ARTIE HALF-CARRIED UNCLE JEB INTO THE CABIN AND LAID HIM IN HIS BUNK.
Artie realized in a moment that it was exhaustion and the loss of blood that caused Westy’s faint, so he braced himself and, with a prayer for the strength to do it, he managed to get him partly over his shoulder. Leaving the rifle, lantern and rope behind, he continued on, as he knew that he needed both hands and arms now for his present burden.
Coming out into the clearing at last, he could see that the cabin was in total darkness. He was breathing laboriously under the strain of Westy’s dead weight, but was supremely thankful that he had at least succeeded in getting him there safely.
Kicking the door and calling loudly, he waited a minute, but received no response from within. He then laid Westy down upon the ground tenderly. The moonlight streamed through the whole interior of the cabin as Artie opened the door. Looking around, he saw to his further consternation that Uncle Jeb had not returned.
To resuscitate Westy was his first immediate duty and then to go to Uncle Jeb’s relief was his next. He lighted the lamps and, fixing the bunk, he proceeded to get Westy into it. He removed his shoes and then set to work bathing his mutilated hand. He looked with pity at those poor gashed fingers. What a sacrifice, he thought, for him to make in order to get him out of the hollow and get back to give Uncle Jeb assistance as quickly as possible. Instinct had surely warned Westy aright in this case, for the poor old scout hadn’t been able to make the grade after all.
So Artie hurriedly ministered to Westy and awaited anxiously for him to regain consciousness. His eager eyes detected a slight flush gradually mounting in those white cheeks. After a little while the eyelids flickered and opened slowly. A wan smile lighted his features when he saw Artie, anxious and concerned, sitting there waiting, a glass of water in his hand.
Artie held the glass to Westy’s lips, supporting his head meanwhile with his free hand.
“Feel better, huh?” Artie asked, manifesting his concern.
“Uh huh! Feeling sleepy, though.”
“That’s fine! It’ll do you good, Wes. Go to it!”
“Say, Art?”
“What?”
“Where’s Uncle Jeb? He didn’t get back, did he?”
“No, but don’t worry, Wes! I’ll have him here before you’re awake,” Artie said more decisively than he was inclined to feel. “Guess you will be O.K. till I get back. I’ll leave a lantern lighted.”
“Sure, I’ll be all right! Feel tired enough to sleep all day to-morrow. Hope you get him back safe!”
“You can bank on it that I will! Now go to sleep!”
“One thing more, Art!”
“Yes?”
Artie, approaching the bunk, saw Westy’s face wreathed in smiles and his hand extended. He clasped it, and with a look that told more than words could ever tell, he turned and walked out of the cabin.
With lantern in hand, Artie descended into the gulley walking along cautiously, anxiously looking for some sign or footprint of Uncle Jeb. Coming to the spot where Westy had left him, he found him lying there, burning with fever and delirious.
How he ever succeeded in getting Uncle Jeb back to the cabin, Artie could never quite say. It was nothing more than superhuman effort that came to his aid in getting the sick man up out of the gulley without adding to his discomfort any more than he could help.
Dawn was just beginning to tinge the far horizon with little flecks of light, when Artie half-carried, half-dragged Uncle Jeb into the cabin and laid him in his bunk.
Westy had not awakened, and his quiet, steady breathing bespoke the fact that his slumber was unbroken and nature had once more reasserted itself.
Though his body was utterly weary and his eyes felt weighted down with want of sleep, Artie kept constant vigil by Uncle Jeb’s side. He bathed his swollen foot at intervals until the swelling began to gradually diminish.
The hole in his head was what worried Artie most, and he figured that Uncle Jeb, after catching his foot in the bear trap under the elm tree, probably tried with much exertion, to extricate it from the vise that held it, and in his excitement had stepped back further than he was aware. In his fall into the gulley he must have struck his head on a sharp rock. The only thing to do was to keep the wound clean and wait until Westy had awakened. Then, he could go to the Inn and get the doctor who was stopping there now.
About nine o’clock Westy awoke, refreshed and better. He wanted to go to the Inn himself, seeing the haggard, drawn look on Artie’s face, but the tired boy wouldn’t hear of it, so he did as he was told and took up the vigil.
When Artie returned from the Inn that afternoon with the doctor, he looked as if he needed medical attention himself and that learned person told him so. But he assured him that sleep was all that he required.
Uncle Jeb was in a delirious state again, as they entered, and his temperature had mounted considerably, so the doctor lost no time in caring for him.
After a while when the fever had subsided somewhat and the sick man had lapsed into a heavy sleep, the doctor turned to attend to Westy’s wants. Going about his task he marveled at the courage the boy possessed to have done a thing like that.
That night the physician stayed on, and also the two following nights. The anxious trio were weary and worn with the long waiting, for Uncle Jeb’s condition was serious. It was a crucial test for the two young scouts, and they were grieved and filled with apprehension that perhaps they would have to return alone.
The night of the third day there was a change in his condition—for the better. He slept throughout the night, the doctor never leaving his side; likewise the boys.
Then, as the last glittering star in the ethereal firmament faded away, he opened his eyes and gazed weakly, but wide-eyed, around him.
It would be needless to say that hearts were light and voices happy in the little cabin that day. The doctor had just left and assured them that Uncle Jeb was on the fast road to recovery.
When he had disappeared from view, Artie and Westy entered the cabin and sat down to entertain Uncle Jeb with some talk. He asked, for the first time since his illness, just how things had occurred on that near-fateful day. They related in detail all the events and happenings. He smiled with pride at the integrity these two boys had shown.
“I kinda reckon thet it was what you fellas would call a day chuckful o’ good turns, eh?” he chuckled.
“I guess that’s about it, Uncle Jeb,” Westy answered, glad of his old-time good humor returning.
They had planned a while back to camp by the lake for a few days before the summer season was over, and now Uncle Jeb brought up the topic again, and promised them they would go as soon as his strength returned.
