bows and drenched their rubber garments; the rolling boat pitched and dived as they met one white-capped wave after another, head on. The dim structure of the diving-tower and the shore beyond faded swiftly into the gloom; but after fifteen minutes of labor they had no other evidence that their craft had made any progress in the direction they wished to take.
“Don’t quit!” grunted Jake. “Heave!”
Several times the bows were swept around and they took water broadside over the low gunwale before a frantic effort on the part of one or the other could swing them on their course again. It seemed to both laboring boys that hours had passed.
Bump! The stem of the small vessel crashed against some unseen obstruction, nearly throwing the young mariners headlong on to the floor-boards. Both clung to their oars, and a wave lifted the boat from its precarious position.
“We rammed the top of a sunken log!” called Jerry, who was nearest the bow. “I think it may be part of that big jam we headed for. Any idea where we are?”
“As I remember, the deer-trail is down to the right a few hundred yards. What do you say we skim along offshore and try to find it?”
“Good! Boy, I’m glad that’s over!” Jerry was breathing heavily from his exertions. He pulled on his oar, shoved off from the dark mass of piled logs an arm’s length away, and the boat began skirting the dimly-seen shoreline.
They had made the crossing in a Stygian darkness, but now the thunder again commenced its ominous cannonade. An opportune bolt of heaven-sent fire gave them a momentary glimpse of the shore on their port side, and told them what they wanted to know. Jake made out the muddy delta where, he remembered from a previous visit, the deer-trail began. Before the gloom closed in again, he pulled about and began stroking madly toward this landing. A thought struck him like a chill hand. Had a pair of terrified eyes spotted their boat from the black shelter of the trees? Did a desperate evil-doer lurk there, armed with Ellick’s sharpest hand-ax, waiting for them to set foot on shore——? Jake shrugged. The rowboat buried its nose squashily in the mud-bank, beneath the dripping trunk of an overhanging tree.
Without a sound the boys moored the painter to a convenient branch, and cautiously removed the oars and placed them beneath the thwarts, along the bottom of the boat.
“We’ll have to bail her again before we go back—if we do go back,” whispered Jerry grimly. “Can you get ashore from where you are?”
“I think so.” Jake stood and clasped the slippery tree trunk with both arms, and swung his body forward. His heavy boots made him a clumsy climber; but in a moment he had scrambled through a fringing litter of brush and twigs to firmer ground. Jerry followed in his track, almost dropping his flashlight as he clambered through the treacherous brush; and the boys found themselves once more together in the darkness of the forest.
“Stick to the trail—it’s our only guide,” advised Jake. He led the way, recalling as best he could the twisting of the narrow track which they had once followed by daylight on an idle exploring trip earlier in the season. An infrequent lightning-flash was their only help, and it was no wonder that they more than once wandered from the dim trail.
Deep into the murky reaches of the woods, they paused for breath. So far, they had seen or heard nothing save gloom-shrouded trees; the usual storm-noises of the wilderness; and the crackling of branches that marked their advance.
“Now, which way?” asked Jerry guardedly. “I think the trail splits about here. It’s getting late—if anybody in our tents wakes up, we’re sure to be missed. No use waiting here.” His teeth were chattering from the damp of the low ground. “Do you think we’ll have to give up?”
Jake was staring intently ahead. “I thought I caught a little glow of light over there just a second ago! If this rain would only hold up for a while—— There! See it?” He seized his brother’s arm and pointed.
Jerry peered anxiously into the mist. “Where?”
“Not that way! Right ahead! It must be a fire! That’s our man, all right! Guess he thinks he’s fairly safe on a night like this—and he sure needs a fire; it’s chilly enough over here to freeze you stiff! Are you ready?”
“Sure, Jakie! No use trying to creep up on him, though. We’ll sneak as close as we can, and then both rush him and jump him together! Come on, let’s get it over with. He’s not much bigger than we are, and we’ll take him by surprise!”
