THE FLAMING ARROW
“Where am I at?”
It was Hippy Wingate’s first conscious moment since he was struck
down while sleeping with his back against a tree not far from the
Overland camp. All was darkness about him as he awakened in
unfamiliar surroundings. Essaying to rise, the Overlander discovered
that he was bound. Still worse, there was a gag in his mouth.
A gentle breeze was blowing over him, and at first he thought he was
still under the trees. Hippy then realized that there was a hard
floor beneath him. His head ached, and when he tried to sit up he
found that it swam dizzily.
“I wonder what happened to me?” he muttered. “Hello!”
There was no response to his call; in fact, his voice, still weak,
did not carry far and it was thick because of the gag. Then began a
struggle with himself, that, while it exhausted him for the time
being, aided in overcoming his dizziness.
Hippy heard men conversing, heard them approaching, whereupon he
pretended still to be unconscious. A door was flung wide open, and a
lantern, held high, lighted up the interior of the building with a
faint radiance.
“Hain’t woke up,” announced one of the two men who stood in the
doorway.
“Mebby he never will,” answered the other.
“I don’t reckon it makes much difference, so long as we got two of
’em,” returned the first speaker. “What shall we do—let ’im sleep?”
“Yes.”
The man with the lantern strode over and peered down at the
prostrate Overlander, while the prisoner, from beneath what seemed
to be closed eyelids, got a good look into the swarthy, hard-lined
face. Lieutenant Wingate would remember that face—he would remember
the voices of both men—would know them wherever he heard them.
“Let ’im sleep. When he wakes up we’ll have something to say to
’im.” With that the two men went out, slamming the door behind them.
The lantern light had shown Hippy that he was in a log cabin. At his
back was a window, or a window-opening, for which he was thankful,
as it offered a possible way of escape. But how, in his present
condition, could he hope to gain his liberty?
There was no answer to the Overlander’s mental question. First, he
must regain his strength. The leather thongs with which he was bound
interfered with his circulation, and his legs were numb. So were his
arms, and his jaws ached from the gag that was between his teeth. In
fact, Lieutenant Hippy Wingate did not remember ever to have
suffered so many aches and pains at one time as he had at that
moment.
He began his struggles again, but more with the idea of starting his
circulation and gaining strength than with any immediate hope of
escape. By rolling over several times he was able to reach the door,
but having reached it he had no hands with which to open it. Hippy
wanted to look out. Failing there, he bethought himself of the
window, and rolled back across the floor to it. Exerting a great
effort, he managed to work his head up to the window so he could see
out.
The night was dark, but the Overlander was able to make out trees
and rugged rocky walls, together with what appeared to be a dense
mass of bushes. The scene was unlike anything he had seen in the
State of Washington since his party had started on their outing.
“I may be up in the Canadian Rockies, for all I know,” he muttered.
Hippy sank down, weak and trembling.
For a change, he rolled back and forth, pulling himself up to the
window again and again, and each time found himself stronger than
before.
“If I were free and had a gun I’d show those cowards something!”
raged the Overlander, his anger rising. “Why did they have to pick
on me? I wonder what the folks at the camp are think—”
“Sh-h-h-h!”
It was a low, sibilant hiss from the window, and Hippy fell suddenly
silent.
“Keep quiet and listen to me,” warned a hoarse voice. “The gang is
out of range, but we don’t know when one or more of ’em will be
back. I’m coming in.”
Not being able to answer, except with a grunt, the Overlander merely
grunted his understanding.
The stranger leaped into the room and felt for the prisoner.
“I am going to cut you loose. Are you wounded?”
“No, I think not,” mumbled Hippy, but his words were unintelligible.
The first thing the stranger did was to remove the gag, which he did
with so much care that the operation gave no pain. Then came the
leather thongs. These he ripped off with a few deft sweeps of a
knife, and Lieutenant Wingate was a free man so far as his bonds
were concerned.
“Can you walk?” in the same hoarse voice.
“I could fly if I had to,” was the brief reply. “Who are you?”
“You wouldn’t know if I told you. Here!” The man thrust a revolver
into his hand. “Don’t use it unless you have to. We aren’t out of
the woods by a long shot. Come!”
The stranger assisted Hippy through the window, which was
accomplished with some difficulty, for Lieutenant Wingate was stiff
and sore. A firm hand was fixed on his arm, and his companion began
leading him rapidly away. Not a word was spoken for several
minutes—not until they had plunged into the dark depths of a canyon,
through which the man picked the way unerringly.
“How are you standing it?” was the question abruptly put to
Lieutenant Wingate.
“Rotten! But I’ll pick up speed as I go along and get my motors
warmed up.”
The stranger chuckled.
“Where are we going?”
“We are headed for your camp, but it’s quite a hike and a hard one.
If you get leg-weary, stop and rest a bit. How’d they get you?”
“I went to sleep just outside the camp, and I think I must have got
a clump on the head. Ouch!” Hippy had lifted a hand to his head, and
felt there a bump as big as an egg. “I guess I did get a clump. It’s
a wonder I’m not dead. When is it, to-day or to-morrow?”
“It’s the day after,” was the half humorous reply.
“Please tell me how you found me?” asked the Overlander.
“Ham White got in touch with some people I know. They got word to
me, and gave me the tip. The same people saw the gang that got you
heading for the pass where you were taken, so I made for that place
as soon as I got the word from White. I was lucky; I might have had
to hunt the whole state over for you. The gang made a bad play when
they picked you up. We’ve got a line on them now.”
