A TEST OF COURAGE
“Sta—Stacy gone?” exclaimed Elfreda Briggs. “It can’t be possible.
He is playing one of his practical jokes on us.”
“Let us look, but don’t disturb Emma and Nora if it can be avoided,”
urged Grace.
The two girls, with the guide, repaired to Lieutenant Wingate’s
tent, and examined it, using their pocket lamps. It was as Hamilton
White had said—there was every evidence that a struggle had taken
place there. The fat boy’s hat and his revolver lay where they had
been hurled to one side of the tent. His blouse was a yard or so to
the rear, and the imprint of his heels where they had been dragged
over the ground was plainly visible.
“He must have been asleep,” nodded White.
“Yes,” agreed Grace. “If awake Stacy would have set up such a howl
that none could have failed to hear. When do you think this was
done, Mr. White?”
“When we were out looking for the lieutenant. If you will remember,
Mr. Brown remained behind.”
“Do you think it wise to follow his trail?” asked Grace.
“No. Not now. I dare not leave the camp. All this may be part of a
plan. My duty is here, at least until daylight, when I will get into
communication with those who will find both men.”
“You think so, Mr. White?” questioned Elfreda anxiously.
“Yes. It is the work of the same gang, but what their motive is we
can only surmise. You and Mrs. Gray may know.”
Elfreda felt her face growing hot, and a retort was on her lips, but
she suppressed it.
“Mrs. Gray, if you think I should try to run the trail now, I will
do so, but it would be against my judgment. I hope you do not
insist,” said White, turning to Grace.
“I believe you are right,” answered Grace. “Come, Elfreda, we will
go to our tent, for no serious harm can come either to Hippy or
Stacy. They dare not harm them.”
Ham White did not reply. He knew the character of the men who
committed that piece of banditry, and knew that they would hesitate
at no crime to gain their ends, whatever those ends might be.
The guide got no sleep that night. Mindful of the attacks that had
been made on the camp, he took up his position at a distance, and,
with rifle in hand, sat motionless the rest of the night. From his
position in the deep shadows he commanded a view of the entire camp,
which was dimly lighted by the campfire all night long.
There were occasional sounds that Ham White did not believe were
made by marauding animals, but none were definite enough to warrant
exposing his position. During his vigil nothing occurred to disturb
the sleepers.
The graying mists of the early morning were rising from gulch and
forest, enfolding the mountaintops, when Ham White stole around the
camp, scrutinizing every foot of the ground. By the time he had
completed this task the mists were so far cleared away that a good
view of the surrounding country might be had.
From his kit the guide selected a wigwag signalling flag, and taking
one of the tent poles for use as a flagstaff, he went cautiously to
the high rock that stood sentinel over the Overland camp, and
climbed to its top.
“I hope none of the girls wake up,” he muttered, peering down into
the camp, which was as quiet as a deserted forest.
Ham White, after attaching the flag to the pole, began waving it up
and down, which in the wigwag code means, “I wish to speak with
you.”
It was at this juncture that Grace Harlowe slowly opened her eyes.
Where she lay she could look straight up to the top of the rock
without making the slightest movement, and her amazement must have
been reflected in her eyes.
Like several of the Overland girls, Grace’s experience in the war
had included learning to signal and to read signals. She was out of
practice, but was easily able to read any message not sent too fast.
Ham began his message, after getting the attention of the persons to
whom he was signalling, at a speed that Grace could not follow. She
did, however, catch a few words that were enlightening.
“Trouble—Haley—Trail—Send word—Caution—Great secrecy or expose
hands—Fatal to—” were some of the words that she caught as the guide
flashed them off. Then he paused.
“How I wish I could see the answer,” muttered the Overland girl, as
she watched Hamilton White, with glasses at his eyes, receiving the
message that was being sent to him.
Grace Harlowe’s, however, were not the only pair of eyes that
witnessed that exhibition of signalling. Other eyes were observing,
but that other pair could not read a word of what the signallers
were saying.
