Garry concluded his words, and tearing a leaf from his notebook, wrote hastily for several moments, then left the cabin. Barrows made as though he would follow, but a menacing gesture from Phil made him keep his seat.
Once outside the cabin, Garry sped away into the woods like a deer. He was extremely cautious with every step, however, lest a snag or root trip him and disable him at this crucial moment. The note that he had written contained explicit directions to the hermit to get word to Mr. Boone by telegraph, and then see if he could pick up their trail and follow them. He knew the old man was an expert at trailing, and Garry wrote that he would leave signs on the way from the hollow tree postoffice.
The return to the camp was somewhat slower, for he stopped occasionally to blaze an X in a tree, or dig a slight hole in the ground with his toe. He wished that he had time to make a more distinct trail, but there was the danger that a plain one might be noted by one of Barrows’ aides, and obliterated. He was trusting that the hermit could find it, versed as he was in all the lore of the woods.
Back at the office with his knapsack and that of Phil, he asked what had transpired while he was gone. Phil told him that a meeting place had been agreed on.
“Now,” said Garry sharply, “can you lead us where you came from in the dark?”
“Guess I can, came here in the dark,” was the surly response of the guide.
“Then start travelling. Now, Barrows, first sign of any treachery from anyone in the camp will mean that first I’ll shoot this guide and second anyone within range of my rifle. Now hike,” this last remark being addressed to the man.
Out of the camp toward the northeast led the way, and as they walked Indian file, they took every step as though it were a path strewn with glass. Once outside the camp, having been bothered by no one, Garry called a halt.
Keeping a sharp eye on the guide, Garry whispered to Phil:
“Notice anything funny about that note of Dick’s?”
“Not particularly, except that I took exceptional care to be sure that it was Dick’s writing,” answered Phil.
“Did you remember the last line?” he questioned further.
“I think I could repeat it over by heart.”
“Then use your head and look for the very obvious code in the last six words,” said Garry.
Phil repeated them aloud two or three times, then fell silent. Then he gave vent to a low exclamation.
“Why, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. It’s just the first initials and they spell Beware!”
“Exactly; that’s step number one. Now the second thing is the note itself. It was written on brown paper. Safe thing to write such a letter on, anyone might have it in his possession. The queer part is that on the shelf high over Barrows’ desk was a bundle of report blanks wrapped in the same identical kind of paper, only the wrapper was torn. I couldn’t think of any way to clear the office, but I bet I could have matched this scrap to the torn place in the report!”
“Then you think that Dick has been at the camp all the time?” queried Phil half incredulously.
“Don’t think it, I’m sure of it.”
“What are we to do, then?” asked Phil.
“I have that all doped out. We’ll let this chap lead us a couple of miles or so further on and then overpower him and tie him up and leave him there while we double back and search the camp.”
Garry gave the order to march again, and they started on their way. Had Garry been gifted with second sight, he would never have left the spot where they had held the conference, for they had gone only a short distance when the guide asked them to halt.
“What’s it worth to you fellows if I tell you all about this business? You ain’t going to meet your friend where I’m taking you; it was just to get you away from the camp that I led you out here. But you can’t make me tell anything, or LeBlanc would kill me. But I’ll take a chance for money.”
This sudden development puzzled Garry. He did not know exactly what to make of it, so he decided to temporize for a few minutes, and gain time to think.
“Where is LeBlanc now?” he asked.
“Right there at the camp was where I last saw him.”
The answer was such a surprise that Garry’s guard was lowered for a moment, then there was a scurry and rush of feet, and a half a dozen forms leaped out from behind the trees near them, and before either boy could make a move with his rifle, they were in the hands of the enemy.
CHAPTER XIV
DICK’S MISFORTUNE
Now what of Dick all this time? Let us go back to the night when Garry and Phil had started for the Dutton Lake to see what could be found out about the stolen timber.
Barrows, of course, had not told the truth when he said that he had not seen Dick after they had gone to their shack.
He had come into the office as had been agreed upon, and engaged Barrows in conversation about fishing. Barrows had chatted cordially for a brief while, and then excused himself for a moment to give orders to one of the section bosses whom he heard outside.
Dick heard him give the order to work on the coming day, delivered in a loud tone of voice, and almost instantly after the close of the conversation he came into the office again.
The conversation was picked up where they had left off, and they chatted like old friends for nearly a half an hour.
Finally, Dick heard the cookie calling for Barrows to come out a moment, and Barrows obeyed the summons. Knowing that the cookie was suspected of being in league with the traitors in the camp, Dick walked softly to the door and tried to hear what was being said, but as they were several feet from the entrance to the office, and speaking in the most cautious whispers, he could distinguish nothing that was being said. Suddenly the cookie darted away, and Barrows re-entered the cabin and stood leaning against the door.
“Speaking about fish,” he remarked, looking malevolently at Dick, “they are foolish things since they always take bait. Now did you three boys take me for a fool entirely, and did you think that I would take any bait that was offered me? I know every move you made since you have been here, including your letter to Boone. Why, you poor, useless boy, I am playing for too big stakes here to let a pack of mere children balk me. Your work was clever if it had been against an ignorant man, but you’re done now.”
Dick’s heart sank. He knew that a cog had slipped somewhere. They had been too sure of themselves. Barrows kept on talking in the same strain until Dick began to realize that he was merely talking against time. He rose to his feet and prepared to make a dash for the door, but realization came too late, for the door was thrown open and in stepped the arch enemy of the boys, Jean LeBlanc.
“So, mon ami, we meet again. This is a mos’ pleasant meeting, but you are not to escape so easily this time.”
There was hatred in the halfbreed’s voice and in his eyes. Dick shivered inwardly, although he let no sign of fear be shown in his face or actions.
“All the better to have you here this time, LeBlanc, you just walk into our hands; and this time you will see the inside of a jail for sure,” said Dick boldly.
LeBlanc’s face darkened with rage. He made as though to reach for the knife that hung in his belt, but Barrows stopped him.
“That will do, LeBlanc, I’ll handle this matter in my own way. Remember you’re working for me, and you do as I say or get out, and I’ll find another man for the job.”
Dick was astonished at the way LeBlanc subsided. Evidently Barrows was a much braver man than they had given him credit for being; at any rate, he seemed to be the absolute master of the halfbreed.
“Yes, ma frien’, you are the boss, but perhaps another time, when I am not working for you, I will take care of this one. Now what we do with him.”
“We will put him in the cellar under the storehouse for the present, then when we have captured his friends, we will have them taken to Misery Camp.”
“Taking the others will be an easy matter, will it not? We shall just surround them like that and take them,” and he snapped his fingers with a derisive gesture.
