An hour passed. The boys spent the time in talking over the situation and forming tentative plans for the immediate future.
“S-S—h, someone’s coming,” Jack suddenly whispered, as his quick ears caught the sound of a low whistle.
“I see him,” Bob said a moment later, peering through the branches. “I think it’s that fellow that had the jug the other day.”
The man, swinging swiftly along on his snowshoes, passed directly beneath the tree in which they were concealed.
“He’s going up to see if we’re cutting on the tract,” Jack declared as soon as he was out of sight.
“Probably,” Bob agreed. “If he is he’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Jack’s prediction was correct, for in less than a half hour they sighted the man returning and it was evident, from the speed he was making, that he was in a great hurry to get back to the camp.
“Had we better go back and tell Tom?” Jack whispered.
“I think we’d better wait till we’re sure they are coming,” Bob replied after a moment’s thought. “We don’t want to give a false alarm and it may be that Ben has an entirely different plan.”
So they waited another hour and had about concluded that the enemy did not intend to make the attack, when the distant sound of voices reached their ears.
“I believe they’re coming,” Bob said, straining his ears to the utmost to learn if they were approaching.
“Yes, they’re coming all right,” he declared a moment later, as the voices came decidedly nearer. “And, by the sound, there’s a lot of them,” and drawing a whistle from his pocket, he put it to his lips and blew with all his strength.
Almost immediately a faint whistle was heard from the direction of their camp.
“He heard us all right,” Bob declared, as he returned the whistle to his pocket. “Now we want to get back just as soon as our legs will take us there.”
As rapidly as possible they scrambled down to the ground, and fastening on their snow-shoes started off at a swinging trot, a pace which, on snow-shoes, covers ground with almost unbelievable speed.
“I don’t know as we really need to hurry so after all,” Bob panted, after they had covered about half the distance back. “It isn’t likely that many of them have snow-shoes, and they won’t be able to make much speed without them. Can you hear anything?”
For a moment they stood still and listened. Very faintly the murmur of voices reached their ears.
“There’s plenty of time,” Bob decided, as he started off again at a more moderate pace.
In a few minutes they reached the clearing and as Bob glanced at the place where the men had been at work when they had left a few hours before, he gave vent to a low chuckle.
“I’ll bet it’ll be a surprise to Ben when he doesn’t find a soul here,” he said as he started across the clearing toward the former cutting.
Tom met them just as they came in sight of the crew, busily at work, “as though they had never cut anywhere else and never intended to,” Jack laughed.
“So they’re a comin’,” Tom greeted them.
“They sure are, the whole kerboodle of them I guess,” Jack replied as he kicked the snow-shoes from his feet.
“We didn’t wait to see how many there were,” Bob explained. “But we could hear them and I guess Jack’s about right. Listen. They can’t be very far away now.”
But although they strained their ears, not a sound reached them from the direction of the rival camp.
“Sure and they probably cut out the talkin’,” Tom said. “I gess they mane ter take us by surprise as it was, but it’s meself as thinks the surprise will be on the ither foot.”
It was a full half hour later when they caught the first glimpse of the “invading army,” as Jack termed them. They appeared suddenly in the woods on the other side of the clearing, full fifty strong. Only a few were equipped with snow-shoes, and that was undoubtedly why they had been so long in getting there. Every man had a club of some kind in his hand, but the boys were unable to see any guns. Big Ben was too well acquainted with the type of man he employed to trust them with anything more deadly than an ax handle or a broken peavey.
They stopped on the edge of the clearing as if undecided as to the next move. The fact that there was no one working on the disputed tract when they arrived had evidently disarranged their plans.
From their position, just within the fringe of trees which separated the camp from the place where the crew was at work, Tom and the boys watched, trying to catch sight of Big Ben. The men were talking excitedly but in low tones, so that they were unable to catch what was being said, but from their wild gesticulations they judged that many of them were urging an immediate attack on the camp.
“I see him,” Jack whispered, as they all saw the big man shouldering his way through the mob.