White dropped his glasses and snatched up his flag, and she read,
this time with greater ease:
“It may be fatal. Great danger to both. My responsibility. Must have
instant action. This an order. Obey without loss time. Report soon
as anything to say.” The guide signed his name, and the words that
followed the signature filled Grace Harlowe with amazement. She saw
the guide remove the flag from its staff and hide it under a stone,
after which he descended to the camp, passing the open tents without
so much as a glance at them.
Ham stirred up the fire and put over the breakfast, and, while it
was cooking, Grace came out, greeting him cheerfully.
“Is there any news, Mr. White?” she asked sweetly.
“No, not yet.”
“What have you done?”
“I signalled to a fire-lookout station that assistance was needed.
It is best to wait until we hear from them.”
“How, signal?” she questioned, appearing not to understand.
“By the air route, Mrs. Gray,” was the smiling reply.
Grace Harlowe shrugged her shoulders.
“You are a very clever man, Mr. White,” she said, and walked to her
tent to awaken Miss Briggs.
When informed that Stacy Brown was missing, a few moments later,
Nora Wingate became hysterical, but Grace and Elfreda calmed her,
and the party were ready to sit down to breakfast when the guide
announced it as ready.
It was a trying, anxious morning for the little band of Overlanders.
White made frequent trips to the rock, observed questioningly by
Elfreda.
“What is he looking for, Grace?” she asked. “Does the man expect to
find the bandits that way?”
“I don’t know. Why not ask him, J. Elfreda?”
“Not I. You know I would not.”
About mid-forenoon Grace suggested to the guide that he go out into
the forest and see if he could glean any information as to the
direction that the kidnappers had taken when they left the camp,
with either Hippy or Stacy Brown.
White pondered the subject a moment, then agreed.
“If you will promise not to leave camp, and to fire a shot at the
least suspicious sound or occurrence, I will go out,” he said. “One
of you had better go to the rock and take station there until my
return.”
Grace said she would do that. Matters were working out to her
satisfaction, and, after telling Elfreda to take her rifle and post
herself a short distance to the rear of the camp, and assigning Emma
and Nora to the right and left ends of their camping place, Grace
climbed the rock and sat down. After Ham White, following a survey
of the camp and her arrangements, of which he approved with a nod
and a wave of the hand, had left the camp, Grace got up and looked
for the signal flag, which she found under a flat stone.
“Now! Having disposed of my companions I shall see what I shall and
can see,” she told herself.
Securing the signal flag, the Overland girl took a survey of the
landscape. A vast sea of dense forest lay all about her, broken here
and there by a white-capped mountain. Nothing that looked as if it
might be a fire-lookout station attracted her eyes. She had used her
field glasses, but without result.
A moment of vigorous signalling on her part followed, after which
Grace swept the landscape again. She discovered nothing at all.
Another trial was made, and the word “answer” was spelled out by
her.
Her eye caught a faint something far to the north of her, and
Grace’s glasses were at her eyes in a twinkling. A little white flag
was fluttering up and down against the background of forest green in
the far distance.
“I’ve got him!” cried the girl exultingly. “I’ve got him!” Then,
wigwagging, Grace Harlowe signalled the one word, “Report!”
“Who?” came the answer, almost before she could get the glasses to
her eyes to read the message.
“For White,” she wigwagged. “Report!”
Holding the flag, now lowered to the rock, with one hand, the other
holding the glasses to her eyes, Grace bent every faculty to
watching that little fluttering, bobbing square of white, that, at
her distance from it, looked little larger than a postage stamp.
“Repeat!” she interrupted frequently, whenever part of a word was
missed. It was a laborious effort for her, out of practice as she
was, and the exchange of messages lasted for a full half hour before
the Overland girl gave her unseen, unknown signaller the “O. K.”
signal.
Grace folded the flag and placed it under the stone, then
straightened up.
“Mr. Hamilton White, I have you now!” she exclaimed, a triumphant
note in her voice.