It was nearing the end of August and the weather was still very warm, so Artie and Westy received this news with pleasure evidenced in their smiling faces.
“We’ll go,” said Uncle Jeb, “providin’ yuh promise not to take it into yure heads to go a-rescuin’ dead eagles!”
“We promise,” they both answered with mock gravity.
They had camped several times out through the different trails west of the cabin, and as a sequel to their recent perilous adventure, they joyously anticipated sleeping so close to it.
That they were two extraordinary boys, Uncle Jeb quietly admitted, for fear seemed utterly foreign to their natures. After their experiences in that region, one would think they would shun the spot, but not Artie and Westy. It lured them on and the old trapper sagaciously told them that, not only were they Boy Scouts of merit, but full-fledged real scouts.
On a bright morning shortly after, they took to the trail in company with the two mules, intending to go on to the Inn before they returned.
They had much to be thankful for, this blithesome trio, swinging along under the glaring sun, without a care in the world. Uncle Jeb after his serious illness seemed to have renewed health once again. He was whistling merrily, by way of expressing himself, and the boys joined in.
With exultant voices echoing throughout the Pass, and back around the lake again, they made camp. Now and then their shouts rang boldly and daringly up toward the hollow and reverberated over the precipice, defying the eagles now from a safe distance. But the day sped onward, crammed full of things to do, and still there was no sign of their erstwhile enemies.
“Wa-al,” explained Uncle Jeb, when Westy eagerly asked him if he thought they were liable to nest somewhere else, “it’s a-happened afore, thet they go way fer a spell like thet, ’n if we hain’t a-seen ’em so fur, ’tain’t likely yure a-goin’ ter see ’em fer a while longer.”
They were sitting cozily content around a bright crackling fire, the stars shimmering overhead and a new moon making its initial bow, as yet just faintly visible in the distant heavens.
Uncle Jeb had been gazing in front of him, his eyes gradually roving up toward the hollow and around over the Pass. For a moment, it seemed to Westy that he started a little. Then he continued to look again.
“I guess I’m plumb crazy, boys,” he began, “but I cud a-swore I seed one o’ them durn flashlights afore on thet precipice, movin’ back’n forth.”
Artie and Westy straightened up, aroused. They knew Uncle Jeb was never given to seeing things. But, to their disappointment, they couldn’t discern anything up on the cliff at all. The moon was still in its infancy, and around the hollow and through the Pass one could not penetrate the inky blackness.
“Yit,” said Uncle Jeb, as if trying to reason it out with himself, “I’m as shure of it as I kin be, but then thar isn’t a pusson aroun’ these parts thet would go up on a bet, ’ceptin’ you rascals!”
They laughed at the faint hint of admiration that would creep into his voice whenever he referred to the incident.
Resuming his thoughtful preoccupation, they tried to concentrate their vision also, but soon gave it up. Evidently, Uncle Jeb discerned nothing further either, as he arose and yawned sleepily. Putting the fire out they all turned in.
Now Westy, being the romantic and imaginative boy he was, lay rolled in his blankets, gazing fixedly at the stars overhead. The cool night wind caressed his face, as he pondered and turned over in his mind what Uncle Jeb had mentioned about no one around those parts who would dare venture up on the cliff. He suddenly remembered with a thrill the discovery he had made and forgotten about until now. There was no doubt about it, now that he came to think of it again. The day that Artie and he ascended that forbidden trail, the marks were perfectly plain.
Another person had traveled that trail, other than they.
How long he lay awake thinking about this, Westy did not know. In fact, he could not even remember having fallen asleep at all.
He found himself looking above again, wide-awake. In turning around to shift his position facing the lake, he became aware of a pinkish reflection in the sky, just beyond the Pass. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. This time he was sure of it, and saw that it was turning a deeper hue.
What, he thought, could it be? A forest fire? No! He measured the distance of the reflection with his eye, and knew that it wasn’t in the mountains. It came to him with a start that it was just about in the direction of the Inn.
Suddenly he arose, quietly, not wanting to arouse the sleepers, should it happen to prove a false alarm.
The capricious moon was now out in all her glory, gleaming down upon the lake and over the cliffs. Whether her purpose was intentional or not, she seemed deliberately to withhold from the narrow Pass even one stray little moonbeam.
Westy tiptoed away, and when he got at a safe margin, he started to run until he got around the lake. Up through the Pass he went, feeling his way securely. Then coming to a rock that would afford him a strong foothold, he clambered up and over the rough stones. There in the distance, sparks shooting into the sky like miniature rockets, was a seething mass of flame. It must be the Inn!
What a terrible situation, he thought!
When Ollie came up to the cabin with their mail, two days ago, he told Uncle Jeb in his quiet blunt way that there were not any guests at the Inn now. There had been an epidemic of scarlet fever among the guests during the past month, and after each stricken one recovered he left. Ol’ Pop Burrows was the last one to contract it and still had it in fact, so the remaining guest had taken his leave promptly.
The doctor, who came up from Eagle City every day, forbade Ol’ Pop to let any one else come until he was up and around and the place could be thoroughly fumigated. He had inoculated Ollie with some serum or other, as a preventative against the disease, so that he could take care of Ol’ Pop without danger of infection.
Ollie went on to say that Ol’ Pop wouldn’t stay in bed unless he saw the doctor coming, and had insisted on Ollie taking the mail to the cabin regardless of the quarantine. He fairly writhed in anger, with all this “new-fangled bizness o’ fumigatin’.” He said he didn’t care about having any more tourists come that season anyhow, for he had made all the money he wanted to already.
Westy remembered, as he stood there contemplating about it, having heard Uncle Jeb say that Ollie told him all this outside the cabin, beyond their hearing. He still retained his maddening reticence in the presence of the boys.
“So!” Westy exclaimed softly. “They must be there alone, and Ol’ Pop still sick! Something will have to be done.”