As he stepped out into the clearing, he stopped and faced his men, and it was evident to the watchers that he was giving them orders, but he spoke too low for them to hear what he said. He talked only a moment and then started across the open space.
“Come on. We’ll go mate him,” Tom said, as he stepped out from behind a big spruce and closely followed by the boys advanced to meet him. With a face as black as a thunder cloud, the big man came to within six feet of them before he spoke.
“So you thought you’d better quit, hey?” he sneered, as he came to a halt.
“Ye kin put it thot way if ye wish,” Tom replied in a sharp tone.
“And it’s a mighty lucky thing for you that ye did quit. If ye hadn’t ye’d have been made to.”
“Mebby and mebby not,” Tom grinned.
“I’d advise ye to keep a civil tongue in your head or the fact that ye got cold feet may not do any good. It isn’t too late for a fight yet, and my boys are spoiling for one,” and the big man nodded his head in the direction of his crew.
“Just a moment, Mr. Donahue,” Bob broke in as the man was about to continue. “We do not wish to have any trouble and that is the reason that we stopped cutting on that tract. But you will agree that this piece of land belongs to Father, and if any of your men step foot on it we shall hold you responsible.”
“Responsible be hanged,” Big Ben snorted. “I’ll have you to understand that I go where I like, and take my men with me too. Now ye say ye don’t want to fight. Well, there’s jest one way ye can get around it.”
“And that is?”
“By giving me your word that you’ll cut no more timber on that tract.”
“Thin, begorra, it’s meself thot gesses there’ll have ter be a fight after all,” Tom declared with a grin.
“Is that your answer?” Big Ben asked, looking at Bob.
“That depends,” Bob replied slowly. “For how long a time do you expect us to keep off?”
“Till I tell ye that ye can go ahead,” he snapped.
“I’m afraid that’s too indefinite,” Bob asserted firmly.
“Then ye refuse?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to,” Bob replied sadly. “But I warn you once more that you will be held responsible if there is any trouble.”
Big Ben made no reply but turned and waved his hand, evidently a prearranged signal. The sign was greeted with a loud chorus of yells, and the mob, brandishing their clubs, charged forward.
At that moment Bob put his hand to his mouth and a shrill whistle sounded through the forest. Instantly six men, led by Jacques Lamont and Jean Lareau, stepped into sight, and each man carried in his hands a Winchester.
At the sound of the whistle the crowd paused and at the sight of the six determined looking men they came to a full halt. Big Ben’s face was a puzzle as he saw the turn things had taken.
“What—what—do you mean?” he stammered.
“We mean to prevent murder,” Bob answered sternly. “Our men, except these six, have only their axes with which to fight, and you know what that would mean in case your men got to them. As I said before, we do not want trouble, but if any of your men come any nearer I’m afraid those rifles will have something to say about it. Remember you are on our land.”
For a moment Big Ben paused as if undecided what to say, and before he could come to a decision the sound of sleigh bells was heard, and, glancing quickly around, the boys were overjoyed to see their father just turning into the clearing in a light cutter drawn by a spirited bay. Mr. Golden was driving and by his side sat Sheriff Switzer. As Big Ben saw the two men he started toward his crew, but, evidently changing his mind, he stopped after taking a few steps, and turned back.
“What’s all the rumpus here?” Mr. Golden cried as he handed the reins to the sheriff and sprang from the sleigh. “Hello Ben,” he added, as though he had just noticed the man. “What seems to be the main difficulty?”
“Your men have been cuttin’ on my land, that’s what’s the mater,” the man growled.
“You don’t mean it,” Mr. Golden said, and turning to Tom he asked:
“How about it, Tom? That’s a pretty serious accusation,” he said gravely, but as he spoke the boys caught sight of a well known twinkle in their father’s eye which told them that he was not blaming them for what had been done.
“Sure and if he owns thot strip,” and Tom waved his hand in the direction of the disputed tract, “we’re guilty all right.”
“I’ve got the papers what says I own it,” Big Ben shouted.