“That’s just what we won’t do. Why do you suppose I am going to the trouble of all this secrecy for? If it had been merely a matter of capturing them, it would have been done long ago. But they have been on their guard most of the time, and this camp is full of lumberjacks that worked for old man Boone. If they got wise to anything, they would have me strung up to a tree in no time, and one of the worst riots in the history of the lumber business would have been pulled off in this camp. No, sir, I am saving my skin.”
“Why not get rid of those who would help them?” inquired Jean.
“I am, just as fast as I can. Everything was all right till these boys showed up to play amateur detective. Now we must make a grand cleanup and work fast. Things are getting too hot.”
“I, Jean LeBlanc, am giving you warning. The bes’ thing to do is to slip a knife in a place where it would do the most good. Every time they have cross my path, they have won, and Jean LeBlanc is not one who is easily beaten in anything.”
“Bah, you make me tired, LeBlanc. They may have had a little luck and a lot of help, or else you didn’t know how to do your work. I’m here to tell you that Gene Barrows will not be fooled.”
Dick had been sitting silently all this time, drinking in the conversation of the two men. They seemed not to be noticing him, and in a desperate attempt to make his escape, he darted for the door and succeeded in getting outside. But his triumph was short lived, for he had no more than attained the outside air, when he was seized by an iron grip by two men, and hauled ignominiously back into the office. He saw at once that his captors were LeBlanc’s brother, Baptiste, and the unknown chap who had been implicated with Baptiste in the attack on Howells.
Dick reddened with rage at the laughter of his enemies, and vowed to himself that somehow, somewhere, he would pay them for their taunts.
“Come, we are wasting time; the others may be back from their little spying expedition at any moment. Grab him, you two,” directed Barrows. Baptiste and the unknown, whose name Dick later learned was Fearon, seized him in no gentle grasp. One of them clasped a hard, dirty hand over his mouth to prevent any outcry, and they walked him across the camp to the storehouse.
Barrows produced the key and threw open the door. Once inside, the door was carefully closed, and Barrows produced a candle which he lighted. Dick was searched and his knife and matches were taken away.
Two heavy molasses barrels were rolled away, disclosing a trap in the floor. This was raised and a rude ladder was seen to lead below. Dick was mercilessly bundled down the hole, little care being taken as to whether or not he broke his neck as he slipped down the damp ladder.
Then he heard the clatter of the trap door as it fell, and he was left alone in the dark.
Once before Dick had been in a tight hole, and the lack of knife and matches had almost been his undoing. Thereafter he had guarded against this happening again. To this end he had contrived a secret pocket in the lapel of his coat, where a knife always reposed. Also inside of the sweatband of his hat were several matches rolled tightly in waterproof silk.
He got out the matches, and lighting one, looked about him. He surveyed the room with a quick glance, for the matches were too precious to use too many of them. His quick survey showed that the underground room was bare of any furnishing; there was not even a blanket to sleep on. He lighted a second match and inspected the floor, discovering that both floor and walls were constructed of hand-hewed logs, and knew that it would take a week to dig through them with nothing but a pocket knife with which to work.
The underground room was damp and musty, and Dick shivered.
He wondered how long it would be before they took him out, and he began to do calisthenics vigorously to restore some warmth to his already chilled body.
For a time he thought of crawling up the ladder and trying out his knife on the trap door, but he had noted that it was of triple thickness of inch boards and would probably blunt and dull his knife without making any great impression.
There was one hope that someone might come into the storehouse above and he could rap on the door and let them know he was a prisoner there.
After some moments of reflection, he decided that this would also be unavailing, for the cook must also be one of the traitors. It was not possible that he would be unaware of the secret room, and was in all probability a member of the gang.
Dick was a healthy boy, and soon his eyes grew drowsy with sleep. He laid himself down on the hard floor, and as soon as his bones got accustomed to the floor, dropped off to sleep, sensibly refusing to worry and letting the morrow bring what it would.
His last thought as he fell asleep was the hope that his companions would not fall into a trap as he had, although he half expected that he would be awakened any moment by the sound of the trap door opening, and the entry of his chums as prisoners.
But when he awoke in the morning, he found that he was still alone. He unscrewed the cover of his watch face, and felt the hands, finding that it was nearly eight o’clock. So far no one had come, and he wondered if he was to be given anything to eat. Two weary hours dragged on, and then the trap was opened, and a pack of food lowered to him, together with a pail of coffee. He looked up and saw the cook and cookee peering down at him. Evidently they were going to take no chances of a surprise on his part, hence their coming in pairs.
Dick called to them to ask when he was to be taken out, but they had evidently been instructed to hold no words with him, for they quickly lowered the trap and the barrels were again rolled into place. Dick’s last sight as the trap closed was the leering face of the cookee. He managed to eat his food in the dark, and resolved to ask for a blanket when next they came to bring him food.
The day dragged as though on leaden feet, but no one appeared again. Dick thought that dinner would be brought to him, but none came, and he figured that perhaps there were too many watchers who would be inquisitive if they saw cooked food being carried to the storehouse. Perhaps Garry and Phil were on the watch. This gave Dick a thrill, for if his thoughts were true it meant that they had not been trapped in any way.
Frequently he unscrewed the face of his watch and felt the hands to note the time. He resolved that his first step when he got back to civilization would be to buy a watch that had a radium dial so he could tell time in the dark.
Dick had no idea but that he would get out, for he was one whose courage did not fail. Then, too, he trusted in the cleverness of his companions to get him out of the scrape.
He was squatting on the floor Hindu fashion, about eleven o’clock, thinking that he would soon lie down and try to get some sleep, when the trap was opened, and Barrows’ voice bade him come up the ladder.
He obeyed only too gladly, for the darkness and the chill of the cellar were beginning to get his nerve. In the storehouse he found that Barrows was accompanied by the LeBlanc brothers. This made any chance of a rough and tumble fight with the manager and possible dash for freedom out of the question.
“Now there will be no fooling on your part, but you will sit down at this case here and write a note to your friends telling them that you have been captured by LeBlanc and are being held for ransom. That will please them, eh, Jean?”
LeBlanc gave a wolfish grin. “At least it make them hurry to rescue their friend. They do not like me, those boys, any more than I like them.”
“Suppose I refuse to write that note, what then?” demanded Dick.
“Why, I think we will let LeBlanc handle that end of it,” said Barrows.
Jean LeBlanc’s face wore a diabolic smile as he took from his mouth the big-bowled pipe that he was smoking.
“Once I saw an Indian torture a man to get from him a secret,” he said. “It was oh, so easy. All that he did was to thrust the man’s fingers, one by one, into the pipe bowl, and after the fifth finger, the man gave in.”
Dick shuddered in spite of himself. He had heard of this Indian method of torture, and knew that LeBlanc was not only capable of doing it, but would take a fiendish pleasure in the operation.
