THE LOST CABIN
“The village is saved!”
Hamilton White, blackened, red-eyed, his clothing scorched, made
that announcement as, at the break of day, he had opportunity to
look about him.
“Yes, and not a life lost,” agreed Grace Harlowe, herself worn out
and disheveled. “It is a miracle. Mr. White, they should get down on
their knees to thank you for what you have done for Silver Creek.
Without your resourcefulness—Well, there would be nothing left of
the village or people.”
“Thank you!” Ham White bowed and grinned through the soot on his
face. “The credit is due wholly to the assistance of the
Overlanders. In other words, the shoe is on the other foot.”
“Well, what next?” demanded Hippy Wingate coming up, Emma Dean
following, and taking her place beside the guide.
“Something to eat if we can find it, then to get out of here and to
dodge what is left of the fire,” replied the guide. “Suppose we go
down to the creek and wash our faces.”
“Get out of here!” jeered Hippy. “With what? I haven’t seen anything
that looked like a horse since yesterday. I think our animals must
have gone downstream, and that we are all fixed for a long hike to
some place where fresh mounts can be had.”
“Oh, Hamilton! Is it really true that the ponies have run away?”
begged Emma, linking arms with the guide.
“Too true, little bird,” chuckled Hippy. “Thank you, Mr. Wingate.
Being a bird is better than being a donkey,” answered Emma.
“And hop from bough to bough, and chatter and then chatter some
more,” finished Hippy.
“While a donkey can only bray, and then bray some more,” was Emma’s
parting shot, which brought a shout of laughter from the begrimed
Overlanders.
Hippy made a gesture of helpless resignation, and turned to the
guide to ask what they had better do.
“We will find the stock somewhere to the northeast, provided they
have been neither burned nor drowned. Stock have an instinct that
tells them to seek high ground,” said the guide. “By the way, is
Miss Briggs in one of the houses resting?”
“Elfreda!” cried Nora.
The girls looked at each other with the same question in their eyes.
None had seen her since the evening before, and in the excitement
and confusion she had not been missed.
“Girls, girls! Run!” cried Grace. “Go to every house in the village.
She must be here! She must be here! Hippy! Mr. White! Please help
us.”
There was instant compliance, and half an hour later the Overlanders
met in front of the post office. Grace was the only one of the party
that had any information to convey. Grace had found the woman whom
Miss Briggs had tried to rescue, and ascertained that the last that
woman had seen of her was when Elfreda had given her a vigorous push
towards the shore.
For the first time since the Overlanders had known him, Ham White
lost his composure. He steadied himself in a moment. Leaping to the
steps of the store he shouted to the villagers that were still
thronging the streets.
“Men!” he said. “These splendid young women have helped to save your
town and your women and children. One of the young women, Miss
Briggs, is missing. She _must_ be found, and I want you men to form
a searching party. Get your breakfasts, but never mind anything
else. If you are men, which I believe you to be, you won’t have to
be urged. I’ll tell you what to do. Will you go?”
“Yes!” The answer was a shout. And Hamilton White smiled.
The guide directed the girls to steady themselves, and eat. As for
himself, he wanted nothing to eat except what he could carry with
him and munch on his way. White sent one searching party down each
side of the creek, heading the party on the left side himself, with
Lieutenant Hippy Wingate leading the party on the right.
“Do not worry if we aren’t back as quickly as you might hope for, as
we shall be looking for stock—for our horses—at the same time,” he
urged.
“Oh, Hamilton, do be careful of yourself,” begged Emma as the men
were starting away. “I shall demonstrate for you all the time you
are away.”
Grace linked an arm in Emma’s.
“My dear, how long have you known Mr. White?” she asked gently.
“It seems as though I have always known him,” answered Emma
dreamily.
“As a matter of fact, you have known him less than a week. It is
true we took him on the recommendation of the banker at Cresco,
where we made our start for the Cascade Range of Washington State,
and we know him to be a man of intelligence, a brave, resourceful
fellow, but there is still something about him that I do not
understand. I don’t believe he is what he represents himself to be,
but, if we should ever go out again, he is the man I should like to
have lead us. Just the same, that is no reason why you should be so
forward. Emma, well-bred girls are not supposed to wear their hearts
on their sleeves. Be a good fellow, which you are, but be
dignified,” admonished Grace smilingly.