“And so have I,” Mr. Golden declared, more quietly but no less firmly. “Didn’t the boys tell you that my deed had been found?” he asked.
“S’posin’ they did, that don’t make it so. I say the land is mine.”
“Well, well, I see there’s no use in arguing about it now. We’ll have the court settle that question at the next term. Meanwhile I’m sure there is no reason why we should have trouble. You’ve cut on the tract and it seems that we have done the same. If the court says the land is yours then the timber which we have cut belongs to you, and the same the other way round. That’s fair, isn’t it?” and Mr. Golden glanced at the sheriff, who nodded his head.
But Big Ben, evidently realizing that the argument was going against him, had already turned away and was walking rapidly toward his men. He said a few words to them in a tone too low to be heard by the boys, and after a short pause the mob turned and soon disappeared in the woods.
“You sure came in the nick of time,” Bob declared as he shook hands with his father and the sheriff. “Those fellows were just in the right mood for a fight and it’s hard telling how long we could have held them off.”
“You seem pretty well fortified,” Mr. Golden laughed as he turned to the six men with the rifles and shook hands with each of them.
“It’s good to see you, Jacques,” he added, as he welcomed the big trapper. “I hope you’ve had a good season.”
“Ver’ bon merci,” Jacques replied with a bright smile. “I bring down one beeg load ver’ fine pelt. Mebby geet ’nother fore spring.”
“Oh, by the way, Tom, I managed to scare up four horses for you and they ought to be along in an hour or two,” Mr. Golden said, turning to the foreman. “How are the sick ones? Did you find out what’s the matter with them?”
“Come into the office and we’ll tell you all about it,” Bob broke in. “It’s quite a long story.”
Leaving the horse to be taken care of by one of the men, Mr. Golden and Mr. Switzer followed Tom and the boys into the office, where a good fire was roaring in the stove.
“Now let’s have the story,” Mr. Golden smiled, as they removed their overcoats and sat down.
For some minutes Bob talked rapidly, telling them all that had happened. No one interrupted him, and when he had finished the sheriff, as if he could hold in no longer, exploded with:
“The dirty rascal. I never would have believed that Ben would do as mean a thing as that.”
“Nor I,” Mr. Golden agreed. “Of course I knew that he was pretty sore over losing that contract, but I did not think that he would poison my horses. He ought to be punished for that. I could overlook all his other tricks to try to hold us back, but he’s gone a bit too far,” and he shook his head gravely.
“But we’ve got to prove that he did it first,” Jack said as he put a big chunk of wood in the stove.
“And I’m afraid that will be a hard thing to do,” his father declared. “You see it’s against the law for a druggist to sell arsenic, and for that reason whoever sold it to him is not going to own up to it.”
“How about doing any more cutting on that strip?” Bob asked.
“I don’t think we’d better risk it,” his father answered after a moment’s thought. “It would probably end in a fight and it isn’t worth it. Court sits week after next and I’ll have the matter settled then.”
They talked matters over until the dinner horn sounded. Mr. Golden said that he and Mr. Switzer would have to leave soon after dinner in order to catch the afternoon train for Skowhegan, as he had to attend an important directors’ meeting at the bank the next morning.
The four horses arrived soon after the two men left, and the following morning saw three teams hard at work trying to catch up on the hauling. The sick horses were rapidly recovering, and Sam declared that they would be able to work in a day or two.
All that day the two boys worked with the crew cutting down the big spruce trees, rejoicing in the thought that every one added to those already cut, brought their father so much nearer to the fulfillment of his contract. It had been moderating all day, and toward nightfall it began to rain.
“Looks like we’re in fer a thaw,” Tom declared as they entered the mess room for supper.
Soon the rain was coming down in a steady pour, which lasted until about eight o’clock, when the wind shifted into the northwest and the mercury began to fall rapidly. In another half hour the rain had ceased, and with a sigh of relief Tom stepped to the door of the office and glanced at the thermometer hanging just outside.
“Faith and she’s tumbled twenty degrees in the last hour,” he declared, coming back into the room. “There’ll be one peach of a crust in the mornin’ I’m thinkin’.”