“Then if that fails, which I doubt, I give you warning that your chums will be seized on some pretext and sent out seemingly to jail with LeBlanc as their guard, and once away from the camp, will be given to him to do as he pleases,” said Barrows. “Now do you think you will write that letter?”
Dick had resolved on submitting to the torture before writing the letter, but this last threat made him change his mind. He could afford to take no chances with the safety, and perhaps the lives, of his chums, by refusing to write. In the meantime his mind was busy trying to conjure up some way of warning them that it was a trap.
He took the scrap of paper that was offered to him, and began to write. As the letter drew near its close, he hastily constructed the cryptogram which our readers are already aware of.
Barrows took the note and read it carefully, turning it over to see that there was not other writing on the back, and scanning it for some sign of warning. Dick was afraid that he would decipher the simple code, but was relieved when Barrows crumpled the note to give it the appearance of having been carried some few hours, and then put it in his pocket.
He was ordered back into the cellar, and there was nothing to do but obey. The trap was closed and he heard the rolling of barrels, then all was still.
Dick wondered what plot was in the wind, but was unable to puzzle it out. He finally decided that it was only another private scheme of Barrows to get money, and a thousand dollars would be a pretty good haul.
He gave up trying to solve the riddle, and lying on the floor stared into the darkness.
There was one chance in a thousand that one of them might come alone in the morning to bring him food, and he resolved to climb up the ladder the moment he heard footsteps above him, and with his pocket knife try to fight his way to freedom.
With this comforting thought, he dropped off to sleep.
Following the writing of the note, Barrows slipped back to his office and told LeBlanc to make one attempt to seize the boys, then if that failed, they would use their ruse to attract them from the camp.
How this attempt succeeded has already been told, and all LeBlanc got for his pains was a smash on the hand where Phil’s clubbed rifle had hit him.
He hastened back cursing, and told Barrows of the failure, and after being upbraided was told to go to the rendezvous where the capture of the boys was to be made.
Barrows then went to the cookhouse, where the unkempt individual that was to act as bearer was waiting, and gave him his final instructions.
“Now,” said the vindictive manager, “we shall see who wins, a pack of mere children, or Gene Barrows!”
CHAPTER XV
MISERY CAMP
Now let us return to Garry and Phil, whom we left struggling in the hands of their captors. Only one voice did they recognize in the orders that were given, but this was enough to let them know that they were in the worst kind of trouble. It was the voice of LeBlanc.
“Phil, that’s LeBlanc’s voice or I’m crazy,” ejaculated Garry.
“Absolutement, ma frien’s. It is LeBlanc. Once again I have you, and I think this time you do not go until we have settled several old scores that I have mark up against you.”
As he spoke, several men took hold of the boys even more roughly, and in a few moments their hands had been bound tightly behind their backs.
LeBlanc gave the order to march, and the strange procession wended its way through the woods. It was almost pitch dark, but they seemed to be following a well defined trail, and the leader was sure of every step. An unknown man grasped the arm of each boy and guided them so that they would not bump into a tree, and at the same time prevented a chance of escape.
The boys took things philosophically, for there was nothing that could be done with so many odds against them, and the darkness would have hindered any chance of flight. They knew that they could not take more than a dozen steps without smashing into the trees, and would soon be captured. They resolved, the same train of thought running through the minds of both of the captives, to wait for daylight before sizing matters up.
LeBlanc kept hurrying the men along, and they covered nearly a half a dozen miles before a halt was called. Now the first flush of day was appearing in the sky, and soon there would be light enough for them to see in what manner of hands they had fallen.
When dawn finally broke, both boys looked in amazement at the strange figures that the light of day revealed.
LeBlanc, of course, they recognized at once, and they had half expected to see his brother. But all the others,—there were half a dozen not counting the halfbreed,—were total strangers. The men were for the most part large and swarthy, unkempt of hair and ragged as to clothes. Their garments were torn and dirty, and here and there was a raggedly sewn patch where the clothes threatened to give way entirely.
They were taciturn men, and said little or nothing to each other, and when they did, it was in a low tone. They paid absolutely no attention to any order of LeBlanc, always turning to one of their number for confirmation.
This man, evidently the leader, was a perfect giant of a man. He stood, so the boys judged, at least six feet four inches, and was correspondingly large of frame.
His face, what could be seen of it, for he wore a black, flowing, tangled beard, was tanned by the sun, as one who lived entirely in the open. His followers evidently respected, or at least feared him, for whenever he gave an order, they sprang to do his bidding.
Garry and Phil wondered who they were and what their business was,—whether they were hunters or what.
A fire was built and a meagre breakfast made. Phil and Garry were glad of the food, for they were both hungry and tired. The eating done, evident preparations were made to continue the march. Both boys were cruelly tired. They had passed a strenuous day and night, and now they wanted to sleep. But this was evidently not to be.
They were slightly surprised also when they learned from the conversation that LeBlanc was not to continue to the destination of the others.
“Now, King, you will take these boys to Misery Camp, and keep them until you hear from those who have given you instructions. They will let you know what to do, and you will be ver’ careful not to let them make the conge, to get away, for then you will have me, Jean LeBlanc, to deal with.”
“I’ll keep my bargain, fer the fact that I give my word, an’ a King allers keeps his word; but never think that I fear ye, Frenchman, fer I fear no man livin’!”
LeBlanc kept silence, and took his way back to the camp, while the weary march forward was resumed. Short rests were given at long intervals and the boys were thankful for the scant few minutes that were allowed.
The men walked with the long swinging lope of the true woodsman, and often the boys thought they would drop by the side of the road from weariness.
At noon a halt was called, and one of the men disappeared, to return after several minutes with a half dozen grouse. The boys then knew immediately that these men were outlaws of some sort, who paid no attention to the law, for the close season was on all grouse and pheasant.
A fire was built and one of the men skinned the birds preparatory to roasting them over the coals. Coffee was made and they were about to drink it black, when Garry bethought himself of the sugar and condensed milk in his knapsack. Thinking that a few favors on his part would perhaps return to them later on, he offered it to the men. The boy’s hands were untied, and he rummaged through his pack until he found the articles.
The men took them without a word and used them. They divided the food fairly with all present.
Garry tried to engage the men in conversation, but all attempts failed. The rest and the dinner occupied about an hour and then the march began again.
“See here,” said Garry to the man addressed as King. “When are you going to give us a decent rest? We’re played out.”
“Well, you can be played out ef you want; you’ve got eight miles ahead of you yet till we get to Misery Camp,” answered King.
“What is Misery Camp, and who are you fellows anyway?” again asked Garry.
“Misery Camp is where we live, and we fellows be squatters. Now shut up and walk,” and King relapsed into silence.