“I am and I do,” answered Miss Dean haughtily.
“Now let us forget our little lecture, and do what we can to assist
the women of the village to get set, so to speak,” suggested Grace.
“We must not worry about Elfreda. I believe we shall find her and
that she is as safe at this moment as we are.”
“I’ll demonstrate over her. I’ll keep saying to myself, ‘Elfreda is
well and happy. No harm can come to her because only error can mean
harm,’” promised Emma, bubbling and laughing.
“Come,” said Grace. “Demonstrate after we have given some material
aid to these distressed people.”
It was about this time that Elfreda reached the shack in the forest
and made the discovery that so startled her. Elfreda’s amazement was
caused by the sight of a human being, sitting on a stump near the
shack. The human being was short and fat. He was eating from a can
of baked beans, his big eyes regarding Miss Briggs soulfully, his
cheeks puffed out with the beans.
“Stacy!” cried Elfreda. “Oh, Stacy Brown! Am I dreaming?”
“Mebby,” mumbled the fat boy, digging more beans from the can.
Elfreda ran to him, and in her joy at seeing her Overland companion,
she threw her arms about Stacy. In doing so she knocked the can of
beans from his hands, and the rest of the contents was spilled on
the ground.
“Now see what you’ve done,” wailed the fat boy. “And the beanery
fifty miles away.”
“Never mind the beans. What is this place?”
“Lost cabin,” answered Stacy promptly.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t. I just guessed it. Hungry?”
“Famished,” answered J. Elfreda.
“Some more canned stuff under the floor of the shack,” he informed
her, waving a hand towards the cabin, and picking up the spilled
beans one by one, placing each individual bean carefully in his
mouth.
“First tell me how you got here?” demanded Miss Briggs.
“Came down on a Roaring River Liner—other words, a log. Where’s the
party?”
“Trying to put out the fire at Silver Creek. Shall we try to find
our way back?”
“What! With all that food cached in the shack?” demanded Stacy
almost indignantly. “So long as the food holds out and no fire comes
along, I stay right here. I know a good thing when I find it. After
I get enough to keep my strength up I am going down to the river and
catch some fish. Then we will have a real spread.”
“Hopeless!” exclaimed Elfreda. “I am glad to see you, though. I
think you are right about remaining here for the day. When the fire
is under control our folks will search for us, and Mr. White will
pick up our trail.”
“Yes. I left ‘feetprints’ in the river when the log rolled me off.
Did you ever observe how wonderfully prominent ‘feetprints’ in the
water are, Elfreda?”
Elfreda gave her head a toss and walked to the cabin. It was a
typical forest shack. There was a plain deal table, two chairs, a
bed on the floor and blankets hung over a line. The dishes were
limited, but sufficient for one or two persons. She investigated an
opening in the floor, from which Stacy had lifted the trap door, and
found there a good supply of canned goods, some rope, axes, picks
and shovels.
“A forest ranger’s shack,” she murmured. “Yes, I think that must be
it.” Elfreda helped herself to a can of beans, surveyed it ruefully
and carried it outside.
“Have you the can-opener, Stacy?” she asked.
Stacy shook his head.
“How did you open your cans then?” Several empty cans lay about the
stump on which he was sitting.
“With my teeth. Bit ’em open!” said the fat boy thickly.
“Stacy Brown, you are impossible! I think I know a better way.”
Elfreda got an axe from the shack and attacked the can of beans. She
made a bad job of it, and most of the beans that were not mashed
flat were scattered about on the ground. These, the fat boy gathered
up carefully and placed in his own can.
“Get another can. I’m busy, but I will open it for you. Girls are so
helpless.”
“I am beginning to agree with you,” answered Miss Briggs, returning
to the cabin for another can. When she came back Stacy removed the
top of the can with his knife, and handed the food to her.
“For this, you buy me a new knife when we reach a store somewhere.
Knives cost money, and I can’t afford to waste mine on girls.”
“You shall have a new knife, and thank you very much for your
courtesy,” returned Elfreda.
Stacy gave her a sidelong glance.
“You look all fagged out. After you finish that can, better go in
and lie down. Besides, it won’t do to overload your stomach so soon
after a bath.”
“Oh, you funny boy!” Elfreda laughed until two tear drops were
sparkling on her brown cheeks. “If you will catch some fish I
promise to cook them for you, and we will have a real spread. Yes, I
will take a nap, for I am completely fagged. Did you discover any
coffee in the shack?”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t have time to make coffee. I’m too busy to do so
now.”