The next day was Sunday and the boys had decided to get an early start and spend the day with their Indian friend, Kernertok.
“Hurrah!” Jack shouted, when, just as day was breaking the next morning, he rushed out of the bunk house, closely followed by Bob. “There’s a crust strong enough to hold a horse.”
It was many degrees below zero, and as he had declared, the surface of the snow was frozen solid.
“I really believe we can skate on it,” Bob asserted as he slid about on the smooth surface.
“Of course we can,” Jack agreed eagerly. “And it’s mighty lucky we brought our skates with us.”
After a hurried breakfast they got their skates from the office and quickly exchanging their moccasins for shoes they were soon skimming over the surface of the lake on their way to Kernertok’s cabin.
“It’s almost as good as ice to skate on,” Jack declared, and his brother agreed with him.
Thanks to the crust they reached the cabin much sooner than they had expected and found Kernertok eating his breakfast. Kernertok was very glad to see them, as was also Sicum, his faithful dog.
The day passed quickly, as days spent with him always did, and almost before they were aware of it, it was time to start for the camp.
As they skated along side by side, with long swinging strokes which bore them rapidly over the surface of the lake, Bob said suddenly:
“Jack, boy, we’ve got to prove that Ben Donahue poisoned those horses. If we don’t he’ll find some way to hold the crew up long enough to make father forfeit that contract. But if we can prove that he did it, we’ll have a club to hold over him and can make him be good.”
They were only about a mile from the camp as Bob spoke, and, as if by one impulse, both stopped.
“You’re right, of course,” Jack said as he stooped to tighten a strap. “But how are we going to do it? You remember what father said about it being next to impossible to find out where he got the stuff.”
“I remember it all right, but I’ve been thinking about it all day and I believe there’s a chance. It’s a mighty slim one, I’ll admit, but it’s a chance.”
“All right, spring it,” Jack said eagerly.
“Well, it’s like this. He must have had the arsenic either in a bottle or a box, and if we could find it, it might tell us what we want to know. Now he either threw it away or else he took it back with him, and I’m counting on his having taken it back to his office. You know in some ways he’s rather stupid, though smart enough in others.”
“I guess I get what you’re driving at,” Jack declared as Bob paused. “You mean that it’s up to us to search his office for that bottle, hey?”
“You guessed it the first time,” Bob smiled. “What do you think of the idea?”
“Mighty risky.”
“Granted; and what’s more, not likely to be successful,” Bob agreed. “But it’s a chance. Anything better to offer?”
“I didn’t mean to throw any cold water on the plan,” Jack assured him with a smile. “I really like the idea, and as you say it’s the only way that even has a hint of success. I’ve always thought I’d make a dandy burglar. When do we make the try?”
“The sooner the better, I’d say. How about tomorrow night? I don’t want to do it on the Sabbath.”
“Tomorrow night it is then,” Jack agreed without hesitation.
“Not a word to a soul, even to Tom,” Bob cautioned. “He wouldn’t let us go if he knew it.”
They reached the camp just in time for supper, and as soon as the meal was over Bob got his guitar and for nearly two hours the room rang with the music of the old hymns.
The cold weather continued and the next day the horses which had been sick were again put to work, and at quitting time that night the teams had caught up with the work and the last log felled was loaded on to a sled just as the supper horn sounded.
“Now I fale better,” Tom declared as he led the way to the mess house.
It was shortly after ten o’clock that night when the chorus of snores in the bunk house struck the key, as Bob afterward told Jack, which assured him that all the men were asleep. Jack occupied the bunk directly over them and as he had been conscious of no movement “on the upper deck” for the past thirty minutes, he guessed that his brother had fallen asleep. Reaching up, he gave the slats a push, and immediately a low whisper assured him that he had misjudged him.
Very quietly the two boys slid to the floor and started pulling on their clothing, and a few minutes later they were sitting on the steps of the office fastening on their skates.