At that moment he had turned in the act of descending, when he saw in the moonlight beyond a form running swiftly toward the Pass. Westy caught his breath and wondered if the form had espied him. In the next second he knew that it had not, for he was invisible in the darkness where he stood. And he gave thanks to the supercilious Silver Queen reigning over the heavens that night for her timely partiality.
He crouched and waited after having climbed down almost to the trail. Nearer and nearer the steps came, light and quick, almost panther-like in action. Finally as a gust of wind would strike one going past a cavern, so the form rushing past Westy felt like a stray breeze in that calm night.
Removing his shoes, he started in pursuit of the fleeing figure. His feet, encountering the sharp rocks along the way, soon became too bruised to keep in step with this spooky object. After putting his shoes back on, he took up the chase once more as quietly as possible and came at last to the fork in the trail.
The pursued one went straight up the trail to the hollow, as though it was thoroughly familiar to him, never once looking back or stumbling on the way. He just seemed to be rushing blindly on.
Westy peered from behind a rock and perceived that the form was not likely to be aware of him now, for his own individual interests and motives seemingly occupied his whole thought and attention.
So Westy rushed down and around the lake not caring if the figure did see him, for his whole duty now lay in the direction of the Inn.
As he came forward, Uncle Jeb and Artie who were sitting up conversing in low tones, looked at him indifferently.
“Uncle Jeb!” whispered Westy, breathless and excited. “Uncle Jeb! I think that the Inn’s on fire!”
“Yuh don’t mean to say!” Uncle Jeb gasped in astonishment. “How d’ye know, boy?”
Westy pointed over toward the Pass and there beyond it and overhead was the reflection in the sky, now a flaming scarlet.
“I saw it from the Pass,” Westy continued, as if to explain. “I’m perfectly sure of it, Uncle Jeb; that is where it is. And I saw something else in the Pass too—”
Before Westy could finish his story, Uncle Jeb had nudged his arm and pointed above them to the hollow. They all looked and could not repress the chills that ran up and down their spines.
There in the bright light of the moon was the ghost-like figure of a man descending from the precipice into the hollow on a rope!
For a few tense moments they stood, staring and unmoved, as if glued to the very spot. The apparition had disappeared within the hollow and it seemed to them that, perhaps after all, it was only a spirit they had seen hovering over the precipice. Suddenly Artie broke the spell.
“Spirits don’t generally use ropes, do they?” he asked naively, as if he had been thinking it over seriously.
“No, and spirits don’t make a noise running through the Pass at night either!” Westy exclaimed. He then explained to them the weird sight he had witnessed. How he had first discovered the figure hurrying in the moonlight beyond, and then gradually becoming enveloped in the darkness, coming through the Pass. “I didn’t imagine it either, for I could hear him breathing as he ran past me. When I started after him and we got to the Fork, he went straight up to the cliff!”
Artie was wide-eyed with excitement when Westy revealed to them the possibility of it being a lowly mortal who was causing this furore, but Uncle Jeb listened rather skeptically to the detailed account of this unusual adventure, and preferred believing his own way, irrespective of any other proof, no matter how convincing it might seem.
“I reckon we hain’t got no call ter be meddlin’ aroun’ with ghosts,” Uncle Jeb put in. “I guess we jes’ better leave him ter his spooky bizness up thar, so long as he hain’t hurtin’ anything o’ ourn. We’ll jes’ git along pronto ter the Inn!”
Taking his rifle, they started off, Uncle Jeb going it as fast as they. Reaching the Fork, Westy was seized with a most inordinate desire to lag behind a little. He looked longingly up the trail and wondered if he could chance it.
Uncle Jeb and Artie, running along, kept silent so as to keep what strength they had for some later, unseen need. But so preoccupied were they with the shadow of disaster ahead that they were not aware of their missing member.
Westy stood rigid at the Fork as they went on, until he ceased to hear the steady patter of their shoes along the trail. Then, he turned and went up the trail, swiftly but quietly, stepping as much as possible on the moss-covered ground and paying strict attention that he was keeping well out of the limelight.
Breathless, his nerves tingling with the thrilling excitement of the mysterious, he got down flat on his stomach as he made the Cliff. Slowly, ever so slowly, he dragged his body over the cold, rough stones. Directly in the moonlight, he approached the precipice cautiously and looked over.
The hollow was dark and Westy could not see anything to satisfy his curiosity. He listened intently, having covered his nostrils with his handkerchief to muffle the sound of his own breathing. Gradually, he was rewarded. Sounds; some one inhaling as if under intense strain. Then there reached his keen ears the monotonous chip, chip, that a metal instrument would make coming in direct contact with stone.
Whoever it was, thought Westy, they were well within the enclosure, carrying out some dark, hidden purpose in selecting such an hour as this. But what for?
Hadn’t Artie been imprisoned in there long enough to know every inch of that dank, gloomy place? He certainly didn’t overlook a spot on that smooth surface anywhere in his frenzied attempts to get out.
That something was in the wind was a certainty. Westy resolved then and there to find out what it was before another sun had set upon the horizon. He was never more sure of anything in his whole life than he was right now, that a human being was concerned in all this and not any ghost, as Uncle Jeb would have it.
It wasn’t just the sporting thing to do, this fearless scout thought, to be poking into things that perhaps wouldn’t turn out to be his affair after all. He chided himself for having let Uncle Jeb and Artie go on unknowingly, and perhaps have to bear the brunt of the danger that was threatening and even at the present moment might have already invaded the Inn.
And so, as he started to draw back as cautiously as he came, his hand came in contact with something rough, just under the weedy growth that sprouted wild between the rocks. Westy stopped and divided the weeds and saw that it was a rope that he had touched. It ran right over the precipice, just as the watchers had seen the figure descend on it. Fate was surely on his side at least, he thought, secretly smiling.