Light instantly broke over the boys. They had often heard of the squatters scattered over the woods of Maine, queer nomadic people, who gleaned a precarious and lean living from the woods. Game and fish laws meant nothing to them. Birds of all sorts were shot, and woe be unto the deer that ran across the path of the squatter. Some little cultivation was carried on, in the way of corn and potatoes.
Wearily they trudged on. The last mile was almost agony to Phil and Garry, but they clenched their teeth and carried on, determined if possible to show no sign of weakening in front of these strange creatures of the woods.
At last Misery Camp was sighted. It was a patch of land that had been cleared away, evidently the logs that were cut being used to make the habitations of the squatters. A score of ragged children and some slatternly women came out to meet them, looking curiously at the boys. They were thrust into one of the cabins, and a guard established at the door.
The weary boys dropped on the rude pallets and fell asleep almost instantly. So tired were they that it was the following morning before they awoke. They stretched their arms and legs, and then tried to open the door. The guard let them out, and warned them that any attempt at flight would be followed immediately by a shot.
“An’ I ain’t missed a squirrel in five year,” boasted their guard, who was a boy of about their own age.
Privately the boys resolved to make an escape as soon as possible, but not while the rifle of the guard was trained on them, for they doubted neither his ability to shoot as well as he said he could, nor the fact that he would not hesitate to do as he threatened.
They looked over the clearing with some curiosity. It fitted its name well, for misery seemed to be on every side. King, who appeared to be that in fact as well as in name, called the boys to his own shack for breakfast. Here they found that the squatter leader had opened their knapsacks, and the contents were strewn over a rude table.
Both boys jumped to see if their wireless ’phone had been broken by the curious squatter, but were relieved to find that it had not been touched.
“What’s that there contrivance?” asked King, pointing to the radio-phone.
“That’s a wireless telephone,” answered Garry. As he answered he had a vision of a way out of their difficulty, but subsequent conversation soon proved that they would not be able to put the plan into execution.
“I seen a telephone onct,” said the squatter, “but it had wires. You don’t mean that that thing will talk without a wire, do you?”
“Yes it does. Would you like to have us set it up, and talk through it, and have a message come through the air?” asked Garry, eagerly awaiting the answer, for he thought that if he could get the wireless up he could signal some way for help.
“No, I don’t. I don’t believe that ye can talk through the air without a wire, but ye might be able to an’ I ain’t agoin’ to take no chances.”
The squatter did not seem interested in the contents of the knapsack except for the little medicine case that Garry always carried. The boy noted, too, that all the foodstuff was gone.
“What be these things, medicine?” asked King.
“Yes,” answered Garry briefly.
“Got anything that’s good for chills and fever?” demanded the man.
“Not that I know of; most of that stuff is for use in an accident. You see it’s mostly antiseptic and bandage and stuff,” answered Garry.
King picked up a bottle that was marked poison and had the familiar skull and crossbones in red ink.
“What’s this stuff with the red printin’?” he questioned.
“That’s iodine; can’t you read?” Phil broke into the conversation.
“No, can’t read, never went to school. What’s it for?”
“Why, it’s to put on bad cuts so that you won’t get blood poisoning, and it’s good if you strain your wrist or finger or something like that.” answered Garry.
“Wall, you don’t say so. Wonder if ’twould do this finger o’ mine any good? I hurt it the other day when I slipped near the brook where I was getting water. It’s my trigger finger too, and that’s a bad one to have hurt.”
Garry assured him that there was nothing better than the iodine and offered to paint it for him.
The squatter evidently decided that it could do no harm, and so Garry inspected the swollen finger and liberally painted it.
“That will help take the swelling out, and it will be all right in a couple of days,” said Garry, as he put the cork back in the bottle and laid it on the table.
Then he noticed that a ragged youngster about three years old had been watching the process with wide open eyes. Inquiry developed that it was the squatter’s child, and it was evident that the youngster was the one thing that the squatter king was really fond of. He told Garry and Phil that the mother had died a year before, when they had been driven off a timber tract by the lumbermen. Here the squatter launched into a tirade against the lumber owners.
The squatter idea is a peculiar one. They claim that the woods were made for man to take as he found them and could not understand the right of anyone to drive them out; yet they are responsible for great damage to the woods. As, for instance, at this place, a couple of acres of fine timber had been ruthlessly cut to make cabins for the nesters or squatters, and to provide a place for the scanty crop of potatoes and corn. Then too, many of the great forest fires are started by the squatters. There is one case on record in Maine where the squatters set fire to a whole mountain side, because they said that the blueberries would grow better on the burned-over ground.
Also the depredations against deer are numerous. Many a fine moose or stag has been brought down to provide food for the nomads.
The talk went back to the medicine again, and the squatter asked what the skull meant on the bottle.
“That’s put on to warn you that it’s poison,” Garry informed him.
The work of painting his finger seemed to mollify the old man somewhat, and he drew a little out of his shell, and Garry, seeing the opportunity, asked him why they had been brought there.
The squatter then told them that LeBlanc had appeared on the scene a day or two before and told them that unless they agreed to keep some boys who would be brought there prisoners, they would be driven from the clearing by the lumberjacks. The squatters knew what this meant, since they had planted their corn for the summer, and moving meant that the lumberjacks would burn down the cabins and start them away. They knew from experience that it was useless to fight, for the enemy, so they considered the lumberjacks, would outnumber them ten to one.
Garry saw through the whole scheme and guessed that Barrows had known of their presence at the clearing and had kept them in mind for some time when he might require them to help in some of his schemes.
The squatter king took his rifle and offered to show the boys where their planting was done, and more for the sake of getting a little exercise than for any especial desire to see the corn patch, they agreed.
The other squatters eyed them as they passed in company with old King, but said nothing. Some of the youngsters started to follow, but a mere threatening look was enough to set them scurrying away.
“You seem to be the boss around here,” remarked Garry.
“Yes, I’m a King by name, and I aim to be king of these people so long as I breathe,” answered the man gravely; and Garry, looking at his immense frame and stern eye, thought he had a good chance of continuing in his royal capacity.
They were looking at the corn patch with only a pretended interest, when they heard a scream from King’s cabin.
“That’s my baby,” said King in a frightened tone. “Something’s hurt her!”
CHAPTER XVI
GARRY SAVES A LIFE
They rushed back to the cabin and a sight met their eyes that stunned them all.
The youngster with childish curiosity, had climbed up on the table and captured the bottle of iodine. It was immediately evident that the child had drunk some of the poison, for its lips were stained. There was no telling how much the child had drunk, for the bottle had fallen to the floor, spilling some of the liquid over the floor.
The old man seized his child in his arms, and tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“Oh, she’s going to die, she’s going to die,” he moaned.
Garry’s brain spun with thought.