“Gee, but it sure is cold,” Jack declared, as he pulled his heavy mittens on to his nearly numbed hands. “Thirty-five below,” he announced a moment later, as he glanced at the thermometer by the light of his pocket flash.
It was very dark, as there was no moon and a slight haze rendered the stars all but invisible, although now and then bright streaks lighted up the sky as the weird Northern lights sent their mysterious streamers up and down the heavens.
“There, I guess we’re about ready to start,” Bob declared, as he thrust a pair of soft doeskin moccasins in his pocket.
But just at that moment Jack laid his hand on his brother’s arm with a low hist of warning. His sharp ears had caught the sound of crackling snow crust off to the right. Hastily he unlaced his shoes and, slipping them off with the skates still attached, he substituted a pair of moccasins similar to the ones his brother had put in his pocket.
“Wait a minute, Bob, I’ll be right back. I just heard a noise off there in the direction of the bunk house and I’m going to see what it was,” and he glided away in the darkness with noiseless steps, while Bob, with his skates still on, hobbled into the office, where it was comparatively warm.
Ten minutes passed.
“Wonder what’s keeping him,” he thought.
Five more minutes went by.
“If he don’t come in another five minutes I’ll go look him up,” Bob declared half out loud.
The five minutes slipped away and no Jack came.
“Hope he hasn’t got into trouble,” he thought, as he also quickly substituted moccasins for the heavy shoes.
Outside the door he stood and strained his ears. A light wind swayed the tops of the pines and spruces with a faint moaning sound, but otherwise perfect silence reigned throughout the deep forest.
“He said over by the bunk house,” he muttered, as he started off in that direction, making not the slightest sound as his moccasined feet struck the snow.
In a moment the rough side of the bunk house loomed out of the darkness directly in front of him, and again he stopped and listened. No sound came to tell him what had become of his brother.
“Mighty funny,” he thought, as he turned the corner of the building and groped his way step by step along the back.
As he neared the other corner he stumbled over an object lying on the snow. A flash from his light showed him that it was a gallon oil can. He picked it up and, unscrewing the top, smelled of the contents.
“Gasoline,” he whispered. “Now I wonder what that’s doing out here.” And then the thought struck him that he did not remember ever having seen a can of that kind anywhere about the camp. Throwing the light of his flash about him, he eagerly searched for tracks, but the surface of the snow was as hard as ice and he could see nothing which gave him the slightest clue. Carrying the can in his hand, he crept around the building until he had made a complete circuit.
“And I know just as much as when I started,” he thought as he listened again. “One thing is sure though,” he muttered. “Something has happened or Jack would have been back long before this.”
After waiting a moment in deep thought, he decided that he had better go back to the office.
“He may have turned off and came around another way and be waiting for me all the time,” he thought.
But the hope was vain for, as he approached the little office, no answer came to his low whistle.
He had brought the oil can with him, and having stepped inside the door he examined it more closely by the aid of his flash. It was a very ordinary can and he had about given up the hope of obtaining a clue from it, when his eye caught sight of two letters in the tin near the bottom. B. D. he made out, and a slight shudder passed down his back as a horrible thought struck him.
“B. D. stands for Ben Donahue. Someone came here with that can of gas intending to set fire to the bunk house,” flashed through his mind, as he stood rooted to the spot. “Jack must have discovered him or them and they gave it up. But what have they done with Jack?” And another shudder shook him as he realized that the boy was probably in the power of someone who was desperate enough to set fire to a building in which many men were sleeping.
“What shall I do? What can I do?” were the questions which flashed through his mind over and over again.
And then a sudden feeling of hope came to him as he remembered that Jacques Lamont was there, and in almost no time he was inside the bunk house creeping softly toward the farther end where he knew Jacques was sleeping. He thought he knew the right bunk and as he reached the end of the room a flash showed him that he was right. The Frenchman was in a lower bunk and kneeling on the floor Bob put his lips as close as possible to his ear and whispered, “Jacques.”
The man stirred and Bob placed his hand over his mouth and at the same time whispered again.
“It’s Bob, Jacques. Don’t make a noise but get your clothes on and meet me outside as soon as you can.”