Following the course of the rope he came to a large pine tree, quite a way back on the cliff, where it was tied ever so securely, to the bottom of the trunk. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, he turned and ran pell-mell on down to the Pass and so into the black night again.
His heart contracted with dread when he came stumbling out of the Pass into the open trail once more. There ahead of him was a sight formidable enough to put fear into the heart of any one. It actually looked as though the country around for miles was a seething furnace, the glare in the sky was so great. Westy drew the cool night air into his lungs and started a fresh pace.
Coming nearer and nearer, and at last leaving the mountain trail behind, he took the open road, dashing across fields now and then to save whatever time he could. As he rested for a few precious seconds, almost within calling distance of the Inn, he could feel the force of the heat even there that this raging inferno was expelling over the surrounding countryside. This fact spurred him on considerably, and at last he reached there pretty much out of breath.
The outbuildings were all ablaze and the stable was now a mere memory of its former glory, the crimson embers being the only thing left to identify the spot. One end of the Inn had already caught fire and was in a fair way to continue with fury.
Nothing could be seen of either Artie or Uncle Jeb in the front at all. Darting around to the back, shouting at the top of his voice all the while, he came upon them, also trying to make themselves heard and pounding frantically on the back door. Westy realized why they hadn’t heard him, between the deafening roar of the flames and the noise of their own voices.
Uncle Jeb and Artie looked at Westy as though he were a ghost also.
“Wha-ar hev yuh been, lad?” he asked quickly, but with deep concern. “Yuh shure gave us one scare. Never missed yuh ’til we got yonder. Artie ’n I went a ways back agin, ’n cudn’t find ye nohow. Jes’ got here a minit back, ’n we find all them durn shutters barred from t’ inside, ’n both doors bolted too. Nary a one o’ them hez answered yit, ’n ye can’t git them doors down even with a hatchet.”
In their present excitement, Uncle Jeb and Artie forgot about Westy’s disappearance, for which he was glad. Time enough for that later, he thought.
The heat was becoming unbearable in the back and, unable to stand it further, they went around to the front again. They went over each individual window on the way around and shook the doors with all their might. Why the windows were shuttered and barred at this time of year Uncle Jeb could not conceive. His anxiety was plainly visible through the deep emotion in his voice. He said they had called at the front and back both until they were hoarse. There wasn’t any way that they could break in downstairs. Doors and shutters were both of logs, and even with a hatchet it would take one half the night to make even a dent in one of them. The upper windows were likewise fortified and the frenzied trio stood there helpless, wondering how two people could sleep through all this.
The lower part of the building was built entirely of logs and the upper part of frame. A slate-covered shed over the veranda ran straight up to the bedroom windows in such a way that it would be a difficult thing for one to try and balance himself upon it.
Westy was taking note of all this while Uncle Jeb was talking and he was also thinking fast.
“I can’t fer my life know what Ol’ Pop’s a-thinkin’ o’, a-barrin’ himself in like thet on a hot night. Never knew him ter do it afore ’cept in winter, o’ course,” Uncle Jeb said, plainly puzzled.
“The whole back is afire now!” exclaimed Artie, who came running around from the side of the Inn.
“Well!” said Westy decisively, as if he had told them in detail before what he contemplated doing. “I’ll have to take the nine-hundredth chance, I guess.”
“What?” asked Artie excitedly.
“Just give me a boost from the railing, that’s all!”
“You’re not—” Artie and Uncle Jeb both spoke simultaneously.
Before they finished what they had started to say, Westy had hopped on the porch railing and was making ready to climb the pillar supporting it.
Artie realized in a flash the seriousness of Westy’s intention, and without any further comment gave him a boost up the pillar and onto the shed.
Westy pulled himself up gradually until he was sure that he could stand on his feet with safety. He went around to the side-windows first, trying each only to find they were all barred. With only one more to attempt, he approached it half-fearfully lest it should prove inaccessible too. With trembling fingers he tugged at it and, to his great joy, it yielded.
Artie and Uncle Jeb watched him from below with anxious eyes, beseeching him to be careful and to hurry.
The window was tight shut; locked! But Westy was not to be deterred from his purpose at this time. Raising his knee with determination he struck the glass with a force that sent it crashing into fragments inside. Still there came no sound whatever from within that silent interior.
Stepping through the broken pane into the room he called, but all he could hear was the roar of the flames. The heat in the room was unbearable and he couldn’t see very well in the darkness.
He stumbled over one chair and then another. With hands outstretched, he felt something cold. He laughed at the start it gave him for, on examining it closer, he found it to be one of those old-fashioned marble-topped bureaus. It was one of those huge affairs, ample enough to hold the wardrobe of one’s entire lifetime. Reaching out into the space around him again, his hand now came in contact with something else; a bed. He could feel the soft covers and knew by its very smoothness that it had been unoccupied that night. Where, he thought, was the door? What room did Ol’ Pop use? These and a hundred other thoughts were flashing constantly in his active brain, while he was groping there in the darkness.
If it hadn’t been that he knocked the ancient water pitcher and its attendant wash-basin over in his roaming, he probably would have been another half hour trying to find the door. For just after the two articles reached the floor in various pieces Westy shoved his foot ahead of him to kick them aside and in doing so he put his foot on one of the slippery pieces. He landed plunk on the floor, sitting neatly in a pool of water that the pitcher had so recently held. As he sat there so, his eye was just on the level with a little fleck of light, to his right. He put his head over further toward it and his hand out. He felt a door knob revolving under his grasp and knew instantly that the light he had seen was through the keyhole. What joy, what rapture, he thought, as the door swung open under his pressure.
But his ecstasy was of very short duration, for, stepping out into the hall, he saw to his horror the light that he had so joyously perceived through the keyhole wasn’t any beacon of safety. It came from the back bedrooms. They were afire! The heat struck his face as he stood there and made it feel blistered.