Miss Briggs went to the shack, spread out the blankets for
inspection, and found them clean; so she laid them on the bed and
stretched out for a rest. Until then she had not realized how weary
she was, and, in a few moments, fell into a deep sleep.
After a time Stacy took a nap by the stump, from which he did not
awaken until late in the afternoon. He did not know what time it
was, his watch having stopped on his wet ride from the village of
Silver Creek. The fat boy decided to go fishing. There was a bamboo
pole, hook and line in the shack, and this he got, after taking a
squint at the sleeping Elfreda.
“Girls are such sleepy-heads,” muttered the boy, as he shouldered
the pole and went out, making all the noise he could, all of which
failed to awaken Miss Briggs. On the way to the stream he looked for
a rotting stump, one of which he eventually found, and with his
hunting knife managed to dig out some nice white grubs for bait.
“Humph! They do look almost good enough to eat,” he muttered,
surveying some of the grubs in the palm of his hand. “I don’t blame
the fish for liking them.”
Shortly after that the fat boy sat down on the bank with his line in
the water, thoroughly at peace with the world, and content to remain
where he was so long as the food held out.
Stacy had not been fishing long when he heard a horse approaching,
but did not turn his head, his eyes remaining fixed on the fish line
that caused a little ripple in the stream as it split the current.
“Hello, boy!” called a voice behind him.
“Same to you,” returned Stacy.
“Fishing?”
“No. Just teaching this grub how to swim.”
“Say, you! You’re too fresh. I’ve a good mind to throw you into the
river,” growled the newcomer.
“Better not. I’ll get wet.”
“Where do you come from?” demanded the man, his voice sharp and
incisive.
“Up Silver Creek way. I came down here on the river packet to get
away from the forest fire.”
“I mean, where do you live?”
“Right here at the present moment. I don’t look as if I were dead,
do I?”
“You may be soon if you ain’t more civil. What happened to the
village?”
“Some people got singed, others got wet. I got a little of both
before I shipped.”
The man got down from his horse and stepped around where he could
see the fat boy’s face. Stacy gave him a slow, sidelong glance, then
turned his attention to his line. He had a bite, and a few seconds
later he landed a fish.
“Huh!” grunted the stranger. “Anybody with you?”
“A few grubs in my pocket and myself, that’s all. Who are you?”
“None of your business!”
Stacy regarded the stranger blinkingly. The fellow was not a
pleasant-looking man, and a scar across one cheek gave him a still
more evil look. The horse he rode, Stacy observed, was a fine animal
and looked as though it could develop a lot of speed.
“Where’d you get the nag?” questioned the boy.
“Bought him. Didn’t think I stole him, did you?” demanded the man
indignantly.
Stacy shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply. He resumed his
fishing.
“Let me give you some advice, young fellow. This is no place for
children. You git out of here, and stay out. I’ll be back later, and
if you’re here then I’ll help you out on the run.”
“Thanks,” drawled the fat boy without looking up.
The stranger rode away, and Stacy resumed his fishing. He caught a
fine mess of trout; then the grubs gave out. Being too tired to
return to the shack just then the Overlander decided to take a nap,
which he proceeded to do. Night came on, and Stacy Brown was still
asleep. So was Elfreda Briggs, in the shack. Miss Briggs had not
moved since she lay down hours before.
It was late when she finally suddenly roused herself and sat up. The
cabin was enshrouded in darkness. Peering out, she saw that it was
night.
“Stacy!” she called. There was no response. Stacy Brown was sleeping
peacefully on the bank of Roaring River.
Elfreda wondered what had awakened her so suddenly. Then all at once
she understood. She heard a horse approaching. The animal stopped
just beyond the cabin. Miss Briggs did not go to the door, but got
to her feet and listened. She thought she heard someone groan; then
all was silence for a moment.
“Oh!” exclaimed the Overland girl under her breath as the door of
the shack was slowly pushed open. “Who is it?” she cried, with all
the steadiness that she could summon. Miss Briggs reached for her
revolver, but it was not in its holster.
A man staggered in. She could see his figure faintly outlined in the
doorway.
“Help! I’m shot—I’m dying!” groaned the man, and collapsed at the
feet of Elfreda Briggs.