Bob did not have long to wait, as Jacques joined him almost as soon as he was outside the house. Bob quickly led the way to the office and as soon as they were inside he pulled down the shades and lighted the lamp. He then told the Frenchman what had happened.
“What do you think about it?” he asked, as soon as he had finished.
“I tink it ver’ serious matter, oui,” Jacques said slowly shaking his head.
“No doubt about that,” Bob agreed. “But what shall we do about it?”
“I tink we go ver’ queek down to dat camp, see what we see.”
“My idea exactly,” Bob said as he glanced at his watch. “Had we better get Tom?”
“I tink non,” the Frenchman answered after a moment’s thought. “Tom he geet ver’ mooch excite, oui. He mak’ too mooch noise. We go find Jack. Me ver’ strong. You ver’ queek, oui. We geet heem.”
Bob was not at all sure that he was doing right in taking the Frenchman’s advice, but he knew that he was right in his judgment of the Irishman. As brave as the traditional lion, Tom was very impulsive and Bob believed that this was a time when judgment and wits should be used rather than brute force. So he decided not to wake the foreman. Opening the top drawer of a desk, which stood at one end of the room, he took out a couple of automatics.
“I hope we won’t have any use for them, but it’s better to be careful than sorry,” he said, as he handed one to the Frenchman and slipped the other in his pocket.
As they stepped out of the office Bob noticed that it was warmer and that the haziness had increased.
“Wouldn’t wonder if it snowed before morning,” he said.
“Eef she get warm enough she may snow,” Jacques agreed.
It was so dark in the woods that they were obliged to go slowly to avoid striking the trees, and Bob chafed at their slow progress. Every little while they stopped to listen, but no sound save that caused by the wind, which was gradually growing stronger, came to their ears.
It was eleven o’clock when they started, and Bob’s watch told him that over an hour had passed when he almost ran into a thick clump of bushes which he at once recognized as the spot where he and Jack had hidden and from behind which he had shot the jug from the hand of the man.
“We’re almost there,” he said in a low tone, catching Jacques by the arm.
“Oui, I know thees place ver’ well,” the Frenchman whispered back, as he came to a halt. “We have to be ver’ careful now.”
The construction of Donahue’s camp was very similar to that which they had just left. There was the office, the mess house, bunk house and horse shed.
As silently as two ghosts they stole forward until they stood only a few feet from the office, the building which was nearest to their own camp. Not a light was visible in any of the buildings as they stood and eagerly gazed about them. Slowly they crept around the small building, pausing every few feet to listen with ear pressed close to the walls. But no sound was to be heard, and silently they made their way to the bunk house, where they repeated the performance with a like result. Only the snores and grunts of the sleeping men came faintly to their ears. The mess house and the horse shed were treated in like manner and with the same result.
“If they’ve got him here anywhere they’re keeping mighty quiet about it,” Bob whispered, as they stood once more beside the office. “I’m going to have a look in here,” he declared as he tried the door.
It was locked, as he had expected it would be, but at the back they found a small window which was not fastened.
“You keep watch outside here, Jacques, while I see what I can find inside,” Bob proposed as he carefully pushed up the window.
He did not know whether or not anyone slept in the office, and at the moment, being greatly upset over Jack’s disappearance, he felt that he did not care much.
“You better watch, let me geet in,” Jacques whispered, taking hold of the boy’s arm. “Mebby someone sleep in thar. He geet you. I ver’ strong, he no geet me.”
“That’s all right,” Bob returned, “but you can never get those shoulders of yours through that window. It’s too small.”
Bob was right, although Jacques would not be convinced until he had tried. It was a very tight squeeze for Bob, but after much twisting and squirming he finally got through and dropped lightly to the floor. Throwing the light of his flash about him, he saw that he was in a small room fitted up much the same as his father’s office. To the right was a door leading into another room which, from the size of the building, he judged must be somewhat larger than the one he was in. The door was closed, but opened easily as he turned the knob. Throwing the rays of his flash ahead of him he saw that it had been used as a sleeping room, for on the farther side was a fair sized bed which, from the rumpled appearance of the bedding, had been occupied not long since.