He stood in the doorway and the light from the burning rooms reflected into the bedroom brightly. Glancing back of him, he saw some towels hanging on a rack above the washstand, whose receptacles he had just demolished. Rushing in, he grabbed a couple of them and stooped, sopping them in the water that had formed a miniature pool on the floor. Taking these, he entered the hall, calling loudly again and ran wildly to the back, one of the towels protecting his face.
He opened one door after the other, but it was unnecessary for him to touch the last door at all. The flames had already destroyed the upper half of it and one could see inside perfectly. They were all practically gone now but yet, it looked to Westy that they had been devoid of any occupants that night, even in the present state of chaos and havoc that this terrible menace had created.
Running to the front again, he opened another one of the bedroom doors. A sickening odor reached him and his heart stood still. Lying on the bed was a form, apparently asleep, outlined against the darkness from the red glare in the back. Westy went over to the bed and bent close. It was Ol’ Pop!
The old scout seemed to be hardly breathing at all. In point of fact, it was so faintly and he was lying so rigid and still that Westy realized with a shock he must be unconscious.
Then the flames bursting out into the back of the hall shone through, tingeing the room a scarlet hue. It provided a sort of arc light and Westy could see Ol’ Pop very plain now.
A handkerchief was covering the lower part of his face and Westy gently removed it. As he did so, that nauseating odor permeated the whole room again, and his own nostrils seemed to be filled with it. He raised the piece of muslin to his face.
It had been saturated with chloroform!
The heat was so terrific and the fact that poor Ol’ Pop was unconscious made Westy feel a little panic-stricken for the moment. He would try, he thought, getting him down the stairs as gently as possible, if there was yet time.
Pulling back the covers, Westy discovered to his further dismay that the poor old fellow was bound hand and foot to the bed with heavy rope.
“Oh!” exclaimed Westy aloud, thankfully. “The Lord bless my penknife to-night!”
He had a task to do this, for the rope was exceptionally tough and strong. Finally when the last one released the helpless man, Westy tied the wet towel around his head. Then he started in his struggle to remove him, first out of bed and then into the hall.
Reaching the stairs, he saw in consternation that the fire had now taken its toll of these and the whole lower floor also. Suddenly and almost within two feet of them, the flames shot upward from the floor and Westy stepped back quickly. The towel that covered his face was almost dry and his hands and head felt blistered from this fresh onslaught in front of them. Within a second, there was another roar and everything about them in the hall burst into flame. Half dragging his heavy burden, he stepped into the bedroom, which he had previously entered from outside. Just as he slammed the door behind him, there was a terrible, almost deafening roar again. With a terrific crash he could feel the impact of the ceilings and floors giving way.
“Whew,” said Westy aloud by the door. “What a piece of luck!”
With another struggle he reached the window and, looking behind him, saw the flames licking their way up the bedroom door. The sight of it made his throat feel so parched that he felt it too was burning. He tried then, to get Ol’ Pop out first, but it was no go. Then, just as he was about to call for help, he saw Uncle Jeb climbing up on the shed and Artie behind him.
No word was spoken between them, as they lifted the old man gently out of the window. Artie and Uncle Jeb got down by the porch railing first with waiting arms outstretched, Westy handed him into their care. As he turned to slide down the pillar, he could see the darting flames leaping out of the window behind him.
They carried the unconscious man a distance away from the intense heat and, laying him down on the soft grass, tried to revive him. Uncle Jeb had found a couple of pails and fetched some water from the spring which had been the source of supply to the Inn. They were busy mopping his face and moistening his lips with the cool water in their tireless efforts to see some sign of hope on that pale countenance.
Westy looked toward Uncle Jeb sitting quietly there on the ground in the near-dawn. He was gazing at his old friend and there were tears trickling down that weather-beaten visage and his lips were quivering visibly.
It was a sad-looking little company that the breaking day beheld. Huddled on the ground, shivering in the gray chill of early morning, they sat with anxious glances directed toward the still figure lying on the ground blanketed with their coats. Westy and Artie could not suppress the tears brimming in their eyes, from the emotion and pity they felt for Uncle Jeb and the quiet form at their feet.
Almost about to give up hope, the sounds of natural breathing returned in Ol’ Pop and they moved nearer joyously. Each taking a hand and rubbing his wrists, they waited anxiously.
Opening his shrewd eyes, he raised his head weakly, but yet showing that the ordeal wouldn’t have any further effect on his general health, which was as hardy as any of his type.
He looked toward the smoldering embers, that were the only remnants left of the little rustic Inn, standing just the day before in all its quaint and native beauty. He shook his head sadly, then the dawn of a sudden thought seemed to light in his mind.
“Wa-al, pardner!” he said with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “You ’n I hev lived ter be this age, ’n hed to git fooled fer the fust time in our lives by a tenderfoot. Jes’ goes ter show yure never too old ter git kicked!”
“What makes you say that?” Westy asked without being invited, and before either Uncle Jeb or Artie had time to get their breath.
“Fust o’ all,” continued Pop, ignoring Westy’s question. Raising on his elbow he shook his finger with determination. “How’d ye all git here and git me out ’n the bargain?”
Uncle Jeb acted as spokesman and explained as quickly as possible of Westy’s discovery in the sky. He omitted, whether intentionally or not the two boys wondered, mentioning about the ghost.
“Yuh all lissen ter me, ’n I’ll tell yer somethin’, fer it don’t make a bit o’ difference now, becuz it’s gone by this time anyhow.”
“Gone?” they all asked in a chorus.
“Shure ez yure a-sittin’ thar all o’ ye. My money ’s gone every pesky cent. ’N if I hed my way, I’d like ter see thet rascally scoundrel hang fer it. I’d never believed it o’ him!”
“Who?” they all asked.
“Ollie!”
Uncle Jeb started, they all started in fact, but Ol’ Pop seemed oblivious of their evident surprise. Taking a fresh hold with his elbow he continued on, as though his recent statement was nothing extraordinary.