“Quick,” he shouted to the old man. “There’s one thing that will save her. What did you do with that foodstuff you took out of the pack there?”
The sharpness of his tone startled the old man into activity. The words of Garry that there was one way to save her galvanized him into action.
“It’s up there on the shelf back of you. Can ye save my baby? Hurry! Save her an’ there’s nothin’ on this earth I won’t do for ye!”
Garry had fortunately remembered that he had in his knapsack a package of cornstarch that they had brought to make thickening for gravy in case they did any cooking. Garry, and for that matter both of his chums, were pastmasters in the art of first aid to the injured. They knew that the antidote for iodine was cornstarch.
Rushing to the shelf, Garry snatched the package and tore open the top. His eyes fell on a can of mustard and he seized that.
On the ground outside the door Garry had noted a campfire with an old tin pail swung across it on a branch held up by forked sticks. Working with the speed of an express train, he dashed through the door and grabbed the pail of hot water.
Back in the cabin, he took a tin cup from the table, and hastily melting some of the mustard, made an emetic. This he gently forced the frightened child to swallow. Soon the emetic had the desired effect, and by this time Garry had moistened the cornstarch to the consistency of cream.
While the frightened squatter looked on helplessly, Garry fed the cornstarch to the baby, who seemed instinctively to trust the boy, and made little fuss over taking the pasty drink.
Throughout the morning Garry, with almost the skill of a trained nurse, watched the child’s breathing and kept count of her pulse. As nothing developed to show that the child was in any danger, Garry privately formed the opinion that the iodine had not gotten much further than the inside of her mouth, and that the burn of the poison had prevented her from drinking any great quantity of it. Then, too, the stain on the floor, where the liquid had sunk into the rough boards, was large enough to denote that most of the contents of the small bottle were on the floor and had not been swallowed by the child.
As the youngster brightened up, the relief of the father was almost pitiful to see. He grasped the hand of Garry and in broken, halting words thanked him for saving the life of the baby. At the door was a throng of curious squatters, and when they saw that the King baby was going to live, gradually broke away and returned to their duties. All this time Phil had stood by ready to lend a hand, in case Garry needed assistance.
“Boys,” said the old man, “I’ve never broken my word before, but this is one time that I’m going to. It will mean that we’ll be driven off here, but that can’t be helped. You can go away whenever you want to. My promise to that Frenchman ain’t nothin’ to me since you’ve saved my baby.”
This was what Garry had hoped would happen. He did not want to trade the baby’s safety for freedom, but there was still Dick to consider. He might be and probably was in grave danger at that moment, and it behooved the boys to return as speedily as possible to the lumber camp to set in motion the machinery to effect Dick’s release, for they had decided that Dick was probably a prisoner at the camp. Of course they did not know of the hidden room under the storehouse, where, at that moment, their friend was still languishing.
“I’ll make you a promise now,” said Garry. “It happens that my father owns this tract of land, and I’ll give you my word that you will not be forced to move from here for the rest of the summer. Of course the logging will soon extend in this direction and you will be forced off, but until that happens you can stay here unmolested. Now we’re going back to start a young war at the camp, and release a chum of ours who is held prisoner there.”
“You better stay here for awhile, for part of the word of the Frenchman was that another boy would be brought here to be kept. Now if you boys stay here and pretend to be prisoners when LeBlanc comes with your friend, you can wait till he goes and then all be freed together. In case there’s any trouble comes, I guess my men and I can take care of it.”
“That’s fine,” said Garry. “I don’t think there’s anything better that can be done. When did you expect LeBlanc to come with the other boy?”
“The Frenchman was aiming to get back here by tomorrow night,” replied King. “He’d have to start in the night time, which will probably be tonight, and get here some time tomorrow afternoon.”
“How will LeBlanc be able to find his way in the dark?” asked Garry.
“I left one of my men behind to meet him and guide him,” answered the old man. Then a thought struck him, and he asked:
“What are you all such powerful enemies for?”
Garry then told him some of the adventures that they had encountered, and the part that the halfbreed had played in them. When he came to the tale of how LeBlanc had kidnapped little Patty Graham, the old man’s eyes flashed fire.
“He’s a treacherous weazel, that halfbreed. I don’t mind some of the other things he did, but any man that will steal a person’s baby ought to be cut into pieces. I’ll tell you that. When he comes here with your friend, we’ll just tie him up and keep him here and you can do what you want to with him.”
This seemed like a stroke of real luck for the boys. It would mean LeBlanc would be safely held until time for them to have him taken to prison to pay the much deserved penalty for his crimes, and at the same time would rid them of a dangerous enemy, as well as lessening by one the allies of the rascally Barrows.
The rest of the day passed quickly, and they told the squatter king many of the things of the outside world. He had heard little or nothing of the great cities, and had never seen a moving picture nor ridden in a railroad train. But he knew the woods as few men do, except perhaps the Hermit, although there was no comparison between this giant of the woods, who could neither read nor write, and the old recluse, who was eternally surprising the boys with a quotation from some poet, or a snatch of Latin.
“Now, Phil,” said Garry, when they were left alone for awhile by the squatter, “let’s plan a war campaign. As soon as Dick gets here, we will let him have a good rest, and then hike for the camp. We’ll make it to get to the small lake without anyone seeing us, and there we’ll get the canoe and portage it through the woods to the other lake. There we can hide out and get the dope on the timber thieves. Once we have done that, we have only to draw in the strings, and we’ll have the whole job done.”
Phil assented to this as the wisest course to follow, and night coming on, they turned in. The squatter had insisted on giving up his own cabin to them, which although poor and bare, was the best one on the clearing.
They whiled away the next day waiting the arrival of Dick, and hoping that no change would be made in the plans of Barrows to prevent Dick’s being sent to Misery Camp.
It was late afternoon when a man whom the squatter king had sent into the woods to act as lookout came running back.
“He’s got a young fellow with him,” he told the squatter leader.
“Is it the Frenchman?” demanded the old man.
“Yes, it’s a Frenchman, but,” and here the boys met with a disappointment. “It’s not the one that came the other time, but a fellow that looks like him.”
“Tough luck; that’s Baptiste, not Jean. Look King, I’ve changed my mind about having him captured. Let him go back and let the camp think that we are held prisoners safely here. That will allow us to work with greater freedom. Now we’ll duck under cover and you meet the halfbreed and bring Dick here.”
“Just as you say,” said the old man. “All you have to do around here from now on is to say the word, and everyone in Misery will do just as you order. I will, and I’ll see to it that the others toe the line.”
“Funny he don’t come,” muttered Garry.
“Oh, he won’t be here for a time yet,” said the chap who had brought the warning. “I was in a tree top, and could see way down to a clearing, and saw them there taking a rest. Ain’t nobody on the clearin’ here that can run as fast as I can, and I came quicker than ever to tell you about it.”
