THE LAIR OF THE ENEMY
Jerry Utway lay in his bunk, fully dressed, for about an hour after Taps
had summoned the campers to slumber. The storm had settled to a steady
drumming torrent that would probably persist far into the next day. The
sides of the tents had been lowered and fastened to the floor by their
grommets, to afford the fullest protection from the blast. An occasional
flash of lightning, accompanied by a crack of booming thunder, lit up
the familiar tent at intervals. Jerry shivered slightly as he stretched
out in his blankets and listened to the furious tattoo of drops on the
tent-fly over his head. He would have liked a less tempestuous night for
their expedition, but dawn would put an end to their hopes unless they
moved speedily.
At last he judged it safe to make his getaway, and with infinite
patience crawled into his boots and poncho, and shielding his
flashlight, crept out into the night. The vicinity of the campus was
black as pitch. Jerry felt his way through dripping underbrush, in order
to avoid disturbing any sleeper. He found Jake by the flagpole, and
without a word the two brothers stumbled down to the boat-dock.
On the unprotected platform of the dock they felt upon their wet faces
the full power of the storm. Wicked-sounding waves swirled through the
piles on which the dock was built; the little fleet of rowboats rocked
and pounded each other at their moorings.
“Don’t put on your light,” cautioned Jake hoarsely. “That prison guard
may still be patrolling over across, and if he happened to spot us, the
game would be over. We’ll have to take a boat—we couldn’t get a canoe
launched in this water to-night.”
“You untie a boat and pull it around in the lee of the dock, while I get
the oars.”
In a few moments Jerry returned with the precious oars, and they were
shoved into the locks of the boat Jake had selected. Before putting off,
it was necessary to bail out the pool of rain-water that splashed in the
bottom of the craft, and this Jake did, using his sou’-wester hat as a
bail. When the duckboards beneath their feet no longer floated, the
brothers cast off, seized the oars, and headed about on their second
crossing that night.
“Head straight across!” ordered Jerry. “I figure that if we keep right
into the teeth of the wind, we’ll come out at that pile of logs straight
across, where the deer-trail comes down to the lake. Heave!”
Keeping the full sweep of the wind at their straining backs, the twins
worked the oars with a heaving, united swing. Spray dashed over the bows
and drenched their rubber garments; the rolling boat pitched and dived
as they met one white-capped wave after another, head on. The dim
structure of the diving-tower and the shore beyond faded swiftly into
the gloom; but after fifteen minutes of labor they had no other evidence
that their craft had made any progress in the direction they wished to
take.
“Don’t quit!” grunted Jake. “Heave!”
Several times the bows were swept around and they took water broadside
over the low gunwale before a frantic effort on the part of one or the
other could swing them on their course again. It seemed to both laboring
boys that hours had passed.
Bump! The stem of the small vessel crashed against some unseen
obstruction, nearly throwing the young mariners headlong on to the
floor-boards. Both clung to their oars, and a wave lifted the boat from
its precarious position.
“We rammed the top of a sunken log!” called Jerry, who was nearest the
bow. “I think it may be part of that big jam we headed for. Any idea
where we are?”
“As I remember, the deer-trail is down to the right a few hundred yards.
What do you say we skim along offshore and try to find it?”
“Good! Boy, I’m glad that’s over!” Jerry was breathing heavily from his
exertions. He pulled on his oar, shoved off from the dark mass of piled
logs an arm’s length away, and the boat began skirting the dimly-seen
shoreline.
They had made the crossing in a Stygian darkness, but now the thunder
again commenced its ominous cannonade. An opportune bolt of heaven-sent
fire gave them a momentary glimpse of the shore on their port side, and
told them what they wanted to know. Jake made out the muddy delta where,
he remembered from a previous visit, the deer-trail began. Before the
gloom closed in again, he pulled about and began stroking madly toward
this landing. A thought struck him like a chill hand. Had a pair of
terrified eyes spotted their boat from the black shelter of the trees?