“Ter begin with,” he said, “I noticed as how Ollie took ter actin’ peculiar-like fer quite a spell back. He kept a-askin’ me if I wuz makin’ much money ’n if I saved much afore I run the Inn. I’d ketch him every so often lookin’ at me funny, but I didn’ let myself think much ’bout it. Then, I wuz taken with thet pesky red fever or whatever durn name they give it. Wa-al, when he hears the Doctor say I wuz gittin’ better ’n cud git out in a few days, I caught him a-lookin’ at me right nasty. After he gits supper he sits aroun’ agin eyein’ me, ’n it makes me feel so creepy, I go up ter my room ter git clean away frum him. I’m a-sittin’ in a rockin’ chair a-thinkin’ ’bout it and wonderin’ what in Sam Hill’s got in ter him. Thar I sit, rockin’ back ’n forth by the winder when I happens ter hear the door creak. I turn quick and the door is openin’ slowly, until finally it’s wide-open. Thar in the doorway stands Ollie, with thet silly grin what he’s hed on him lately. Not only hez he the grin, but also a gun, which he’s a-pointin’ at me, and a rope.
“Fer the minit I think he’s gone plumb crazy, but then I know as how I’m mistakin’ in thet, fer when he starts ter talk, it wuz as natcherell as the little bit he ever did talk.
“‘Ol’ Pop Burrows,’ sez Ollie, sounding like the cemetery bell the day thet Sheriff Biggs wuz popped off by Sly Pete Woozle, ‘I’m a-goin’ ter make my get away to-night!’
“‘Go ahead!’ I sez, ‘the better the sooner!’ I wuz thet chilly frum hearin’ the spooky voice on him, I gits all rattled as ter what I wuz talkin’.
“‘I intend to!’ he sez ag’in, jes’ like a funeral march. ‘But not afore yer tells me whar yer keeps yer swag!’
“‘Sufferin’ merskeeters!’ I sez. ‘What’s thet?’
“‘Yer dough,’ he answers.
“I tells him then, thet it wud hev ter be over my carcass, and he sez jes’ like one o’ them undertakers, thet over my carcass it would be, fer he intended sending me West.
“‘Feller,’ I sez, tryin’ ter be pleasin’ ’n thinkin’ it may calm his crazy head, ‘what foolish talk ’bout sendin’ me West. Why, I hain’t never been no place else all my life, ’n I got no call ter go now.’
“‘Oh, no, yer ain’t never been as fur West as I’ll send yer, if yer don’t cough up whar the boot is,’ he sez, wavin’ the gun at me.
“‘O-ho!’ I sez, thinkin’ I cud kill time. ‘So, it’s my poor shoes yure after now, eh? Are yer thet hard-hearted as ter leave me in my stockin’ feet? Wa-al, thar right on my feet, fer yuh ter take off if yer want. Thar’s one thing I kin say though ’n thet is, them soles on the shoes will wear a-hang sight better ’n yourn!’
“‘Yer can’t kid me, yuh ol’ Shylock!’ he sez, orderin’ me over ter the bed.
“Then, he sez as how I hez to git in or he’ll shoot me. I gits in shure enough ’n he ties me fast ter the bed with the rope. After thet he puts the kivvers over me jes as though it wuz cold weather. He starts shootin’ the gun ter the ceilin’ ’n tells me he gives me the hull o’ five minits ter tell him whar I hide my money. I let four o’ the minits go by ’n ez he’s a-gettin’ ready ter aim, I tells him ez it’s up on the Precipice, the haunted one, off o’ Eagle Pass, hid in the holler underneath.”
Uncle Jeb straightened perceptibly, likewise Westy and Artie. Ol’ Pop continued without noticing the surprise they had shown.
“He asks me whar’bouts in the holler ’n I sez the holler is so small he cudn’t miss it. I sez thet, thinkin’ he’d go and maybe some help wud come in ther meantime frum somewhar. He leaves me then, tied in bed, ’n warns me thet if he doesn’t find it he’ll kill me when he comes back.
“Wa-al, he went away ’n afore he goes what duz he do but bar all the shutters ’n lock the winders and doors. It seems like he’s gone all night ’n I git thet sleepy, I must o’ dozed a little. Bye ’n bye, I wake ’n thar he is with the gun ’n madder ’n a hatter. He tells me then thet he’s set fire ter my stable ’n soaked everything around with coal-oil. He then sez jes like ez if he wuz doin’ me a big favor, thet he intends ter let me burn along with the rest, unless I tell him jes whar’bouts in the holler the money is. At thet minit, I hear the hosses, stomping and whinnying like babies ’n settin’ up a terrible fuss. Thet’s the only thing what made me tell the rascally scoundrel. Jes for the sake o’ them poor hosses.”
“I ask him wud he save the hosses shure, if I tell him ’n he sez yes. But instead o’ thet he laughs after I tell and sez as how he hez no intention o’ savin’ the hosses ner me neither. Laughin’ jes like a maniac, he takes a handkerchief outer his pocket ’n a bottle ’n when he pours the stuff outer it he sez, ‘Here’s how, yuh ol’ miser!’ Thet’s the last I remember ’n ever want to ’bout Ollie Baxter. Yuh kin bet he’s found the money ’n we’ll never see him ag’in!”
“I don’t know about that!” Westy interposed smilingly. The sun was rising in the east and the day was beginning to take on her mantle of light in real earnest now.
“What do yer mean, son?” asked poor Ol’ Pop sadly.
“Yes, what do you mean, Wes?” Artie and Uncle Jeb both asked curiously.
“He got into the hollow sure enough and I guess he found the money all right, but he’ll never get out unless one of us goes there to get him out!” Westy said mysteriously.
“Why?” interrogated the voices in unison.
“Because I cut the rope!”