“Had we better let Baptiste see us so that he will know we are still here, Garry?” asked Phil.
“That’s a good suggestion. Suppose you station a guard with a rifle outside the door, King, and let Baptiste have a peek at us when he gets here,” directed Garry turning to the squatter.
“That’s what I’ll do. Here you, Job,” turning to the youth who had brought news of the coming of Baptiste and Dick. “You take your stand outside there like as if you were guardin’t the door. Now I’ll get out o’ here and meet them.”
The squatter king hastened out, while Job stood before the shack door with his rifle clutched in his hands. Garry and Phil, with some excitement, waited the coming of Dick.
In a few moments they heard someone approaching, and King threw open the door. “Here’s your friend,” he whispered, and thrust someone in. Bewilderment spread over the faces of the boys.
It was not Dick who entered the cabin, but Art Howells!
CHAPTER XVII
A GOOD DEED REWARDED
The dumbfounded boys could only stare at Howells.
“Where did you come from and where is Dick?” cried Garry, when he had recovered his voice sufficiently to speak.
“If you will untie my hands first, I will feel better and be able to think. My wrists are all raw from trying to work the ropes off, but the man that tied me up knew his business too well,” said Howells.
Since the boys’ belongings had been restored them by King, they had their knives, and it was a small matter to cut the bonds.
“Now what do you mean by Dick being with me?” asked Howells.
“Why, Dick has been a prisoner at the camp, and we were given to understand that he was to be brought here to join us. We were prisoners here ourselves; fell into a foolish trap because we were too sure of ourselves. Fortunately, because of a good turn that we were able to do, we have been set free by the squatter chief,” answered Garry.
“What do you mean free, with an armed guard outside the door?” demanded Art. “I should say you were pretty closely kept in confinement.”
“That is only a ruse so the suspicion of whoever brought any prisoner here would not be raised. As soon as he goes we will be free to do what we please. Now how did you come to be captured?” went on Garry.
“Oh, I made a fool blunder too. I wanted to see you chaps to tell you that a lot of lumber was being shipped from a place called Harrison. It’s about five miles away from Dutton Lake, so that seems to show that the lake figures in the stealing of the timber. I crawled into camp one night and went to your shack, and walked in expecting to find you sleeping there. Instead I ran right into the arms of a couple of huskies who had me overpowered before I knew what was going on. I found out in a few minutes that the pair were LeBlanc and that precious scoundrel that tried to do me up that night you chaps appeared so providentially on the scene.”
“Did Barrows say anything about what had been going on in the camp, or drop any word that would give us a hint as to his plans?” put in Phil.
“No, he was very closemouthed. There was a swarthy chap with him, who from your description I take to be Jean LeBlanc. All that was said was that I should be taken to a place called Misery Camp. From the looks of this place I judge that is where I am now. What have you run into, a squatter camp?”
“Yes, you’ve hit the nail on the head.”
Garry was about to speak further, when the door opened and the squatter chief came in.
“That fellow is gone, and you kin come out any time you want,” was the welcome news that he brought. The three followed him into the sunlight and then decided that a start should be made for the lumber camp at once.
“That is, unless you are too tired to start now, Art,” said Garry.
“Oh, I’m feeling fit as a fiddle. I don’t know that I’d care to walk all the way back, but we can save time by going part of the way,” remarked Art cheerfully.
The packs were brought out and soon all was ready for the return trip. They were surprised at the appearance of King with his rifle, and feared for a moment that he had thought better of allowing them to go and was going to make them prisoners again.
“Just decided that I’ll go with you fellows. If there’s goin’t to be fightin’, and I think there is, I want to be in it. Besides, you won’t be safe wanderin’ around through strange country alone. I’ll see that you get where you want to go in safety, and mebbe you’ll find that a little bit of extra help won’t come in amiss? Do you want me to come?” concluded King.
The light of battle was in the old man’s eyes, and Garry at once decided that he might prove a valuable ally in case trouble arose and welcomed him to come with them.
“We’ll take a little different way back, so we won’t be liable to run into any of that gang from the camp. We’ll go until you fellows get tired, then eat, and you can roll in while I watch for you.”
This was what they wanted to do, and so they agreed to follow his advice entirely on the return trip.
“What about some of the men coming to your place to see if we are all right, or if they bring Dick with them, what then?” questioned Garry.
“In case any o’ them come here from now on, they’ll get a treat they won’t like. I told my men to seize anyone who came, and if the fat boy comes, he is to be guided to a place where me and my men know, and then he can join us,” answered King.
The squatter seemed to have covered everything necessary, and off started the quartet. King led them on a roundabout trail, and they walked until darkness fell, when Howells declared that he would like to rest.
For fear of possible detection by some prowler from the camp, no fire was built, and a cold bite was eaten. King refused to let any of the others do any work, and himself gathered enough boughs for them all to sleep on. Garry insisted that when King had watched for a while, he waken either himself or Phil, and they could provide a relief for a while. King protested that he was able to watch the entire night, but Garry reminded him that on the coming day there might be strenuous work, and he would not want to be handicapped by fatigue. This finally made the old man agree to waken Garry at midnight and let him stand a watch.
True to his word, King shook Garry about midnight.
“Don’t believe there’s any real need o’ watchin’, everything been quiet so far; but there’s nothin’ like bein’ on the safe side.”
Garry looked to see that his rifle was loaded and ready, then took a seat under a tree where he could be comfortable and yet hear anything. King laid down on the ground, scorning the boughs, and was fast asleep in a moment.
After about two hours Garry began to feel drowsy, and rather than run the risk of dropping off to sleep, he woke Phil, who had had a good sleep and was able to stand sentry for the rest of the night.
After they had eaten in the morning, the old man asked what the next step was.
Garry had been thinking it over as they ate, and so he asked King if he knew the region around Kanamo Lake. King answered that he knew every inch of the territory in that part of the state, and so it was decided that he lead them by a roundabout route to the lake shore. Here they could hide out in a safe place, and after dark could portage the canoe across the timberland to Dutton Lake. Garry was determined to try and catch the thieves at work that night. Then plans could be made for a raid on the camp and the rescue of Dick could be effected.
It was almost nightfall when they reached the lake shore, and they thought best to turn in for a while before making for the spot where they had concealed the canoe.
To return now to Dick, who had been left all this time in the cellar. Food was brought to him on occasion, but always by two or three in company, and he had no opportunity of trying to fight his way from the cellar. Once when the cook and cookee came, he attempted to bribe them to let him escape, but they turned a deaf ear to his words.
Back at the office, Barrows was having a council with his henchmen. These consisted of the two LeBlancs, the cookee and the boss sawyer.
