“Don’t worry,” answered the warden. “Soon as I get back up the tower, I’ll telephone to Yanceyville, and they can wire from there. He’ll be glad to hear. There was a chance that you two might have been caught in the fire. Ever since Riccio was caught, we’ve had orders to hunt for you.”
“Who’s Riccio?”
“Why, that’s the name of the man that kidnaped you! You see, he turned up at the telegraph office in Yanceyville this morning and sent a funny message to your father. The telegraph man was suspicious, and as soon as he left, he put the sheriff on his trail. It turned out that this Riccio had a police record, and a bad one, too. He was arrested, and finally admitted that he’d caught you and that Indian Mink had you in his shack. He must have been a fool to try and get ransom money by telegraph. Well, perhaps a fat jail term will teach him a lesson.”
“Then—then——” Dirk was bewildered. It seemed as if all their troubles were ended. The half-breed dead or flown, his master in jail, and soon the Lenape trailers would again be united. “Then everything’s all right, and tomorrow we can go on to the top of Mount Kinnecut——” He stopped, for Ugly Brown could not conceal his amusement, and was laughing loudly.
“Say, Van, how do you get that way? You’re right on the top of Mount Kinnecut at this very minute!”
At the words. Brick Ryan stirred among his blankets and tried to sit up. “Mount Kinnecut?” he mumbled. “Gollies, that’s the place we got to find. Dirk will help me get there, won’t you, Dirk, my boy? Dirk’s the best guy that ever hit the trail, and I’ll lick the bird that says he’s not!”
Dirk Van Horn leaned over and patted his friend’s arm. “There, take it easy, Brick! We’re there, old chap—we’re right on the top of old Kinnecut, and you can go to sleep now.”
“Can’t go to sleep! Got to do somethin’—can’t climb, though, because I got a bum leg. You’ll do it, though, won’t you, Dirk?” He fumbled at his breast.
“Do what?” the fire warden asked gently. “What must he do? Listen, you come along with me now, and you’ll soon be stowed away in bed.”
“No, I won’t. Dirk’s got to do it first! And it’s right he should, too. He’s the best of all of us. I wanted to quit, but he fought along, game as a bull-pup, and carried me. I won’t move till I see him do it!”
“I think I know what he means,” said Dirk gently. “Shall I? I guess he won’t rest easy until it’s done.” He reached out and took the crumpled bit of cloth that Brick was clutching. “Ugly, where is the tree that has all the Lenape trailers’ flags nailed to it?”
“Why, it’s right up the trail about a hundred yards. A big old dead pine—you can’t miss it. I’ll go with you.”
“No, you stay here with Brick. I won’t be long.”
Brick fell back, watching Dirk’s face. “It’s the honor of Lenape, Dirk!” he whispered. “You brought us through. There’s a couple nails in my pocket. Good luck to you, pal!”
Dirk clasped the outstretched hand, and ran up the trail alone. There was the tall pine. A few wooden cleats were fastened on the lower part of the trunk, leading up to the thick branches. As he swung himself upward, all his weariness fell away from him like a cast-off garment of care. Up, up he climbed, until he was among the smooth limbs of the pine. Upward, above the tree tops that swept down before his eyes to the sunset-dyed waters of Lake Moosehorn, that lay in a curving sweep far below, with the red spark of a campfire on its banks to mark the rallying place of the Lenape clan. Still he climbed. Now he was at the very top of the world; in all directions stretched the unbroken wilderness that he and his comrades had conquered. And now his hand touched the lowermost of a string of tattered pennons that were nailed to the peak of this mighty tree that others of the Lenape brotherhood had scaled before him, in years gone.
Dirk Van Horn smiled to himself, and waved a hand at his watching partner far below. Then, still smiling, he drew a stone from his pocket, and with a few resounding blows, nailed a bit of green and white bunting in its place. A finger of light, the last ray of the dying sun, tipped the little banner with gold, as the honor of Lenape fluttered bravely in the evening breeze.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes
- Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.
- Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.
- In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)