When Ol’ Pop felt up to it they started back for Eagle Pass to breakfast. He was talking with Uncle Jeb and said he hadn’t decided what he would do for a while and would stay in the cabin while he was thinking it over. Anyhow, he mentioned that if his money was still intact, he could live the rest of his life in comfort.
Westy and Artie walking ahead could hear them talking and wondered then why Ol’ Pop had risked his money to such a place as the hollow! Not only his money, but it had almost cost him his life, they thought, and all for what?
Undoubtedly if we could answer questions like those, we would have to be infinite in our wisdom.
However, the two old scouts praised these two young scouts for their intuitive sense concerning Ollie, and vowed that they would never again think they were too old to learn something from these younger minds.
HE KEPT THE RIFLE POINTED DIRECTLY AT HIM, AS ARTIE STRUGGLED WITH THE HEAVY STEEL BOX
As they rounded the lake they all glanced simultaneously up toward the hollow with eager eyes. There was Ollie, who had spied them as soon as they appeared at the lake, leaning over the edge waving to them frantically for help. Westy remarked that he thought it was just the thing he would do. A coward when he was cornered.
They sat there joyously eating breakfast, watching his frenzied appeals for help. It was Westy who had suggested letting him suffer at least apprehension, if they couldn’t make him suffer anything else. Any one so devoid of human feeling as this stone-faced individual deserved the full limits of the law, he concluded.
“I told you from the looks of his eyes he didn’t have any soul!” Artie said proudly.
“Wa-al, boys,” Uncle Jeb said, “it wuz shure left fer you ’uns ter show us, wuzn’t it?”
“I hope you won’t believe the hollow is haunted any more?” Westy asked Uncle Jeb.
“No, indeedy, not now!” he said, chuckling, and then turned to Ol’ Pop. “How cum, yer ol’ crony you, thet ye picked thet durn place ter hide yer money?”
“Cuz,” answered Ol’ Pop, not very informative, “I didn’ believe in any fool ghosts, ’n you ’n all the folks here’bouts did.”
After breakfast, when they got good and ready, Westy and Artie started off around the lake, feeling for all the world like two officials of the law. Westy, in the lead going up the Cliff trail, had Uncle Jeb’s rifle nonchalantly slung over his left shoulder. No matter how indifferently placed it looked to the beholder, Westy was perfectly aware of its exact position, for it took him at least five minutes to get it placed in the right position, just as he wanted it. Artie had a club in his hand that looked rather primitive in design, but nevertheless he felt that it was a weapon of defense at least.
Reaching the precipice cautiously, these two boy scouts made sure they were unheard before they approached the enemy.
Ollie was too busy concentrating his gaze toward the lake and didn’t see or hear them coming.
“Hands up!” Westy commanded authoritatively. “Hand the money over quick or I’ll blow your brains out!” He was now waving the rifle menacingly back and forth between Ollie’s little eyes.
“You mean throw the money up, don’t you, Wes?” Artie said in a very un-official tone.
Westy gave Artie a black look that rather told him how unseemly his remark had been.
“Of course, that’s what I did say!” he lied gallantly to save his face.
“What youse kids trying to do, scare me?” Ollie said in the east-side vernacular and with a show of bravado. “Youse haven’t a chanct in the woild!”
“Is that so!” exclaimed Westy and more for something further to say than anything else continued, “Your old friends, the bulls, are just coming up the trail now with a nice pair of bracelets for you. Are you going to throw that money box up here?”
“I can’t!” said Ollie, visibly pale. “It’s too heavy.”
“Very well,” said Westy, master of the situation at once. “I’ll hand you the rope and you can tie it around the box, so we can haul it up.”
“Aw-right!” said Ollie, his teeth chattering now. “Are the bulls there now?”
“Coming!” said Westy.
He kept the rifle pointed directly at him, as Artie struggled with the heavy steel box coming over the precipice. When it had landed safely, Artie carried it back a way on the Cliff. Westy, his curiosity aroused, drew back from the precipice to look at the incentive of all the trouble. He and Artie were conversing in low tones about the weight of the box.
“Say, Wes,” asked Artie very softly, “what made you say that?”
“About the bulls?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just hit the nail on the head too. I suppose though it must have been my own common sense told me that Ollie was a criminal before, or he wouldn’t have done such a low, despicable thing to poor Ol’ Pop.”
Whether Ollie Baxter thought that the bulls had finally arrived on the scene is a question. Westy has always thought so anyway, and we are inclined to believe him. He claims that Ollie must have become panic-stricken, mistaking his and Artie’s low converse for the bulls.
At any rate, be that as it may, there was a sudden cry as of fright, and by the time Westy and Artie got to the end of the precipice and looked over, Ollie Baxter was plunging in mid-air through that vast space and hence into Eagle Lake.
When Westy and Artie reached the lake bearing the heavy steel box with Ol’ Pop’s life-savings intact, Uncle Jeb and his old pardner were scanning the surface of the lake with all their might.
Westy set the box down and Ol’ Pop took his hand and his voice shook with emotion and the deep gratitude he felt for this boy who had rendered him such help.
“Don’t know how I’m a-goin’ ter pay yer back!” he said. “Guess nothin’ I cud give yer wud be worth what I owe yer, but I kin tell yer pronto, boy, yure good-stuff ’n never will I forget ye as long as I live!”
Westy felt well repaid in having him just talk like that. Indeed it made him feel shy and embarrassed to have this hardy old pioneer condescend to a lowly boy scout such as he. He tried to tell Pop as best he could that he wanted no pay of any kind, and that he had done no more than any boy should do.
Leaving Ol’ Pop to his wealth Uncle Jeb and the boys started around the lake.
“Did you notice the exact spot he jumped in, Uncle Jeb?” Westy asked.
“As fur as I cud see, he landed right about thar!” Uncle Jeb explained, pointing his finger toward the spot he meant. “He wuz a-comin’ on down thet fast, turnin’ somersaults all the way, thet it made me right dizzy ter watch him. He landed with a thump ’n I reckon he never did cum up agin, he went down thet fast.”