“Things are beginning to get too brisk here, so we’ll make a good cleanup and light out,” said Barrows. “I didn’t expect when we started this thing that there would be all the trouble that has since come upon us. We’ve all done enough now to land us in prison, what with this kidnapping and everything. Catching Howells around here was what has made me suspicious. There’s no telling what he has done on the outside. He may have written to Boone and told him what was going on, and that would sure spill the beans, for Boone would probably order me off the place and give me my walking papers. Then we would be all done. What I propose is this: We have already cut a good bit of timber and that has been sawed, thanks to the saw I had hidden in the storehouse. We would have wasted time, as usual, waiting for another, but this suits my ends better. All this timber has been left on the tote road, and tonight we’ll make a number of trips and clean it up. Tomorrow night we’ll make a grand cleanup and then fire the sawmill and wreck the machinery and light out. By the time they have things ready to fix up, Boone will be too late to keep his contracts and my work will have been done,” Barrows concluded as he rubbed his hands in evil satisfaction over his treachery.
“And the boys?” inquired Jean LeBlanc softly.
“I know what’s on your mind, LeBlanc. Ugh, I’d hate to have you for an enemy. I suppose you want to stick a knife in them and put them out of the way.”
“That would be safest. They know too much,” answered the halfbreed.
“Well, I have a better plan than that. You remember we wrote a letter to decoy them away and mentioned a ransom. What’s to prevent us from really getting one from old man Boone? We could stick him up for a big sum, and that would be clear profit aside from what the Carson people are paying us. King will keep them till we arrange things and then we could free them. After that, LeBlanc, you can do what you like; it will be out of my hands then. Now we’ll start for the lake. Will the boat be there at the usual time?” and he turned to the boss sawyer.
“Usual time,” laconically answered the man.
The door was thrown open, and a man walked into the room.
“So it’s the Carson people that are back of you this time, eh, Barrows? Guess I got here just in time!”
The men gasped in amazement, for there stood “Moose” Boone.
In the face of this crisis, the only one to keep his head was LeBlanc.
“Seize him,” he whispered sibilantly to his brother, in French.
Before Mr. Boone could make a move, he was grabbed by the powerful brothers. One of them clasped a hand over his mouth, and without a word, as though they had practiced for this very moment, Jean snatched a soiled bandanna from his pocket, and in another minute Mr. Boone was effectually gagged.
Barrows also had sprung into action. Rummaging around under the pine table that served as a desk, he brought forth a length of rope, and soon Boone was tightly bound.
“Carry him over to the storehouse. Don’t put him in the cellar. This makes things better. We can keep him prisoner for several days and clean up. Lively now,” ordered Barrows.
“Moose” Boone was carried to the storehouse and unceremoniously dumped. He lay on the floor thinking how foolish he had been to come alone to a camp where he knew there was treachery afoot, but now it was too late to cry over spilled milk. He wondered where the boys were, since he had seen no sign of them about the camp.
His reason for coming was the note that Garry had sent him, and which the hermit had succeeded in having posted.
He twisted around several times in an effort to relieve the pain in his arms and feet from lying tied on the hard floor.
Nearly two hours passed, and then the door was softly unlocked and opened. In stepped the cook. Mr. Boone wondered what was to happen now, and he received the surprise of his life when the cook fished out his knife and proceeded to cut the bonds that bound him.
“Have you come to the conclusion that this was a fool thing to do? I am thankful, of course, and will see that you are let go when the rest of this gang is rounded up,” said Boone.
The cook did not speak until he had cut the bonds.
“First, Mr. Boone, I’ll tell you something and then I’ll show you someone. I don’t suppose you will remember a cold spring day nearly twenty-five years ago on the Umculcos, when you risked your own life to save a lumberjack that was trying to ride a log and fell into the river with the logs crushing down about him?”
Boone’s mind travelled swiftly back to the day, although he had not given it a thought for years.
“Yes, I remember pulling a man out, and then falling sick from the cold, and when I got well the man I had pulled out was gone,” he answered.
“Well, I was the man you pulled out. I left the camp because I was only a fool young fellow and they made so much fun of me for falling in that I picked up and got out. I never knew you were the man until I saw you tonight and hitched your name up with the man who saved me. Now I’ll show you something like I promised.”
He rolled the barrels away and raised the trap. “Come up,” he called into the darkness.
Dick awoke from a troubled sleep and painfully crawled up the ladder. It took a few moments for his eyes to get accustomed to the light, and then he looked as though he saw a ghost.
“Uncle,” he almost shouted, for so it was that he always addressed Mr. Boone.
They clasped hands with a hearty good will and were about to exchange notes when the door was thrown open and Barrows and the two LeBlancs entered.
Each held a revolver with a steady hand.
“So, cook, you’ve turned traitor, have you? Well, it just makes another prisoner. Now Boone, it’s no use trying to do anything. Most of the men in the camp are in my pay, and just to be sure that we clean up tonight and tomorrow night as we had planned, we have seized all the men we are not sure of and have them herded in the bunkhouse and under heavy guard. This time we’ll succeed!”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CAPTURE
We left Garry, Phil and Howells with the squatter king on the lake shore waiting for darkness. When it fell, they retrieved the canoe from its hiding place and started across the timberland to Dutton Lake. The trip occupied nearly three hours, although they made excellent speed.
The faint light of the stars pierced the blackness of the forest, so they did not have to stumble along, although the greatest of caution was exercised every moment.
They reached the lake without encountering a person, and then launched the canoe. They did not dare trust the weight of the four to the frail craft, and so it was planned that King and Phil should remain behind, while Art and Garry paddled out into the lake. They did not have to wait a great while until the chugging of the powerful engine in the motor boat was heard.
Paddling with the noiseless stroke of the Indians, they followed after a reasonable time had elapsed. They had taken only a few strokes when Art whispered:
“Here, we’re going at this thing wrong. When that raft is loaded and starts back across the water, it will make too much speed for us to follow. Suppose we start now for the other side of the lake. Then we can lie off shore and wait for its arrival and see who meets the raft to unload it. That will complete your evidence, and we’ll duck out for the camp and somehow get hold of Dick. What say?”
Without a word, Garry, who was paddling stern, gave his paddle a twist and the canoe turned in its course. They reached the other side and then lay off shore as agreed, giving the paddles an occasional twist to keep the canoe from drifting, for a gentle breeze was stirring the lake.
After a long wait they heard the approach of the motor boat, which, as was customary, was running without lights. Far down the shore they saw a light appear as though some one were flashing a lamp. It was probably to guide the boat to its destination in the darkness. When the boat reached its objective point, they paddled noiselessly to within a few feet of it, and beached the canoe. Walking with the stealth of Indians, they came close to where the boat was being unloaded.