“Don’t let him get hold of his ax, though!” Jake quivered with excitement. “Ready?” He crept toward the low tinge of red light that marked the outlaw’s risky campfire.
They advanced unchallenged for some two hundred yards through the dripping trees, in line with their goal. Their straining eyes could barely make out a small heap of glowing branches at the mouth of what seemed to be a rude shelter of sticks and dead limbs, which would cut off the tiny glow from all other directions except the one from which they approached. Not another sign of life came from the secret camp they had risked so much to find.
“Now!” said Jake sharply, and dashed forward. Jerry was right at his side in a few strides. It was like the football days at school, with Quarterback Jake carrying the ball, and his husky brother at his elbow, crashing through the line—“Right through center!” Jerry was amazed to hear that shout in his own voice. In the madness of that charge he had sent forth the old battle-cry.
Together the Utway twins galloped down upon their foe. From an opening in the shelter beyond the fire appeared a pale, haggard face; a slender body sprang forward to meet this surprise attack; a shrill scream burst from the drawn lips.
“Stand back!You’ll never take me—you——”
Involuntarily the twins slowed up in their tracks. A streak of lightning, like the crack of doom, hit the earth at a terrifyingly short distance away. The scene was illuminated as if by a thousand searchlights. Their enemy, the searing mark of horror branded on his face, cried out once more. His frail body quivered as if from a blow, toppled weakly forward, and lay in a heap almost at their feet—face forward, helpless, deathly still.
“He’s fainted!”
Jake and Jerry stared in bewilderment at the inert body at their feet. Their first thought was not one of triumph at this successful ending to their quest. Rather, it was one of pity for the tortured man whose desperate break for liberty had availed him nothing. Jerry was stirred to action.
“Get him into the lean-to! The poor fellow can’t hurt us now. Quick!” The twins lifted the limp form and carried him gently into the low brush shelter that he had built for protection against the elements. The rude thatched roof held off the rain fairly well, and both boys removed their ponchos, laying one on the ground, placing their unconscious burden upon it, and covering the convict’s body with the other. Jerry pulled open the rough gray shirt at the man’s throat, and fanned the bloodless face with his hat.
“Get some water, Jake! I think the creek is only a few steps away.”
Jake departed. His brother snapped on his flashlight, and cast its beams full upon his captive’s face. The man was not bald, as Jake had thought when he had first encountered him; his hair had been shaved close to the top of his head, but now a bristling stubble had grown to cover it. The chin and jowls were also darkened with a rough growth of beard showing blackly against the pallid face. Through bluish lips, the breath came in quick sobs. The man’s body, under the close-drawn poncho, was slender and wiry, and although but slightly taller than one of the twins, gave the impression of some strength.
Jake returned with his sou’-wester half full of water. He splattered a few drops over the prisoner’s face, and forced a slight trickle down the man’s throat.
“Don’t choke him!” cautioned Jerry. “Here, I’ll rub his arms and chest. He’s cold, and no wonder! Think of staying in this place for several days, without any blankets or even a coat!”
He began rubbing the man’s limbs briskly, and noted a flush of returning color in the pale features.
“That ought to bring him around,” observed Jake. “Say, he doesn’t look much like a desperado, does he? Poor fellow, it’s a shame he has to——”
“Shh!” Jerry paused, and tucked the protecting poncho about the body again. He had seen an eyelid flicker in the light of their lamp. The convict moaned feebly, opened his eyes, closed them again as the light struck them. “Give him a little more water, Jakie.”
Slowly their patient revived. His body jerked weakly.
“You’re all right,” said Jake soothingly. “Don’t try to sit up. Can you hear me?”
The man fell back wearily. “You’ll never—take me—there—again——” he murmured faintly. “I—I—water——”
“Here you are. That’s it.” Jake propped him up, and held a handful of water to his mouth. “Shade the light, Jerry. What do you think we ought to do with him now?”