Slowly, inch by inch, he pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
“I guess there’s no—” but that was as far as he got, for at that moment he heard a slight sound from behind the door.
He started to turn, but before he could get his flashlight around he was struck a heavy blow on the back of his head. He struggled to keep his feet but, in spite of his efforts, he felt himself sinking to the floor. A myriad of stars flashed before his eyes for an instant, then oblivion.
When Jack left his brother sitting on the office steps he fully expected to be back in a very few minutes. Noiselessly he ran over the frozen snow toward the side of the bunk house. As he reached it he stopped to listen, and the slight sound of the crackle of snow crust came to his ears.
“Somebody’s out back there,” he thought as he stole silently toward the back, keeping close to the side of the building. When he reached the rear corner he paused again. The sound was now more distinct and, as he held his breath, he could plainly hear someone moving over the snow.
Carefully he stuck his head around the corner, only to feel a powerful pair of arms clasp about his neck. A muffled cry burst from his lips as he was dragged to the snow, but before he could repeat the cry a huge hand was pressed firmly over his mouth effectually blocking the attempt. He struggled with all his strength to free himself, but, soon realizing that he was but a child in the powerful hands of the man who was holding him, he gave it up and lay still. He heard approaching footsteps and knew that he was in the power of at least two men. How many more there might be he had no way of knowing.
“Give me dat rope,” he heard the man who was holding him down whisper.
“Now you mak’ der noise and I keel you queek,” the man whispered in his ear as he removed his hand from over his mouth.
The boy did not for a moment doubt but that he was quite capable of carrying out the threat, so he did as he was ordered. Quickly his hands were tied behind his back and a large handkerchief, which from the odor was none too clean, was bound over his eyes. Then he was roughly jerked to his feet.
At that moment a window, near the farther back corner, was pushed open. Instantly the boy was pushed around the corner and one of his captors again held his hand over his mouth as they crouched on the snow. But whoever had opened the window evidently decided that everything was all right and what he thought he had heard was a false alarm; for, after a moment or two, Jack heard the window shut down.
“We geet away queek now,” one of the men whispered. “Dat feller mebby come out here,” he added, grabbing the boy by the arm.
Silently they stole away through the deep forest at the back of the camp. It was too dark for rapid traveling, but they hurried along as fast as they could go and avoid hitting the trees.
Jack expected that they would head down the lake toward the Donahue camp, as he had no idea that the men were other than employed by Big Ben. But, to his surprise, they soon turned north and, after proceeding in this direction for an hour or more, bore sharply to the east. Whither they were bound he had not the least idea, as they were now in a stretch of country strange to him. He knew that there were no towns for many miles in that direction, the section being probably the wildest in all Maine. Not a word was spoken as they hurried along, covering mile after mile.
Jack’s legs were beginning to ache and his breath was coming in short pants when, suddenly, they emerged from the dense woods onto the shore of a lake.
“If I’m not mistaken this is Chesuncook Lake,” he thought as the men came to a halt, and for the first time since they had started began to talk in the French language. Jack could understand French fairly well, but they talked so rapidly and with a dialect which he had never heard before, that although he was able to catch a word here and there, he was unable to get the drift of the conversation.
Evidently Jack was not the only one who was tired, for they rested for nearly a half hour before they started again. Their way now led straight across the lake, which was about two miles wide at that point. On reaching the opposite shore, they plunged again into the deep forest which lined the bank. The men did not now seem to be in as great a hurry as at first, and for this Jack was very thankful, as he was very tired and felt that he would not be able to keep up the pace they had been going much longer.
It must have been nearly two hours later, and the boy had about decided to refuse to go any farther, when suddenly a small log cabin loomed out of the darkness directly in front of them. Much as he loathed the two Frenchmen, Jack could not but feel a thrill of admiration for the way in which they had steered a straight course through the pathless forest when it was so dark it was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
“They must have cats’ eyes,” he thought as they stopped in front of the cabin.