“By jove, I know that voice,” whispered Garry, as he heard a man ask:
“So this is how the trick is done? Pretty clever, I call it. Steal the timber and then raft it across to where you have your trucks waiting and hustle it to the railroad spur. Mighty good work on the part of Barrows.
“That’s Carson himself; used to be associated with Father,” whispered Garry. He and Howells were hiding back of a tree, well away from danger of being seen. At that moment Carson struck a match to light his pipe.
“Get a good look at him, we will want to identify him in court if necessary,” said Garry. Howells nudged him to make him understand that he had done so.
“Now wait here,” whispered Garry. Howells watched in amazement as Garry crept to the water’s edge and noiselessly waded in. He made no sound as he swam. When he came back, dripping wet, Howells wanted to ask a score of questions, but forebore for fear of being heard.
He was about to come closer and whisper, when a form crept up to them and a low voice said:
“So we meet again.”
It was Baptiste LeBlanc. The Frenchman then lifted his voice and called for the others. But he did not get very far. Howells struck with all his strength and his hard knuckles took the halfbreed on the point of the jaw. LeBlanc dropped like a stone.
“Come, Garry, this way quick,” called Art. There was no need of whispering now, for the men who had been unloading had heard the alarm and there was the sound of rushing feet.
“Into the canoe, Art. They can’t follow us,” said Garry.
Howells had intended a dash into the woods, where there was less likelihood of being caught, but he obeyed Garry, knowing that he had some plan in view. They pushed the canoe into the water, springing into it as they did. It was lucky that Howells was an experienced canoeist, else the frail boat would have been overturned. As it was, they got a good start, and in a moment were bending to their paddles with all their might and strength.
“What’s to stop them following us in the motor boat? We should have taken to the woods,” remonstrated Art.
“Faster, I’ll tell you later,” answered Garry breathlessly. At that minute they heard loud imprecations from the shore.
By this time they were well away from shore and out of danger of a possible shot.
Garry began to laugh.
“No wonder they are shouting and cursing there. I swam to the boat that time I left you and cut the wires on the engine; and to be sure, I took out the spark plugs, and have them in my pocket. It will be some time before they get that boat into condition to chase us!”
“Good boy,” said Art admiringly.
The return across the lake was without eventful occurrence, however, for with them was the hermit.
Garry greeted him warmly. “What news?” he asked.
“I fear I am the bearer of bad news,” said the hermit.
“Your father has come to the camp and been caught, so I judge from what I heard said by two men a while ago as I lay close to the road that leads here. Also many of the lumberjacks are kept captive in one of the shacks, and a heavy guard has been set over them. I think we had better go for help; we can’t battle them alone, our numbers are too few.”
Garry was for going at once to the rescue of his father, but the others restrained him.
“We can’t do anything there, and we can be of great help on the outside. There is a sheriff in town, and we can get word to him, and have him round up a posse sufficiently large to capture the whole outfit,” advised Art.
Reluctantly Garry agreed that this was the wisest thing to do.
“King, guide us around so that we can avoid the camp, but get to the road that leads to town. We’ll get a posse and give them a battle,” directed Garry.
Without a word, King led the way, and the others followed.
In the meantime, Mr. Boone and Dick had been led from the storehouse and taken to the bunkhouse, where the rest of the prisoners were.
There were shouts of welcome when some of the old woodsmen saw Mr. Boone. Although he was the owner of the timber tract, and their employer, they hailed him as “Moose” and shook his hand energetically.
“By gosh. I’m ashamed to look you in the face, Moose,” cried one of the lumberjacks. “To think we let a bunch like that crowd outside there put it over on us; men that have fought with rifle and peavy stick when some crowd tried to steal the river from us. Gosh, if we had a few axes and peavy sticks now we could get out there and make that bunch look sick, but all have rifles and revolvers. Barrows must’ve had a regular armory with him.”
They were still talking and trying without success to puzzle a way out of their predicament, when Dick gave a shout of joy.
“There’s my knapsack. That lets me see light right now!”
The men looked at him in astonishment. How a mere knapsack could help them was not to be understood.
“That was chucked in here by one of the men yesterday, before we were captured. He saw it in the shack, and remembering it belonged to one of you, took it for safe keeping. It was Tom there, who brought it.”
Tom was the man who had taken them on the coon hunt, and one they had been suspicious of, but here he was with the loyal men.
Dick hurriedly opened the knapsack. Yes, there it was, safe and sound, the wireless outfit!
“Now one of you fellows get up there and dig a hole in the roof; it only need be a small one, that I can slide this aerial up through. It ought not to take more than an hour.”
“We haven’t any knife,” said one of the men. “They took away all our knives and matches from us.”
Dick secured his knife from its secret pocket in the lapel, and handed it to one of the men.
“One of you set to work, and the others keep talking so that the guards outside will not become suspicious and look in here.”
“Are you going to try something with the radio-phone,” asked Mr. Boone, who was the only one who grasped what Dick’s intentions were.
“Yes; it’s our only chance. I happened to notice that there were two aerials over houses in the last town we passed through before coming to the camp, and I saw some radio apparatus in a store window, so evidently some one there has an outfit. Fortunately I have the receiving apparatus here as well as a sender, and we can find out if my message is received by anyone.”
As he talked, he adjusted the apparatus, ready to send his plea for help through space and hope that someone would be listening in.
“Hurry!” he called to the man who was boring through the board roof with the knife. “It’s almost time for the usual radio broadcasting stations to stop sending, and I want to get someone while they are still listening in, just as the broadcasting station closes.”
“There, guess that’s all right, unless you want it a little bigger,” said the man who had been working.
Dick looked up at the hole and saw that it would do all right.
Most of the men were frankly incredulous. The thought of talking through a ’phone that had no wires was a riddle to them, as few or none of them knew anything about radio.
One of them suggested that instead of wasting time with such a “fool contrivance,” they try to tear away the boards from the roof and take a chance on overpowering the guards. This was discouraged by the others who, though they were by no means cowardly, knew it would be foolhardy to face guns with only their bare hands.
“Let’s give the boy a chance with his infernal machine first,” advised a grizzled old lumberjack. “Then if it don’t work, we can try something else.”
Dick adjusted the aerial, and then tuning up, got ready to talk into the transmitter.
“Some of you men keep talking over there by the door, and the rest of you get near the windows and block anyone from seeing in. Don’t talk too loud, just enough to cover my voice.”
For nearly ten minutes Dick repeated over and over again:
“S. O. S. Send a sheriff with large posse to Boone’s camp. Owner and some of men held prisoners. Answer if you get message.”
Then there was a crackling sound in the receivers that were clasped to his head, and with a thrill he knew that someone was trying to get him.
He adjusted the tuning apparatus with trembling fingers. The voice still sputtered and crackled. Finally he got the right wave length, and heard a welcome voice.