Did a desperate evil-doer lurk there, armed with Ellick’s sharpest
hand-ax, waiting for them to set foot on shore——? Jake shrugged. The
rowboat buried its nose squashily in the mud-bank, beneath the dripping
trunk of an overhanging tree.
Without a sound the boys moored the painter to a convenient branch, and
cautiously removed the oars and placed them beneath the thwarts, along
the bottom of the boat.
“We’ll have to bail her again before we go back—if we do go back,”
whispered Jerry grimly. “Can you get ashore from where you are?”
“I think so.” Jake stood and clasped the slippery tree trunk with both
arms, and swung his body forward. His heavy boots made him a clumsy
climber; but in a moment he had scrambled through a fringing litter of
brush and twigs to firmer ground. Jerry followed in his track, almost
dropping his flashlight as he clambered through the treacherous brush;
and the boys found themselves once more together in the darkness of the
forest.
“Stick to the trail—it’s our only guide,” advised Jake. He led the way,
recalling as best he could the twisting of the narrow track which they
had once followed by daylight on an idle exploring trip earlier in the
season. An infrequent lightning-flash was their only help, and it was no
wonder that they more than once wandered from the dim trail.
Deep into the murky reaches of the woods, they paused for breath. So
far, they had seen or heard nothing save gloom-shrouded trees; the usual
storm-noises of the wilderness; and the crackling of branches that
marked their advance.
“Now, which way?” asked Jerry guardedly. “I think the trail splits about
here. It’s getting late—if anybody in our tents wakes up, we’re sure to
be missed. No use waiting here.” His teeth were chattering from the damp
of the low ground. “Do you think we’ll have to give up?”
Jake was staring intently ahead. “I thought I caught a little glow of
light over there just a second ago! If this rain would only hold up for
a while—— There! See it?” He seized his brother’s arm and pointed.
Jerry peered anxiously into the mist. “Where?”
“Not that way! Right ahead! It must be a fire! That’s our man, all
right! Guess he thinks he’s fairly safe on a night like this—and he sure
needs a fire; it’s chilly enough over here to freeze you stiff! Are you
ready?”
“Sure, Jakie! No use trying to creep up on him, though. We’ll sneak as
close as we can, and then both rush him and jump him together! Come on,
let’s get it over with. He’s not much bigger than we are, and we’ll take
him by surprise!”
“Don’t let him get hold of his ax, though!” Jake quivered with
excitement. “Ready?” He crept toward the low tinge of red light that
marked the outlaw’s risky campfire.
They advanced unchallenged for some two hundred yards through the
dripping trees, in line with their goal. Their straining eyes could
barely make out a small heap of glowing branches at the mouth of what
seemed to be a rude shelter of sticks and dead limbs, which would cut
off the tiny glow from all other directions except the one from which
they approached. Not another sign of life came from the secret camp they
had risked so much to find.
“Now!” said Jake sharply, and dashed forward. Jerry was right at his
side in a few strides. It was like the football days at school, with
Quarterback Jake carrying the ball, and his husky brother at his elbow,
crashing through the line—“Right through center!” Jerry was amazed to
hear that shout in his own voice. In the madness of that charge he had
sent forth the old battle-cry.
Together the Utway twins galloped down upon their foe. From an opening
in the shelter beyond the fire appeared a pale, haggard face; a slender
body sprang forward to meet this surprise attack; a shrill scream burst
from the drawn lips.
“_Stand back!_ You’ll never take me—you——”
Involuntarily the twins slowed up in their tracks. A streak of
lightning, like the crack of doom, hit the earth at a terrifyingly short
distance away. The scene was illuminated as if by a thousand
searchlights. Their enemy, the searing mark of horror branded on his
face, cried out once more. His frail body quivered as if from a blow,
toppled weakly forward, and lay in a heap almost at their feet—face
forward, helpless, deathly still.