“Well, I have a good mind to take a plunge and do a little investigating myself,” Westy said enthusiastically.
“Go to it!” Artie said heartily.
“Be careful, boy!” Uncle Jeb warned him. “Yuh’ve hed yure share o’ narrow escapes already!”
“I will!” called Westy, making the plunge.
He swam around for a while and, finding no trace of anything, returned to the shore.
All that day they kept watch, but nothing revealed itself from the lake. Night came and they sat around the campfire once more, warmed in soul as well as body, that they were all sitting there safe and sound.
Westy and Artie were voicing their regrets that the summer had gone so quickly.
Events of the night before were gone over again, and, as the last spark of the fire died out on that pebbly shore, Westy rolled into his blankets, face upturned to the starry skies once again. They were to return to the cabin in the morning and he wanted to fix in his mind forever the beautiful spectacle that surrounded him, revealing all its naked beauty to his wondering eyes.
The stars overhead in that dark blue sky, shimmering and twinkling down upon him, seemed to want to confide in him the mystery of the heavens. The mountains around, so frowning and formidable in aspect to most people, looked to Westy that night majestic and serene, a solid wall of protection to mankind. Everything around him in fact that night brought gladness to his heart for he was happy in the thought that he had been of benefit to his fellow-beings.
And so musing, sleep seemed utterly to have deserted him and he felt not the least need of any.
“Well,” he whispered softly, “this is the last night under the stars, so I might as well make the most of it. Guess I’ll paddle around and finish my dreaming out here while I’m at it!”
He entered the canoe noiselessly and pushed off, lapping the water lightly with the paddle, seeming hardly to have touched it at all.
The fact that a tragedy had entered the lake that day, did not make Westy fear it at night. What he was not afraid of living, he surely wouldn’t fear dead.
His thoughts drifting lazily along and with his dreamy eyes fixed on Her Majesty, the Moon, he felt something strike the canoe.
The impact felt no more than what a small log would in striking it, but nevertheless Westy, always observing, looked.
It was mentioned before that Westy did not know what fear was. To retract it a little it can be here recorded, that he did receive quite a shock at first when he looked over the side of the canoe.
There floating in the water, directly in the moonlight, was the skeleton of a man and a few yards away from that—was another.
This time Westy uttered a cry, even if only one of surprise, but still a cry and it awakened the little slumbering camp.
He had paddled back to shore by the time Uncle Jeb and Artie reached there. Telling them of his discovery, they jumped into the canoe and went back to the spot. The skeletons were still floating there all right and with the aid of their paddles the boys succeeded in pushing the spooky-looking things onto shore.
Needless to say another night was lost in which to sleep, but they were in no mood to lie down in peaceful slumber after looking at anything like that. Lying on the shore side by side in the yellow moonlight, they were a weird and ghastly sight.
Westy bent down and saw that around the neck of one was an object of some kind. He touched it carefully and then again. Taking out his trusty penknife, he cut the string that held it, not caring to touch the poor creature with his bare hands.
As it came off, and Westy held it up, he saw to his surprise that it was an oil-skin wallet. No wonder it had stayed intact while the flesh of its owner had deteriorated into nothingness!
He held it up in the light while Uncle Jeb and Artie gathered around him. It was air-tight all right and Westy found, when he finally got it open, that it contained papers; probably some important, official documents, they thought.
While the moon was bright it was not light enough to see clearly and so be able to read them.
When morning came and breakfast was finished, Westy brought the papers out. The writing was pretty unintelligible now, but still Westy could make out words here and there. He gasped with astonishment and read aloud to his dumbfounded listeners.
Mr. John Temple’s name was mentioned, as representing a certain railroad, and giving him the right of way over a certain tract of ground belonging to one Ezra Knapp, for a given consideration. It all ran along those lines and there was at least enough decipherable to know what it was all about.
“It’s the agreement!” exclaimed Uncle Jeb, “thet Mr. Temple felt so bad over losing!”
“Then—” before Artie could finish Westy broke in.
“They must be the skeletons of the lost surveyors!”
How those poor men met their death in that watery grave is not known, probably never will be, but it is a certainty, as Westy remarked, that no matter how useless Ollie Baxter’s life may have been, his death was timely and for some good purpose.
Westy figured that the force of Ollie’s body in striking bottom must have disturbed those two skeletons, lying there through all those years, sending them floating to the top, while his remained on bottom.
At any event Ollie Baxter has never been seen again, but he surely did Westy a good turn in doing what he did.
They telegraphed from Eagle City the next day, to Mr. Temple, of Westy’s wonderful find.
It meant great rejoicing to Mr. Temple and before he left Bridgeboro for the West, he called on Westy’s father.
He told Mr. Martin what a big thing it had been for his son to have unearthed the agreement. He went on to say that it meant one of the biggest business deals of the day and that they would surely have to reward him.
Mr. Martin said he spoke for Westy and knew that his son wouldn’t think of any such thing, but was only too happy to have rendered Mr. Temple that service.
After Mr. Temple had left, promising to bring the boys safely back with him, Mrs. Martin looked at her husband, eyes gleaming with pride.
“With all your shouting,” she said smilingly, “about that boy’s romanticism and lack of business ideas he’s proven himself a bigger and better business man than you are!”
“My dear!” said Mr. Martin with good-humor, “don’t rub it in! I know when I’m licked!”
One morning, a few days later, Westy and Mr. Temple stood looking up toward the precipice. The older man was telling this wonder-scout that everything was settled and in readiness to continue where they had to leave off ten years ago. The cliff, he told him, with its little tragic hollow would be dynamited within the next two months to make way for the interests of bigger and better business.
“So, what do you think of your accomplishments, Westy?” Mr. Temple asked, waving his hand over toward the Pass and then to the Cliff.
“Well,” replied Westy, smiling, “I guess that’s that!”