The door was not locked and, without hesitation, one of the men pushed it open and stepped inside.
“Geet in thar,” the other man ordered, as he pushed Jack ahead of him.
It was pitch dark in the room, but the men were evidently familiar with the location of things, for in a moment the one who had entered first had a lamp lighted. For an instant the light dazzled Jack’s eyes so that he was obliged to close them. When he opened them a moment later he saw that he was in a cabin which evidently had been occupied at some not very distant date. The room contained but little furniture, two or three common straight backed chairs, a rough table, and a well battered iron stove was all, with the exception of a couple of rude bunks built one above the other against one side of the room. In the corner of the room was a pile of stove wood and in another a crude closet. The cabin held but the single room.
“Geet the fire goin’ Pierre, and I’ll see what I can find to eat,” ordered the larger of the two men.
Jack sank down on one of the chairs, glad of a chance to rest his aching legs. As the two Frenchmen hurried about their tasks he studied them closely. They were both large men, well above the average in both height and weight, but the one whom the other had called Pierre was little less than a giant.
“He must be all of six foot three,” Jack thought as the man straightened up after touching a match to the kindling in the stove.
Both men wore short black beards and resembled each other so closely that he decided they must be brothers. The eyes of both were small and shaded by shaggy brows, giving to their faces a most cruel expression.
Jack was not lacking in bravery, but as he realized that he was in the power of two men who probably thought no more of murder than he would of shooting a squirrel, a chill of fear stole over him, and he breathed a silent prayer that he might escape.
To his surprise he saw that the closet or cupboard was well supplied with food, judging from the large number of cans which he could see on the shelves.
Since entering the cabin the men had not paid the slightest attention to him, and several times he wondered if it would not be possible for him to slip out of the door and escape them in the darkness. But he realized that, even should he succeed in eluding them, he would more than likely perish from cold and hunger before he could find his way back to the camp. And besides, he remembered that a light snow had been falling for the past hour, and that as soon as it was light they would easily be able to track him.
By this time the fire was roaring up the old rusty chimney, sending a welcome warmth through the room.
“Hope they don’t intend to starve me,” Jack thought as the odor of frying bacon filled the room.
But his heart sank as, the meal being ready, the two men sat up at the table and started eating without as much as a glance toward him. Jack was by this time very hungry and his mouth watered as he saw them gulping down huge mouthfuls of the food. Besides bacon, he could see that they had a good supply of eggs and crackers, as well as canned fruit.
“They must have been expecting to come here soon or they wouldn’t had those eggs here,” he thought as he watched them.
But his fears in regard to starving were groundless for, as soon as they had satisfied their appetites, the larger man, without a word, untied his hands and motioned toward the table, indicating that he was welcome to what was left. Somewhat to his surprise he found that there was enough and he made a hearty meal, cleaning up every bit that was left.
“They may not be so generous next time,” he thought as he washed the last mouthful down with his third dipper of coffee.
Meanwhile a large kettle had been filled with snow and placed on the top of the stove to melt, and as soon as he had finished the big Frenchman in gruff tones ordered him to get busy and wash the dishes. At first Jack was on the point of refusing, the tone in which the order was given making his blood boil with anger, but quickly realizing how completely he was in their power he decided to make the best of it and do as he was ordered.
The men sat at the table playing cards with a dirty pack which they had taken from the drawer and paid no further attention to him. Washing the dishes was not a long task and as soon as he had finished he sat down in the only chair unoccupied and for a time watched the men. They were playing for small stakes and it was evident to the boy that the smaller man was winning. A heavy frown settled on the larger man’s face and Jack wondered if the game would not end in a fight. But after playing for an hour or more the loser threw down the cards with an exclamation of disgust and declared that he was tired out and was going to bed.
The two bunks were filled with small pine boughs as Jack could tell by the odor which pervaded the room.
“Guess I’ll have to sleep on the floor,” he thought as the two men threw off their heavy coats and pulled off their moccasins.