“Who is we?” interjected Hippy.
“All of us,” was the noncommittal reply. “Don’t speak so loudly. It
isn’t safe yet.”
That walk Hippy Wingate never forgot. Every step sent shooting pains
through his head and legs. He stumbled frequently, but every time
the grip of the stranger tightened on his arm, and he was kept on
his feet.
“When you get to camp, tell your people to watch out. Some of the
gang are still out on trail. I reckon they aren’t out for any good,
and they may be planning to rush your camp and get the rest of your
party.”
“Why do they want us?” wondered Lieutenant Wingate. “Is it robbery?”
“Yes, but not the sort of robbery you think. Tell your friend Miss
Briggs that it’s time she told her party her story. She knows why.”
“I begin to see a light,” muttered the Overlander. “Say! There’s
something familiar about your voice, but I can’t place it. Got a
cold?”
“Yes.”
Little conversation was indulged in after that, and at last Hippy’s
rescuer halted and pointed.
“See that light?” he asked in a whisper.
“Yes.”
“That’s your camp. I leave you here. Take my advice, and don’t make
much noise to-night. Keep your fire low, and post guards. Tell White
there is a man out here wants to see him. You need not let the
others know about my being here. I’m in a hurry. Good-night.”
“But—won’t you come—”
“Go on!”
Hippy wavered a little as he started towards the camp, into which he
staggered a few minutes later.
A cry greeted his appearance, and Nora’s arms were flung about his
neck ere he had fairly reached the light of the campfire. He held up
his hand for silence.
“Give me something to eat, if you love me. I’m famished.”
Nora ran for the coffee pot, which Ham White took from her. Hippy
stepped over to him and whispered something to the guide, as he
relieved White of the coffee pot.
White immediately left the camp.
By now the other members of the party were about Hippy shoving their
joy at his return.
“Have you seen Stacy?” demanded Grace eagerly, as soon as she could
get his attention.
“No. Why?”
“He, too, has been missing, and—”
“The curs!” raged Lieutenant Wingate. “So they got him, too, did
they?”
“Never mind now. You must drink and eat. Where is Mr. White?”
wondered Grace, glancing quickly about the camp.
“I sent him out on an errand,” answered Hippy. “Ah! The coffee is
not so hot that it burns, but it’s nectar.”
“Oh, my darlin’! Your head!” cried Nora, just discovering the
swelling there.
Elfreda was at his side in an instant, examining the lump that, to
Hippy, seemed fully as big as his head itself. Miss Briggs ran to
her tent for liniment, and in a moment was applying it to the sore
spot.
Hippy’s story was brief, because there was little that he could tell
them. He was amazed when he learned that he had been away so long.
Grace explained to him how White had reached some lookouts on the
range and got them to go in search of him. “How they found you so
soon, I don’t understand. Do you?”
Hippy shook his head.
“There are some things in this neck of the woods that are beyond
explaining. I hope they didn’t give Stacy such a wallop as I got.
But don’t worry about him. They can’t keep him long. Stacy will eat
them out of his way. I was easy. He isn’t.”
Ham White returned at this juncture.
“We shall probably have another guest to-night, if all goes well,”
he announced.
“A guest?” wondered the Overlanders.
“So I am informed; perhaps more than one. Do not ask any questions,
for I can’t answer them. Well, Lieutenant, you had a rough time of
it, didn’t you?”
“The Germans could not have done anything much worse.”
“Would you recognize any of the fellows who captured you?”
questioned White.
“I saw only two, but I shall know them when I see them, and they
will have reason to know me, for—”
“Hamilton, who are the guests you are expecting?” urged Emma in her
sweetest tone of voice.
“Sorry, Miss Dean, but I can’t tell you.”
“Isn’t that just like a man—making a mystery of everything? I
think—”
“Hello, folks!” cried a voice from the bush.
The Overlanders fairly jumped at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Tom! Tom Gray!” cried Grace, running and throwing herself into her
husband’s arms. “How happy I am to see you, you will never know. I
needed you, Tom—we all have needed you, and I think we shall need
you still more. Where did you come from?”
“Hello, old chap!” cried Hippy jovially.
The Overlanders crowded around Captain Tom Gray joyously.
“How are you, White!” greeted Grace’s husband, as soon as he could
free himself from the welcome of Grace, Nora and Emma. “I have been
looking forward to meeting you, and I knew, from what I had heard,
just the sort of man you would be—I mean as to looks,” added Tom,
grinning. “The men on the range are looking forward to seeing
their—”
A warning look from the guide checked Tom.
“I will explain later,” whispered the guide.
“I thank you for sending for me,” bowed Tom, with ready
resourcefulness. “I knew that the need must be urgent or you would
not have done so.”
“Yes. I have a double responsibility—a moral and a physical one, and
I felt that I had no right to go farther until I had consulted with
Mrs. Gray’s husband. We are heading for trouble, in fact we have
already been having it.”
“Tell me about it. I know some of the facts, but I want them at
first hand.”
“Miss Briggs knows the story. I suggest that she relate the story of
her experiences, which will give you the slant I want you to get. I
suppose you know of the kidnapping of Lieutenant Wingate and Stacy
Brown?” asked the guide.
“The bare facts only. J. Elfreda, you seem to be the pivotal point
on this journey. Grace is holding my hand so tightly that I shall
have to ask her to give me a chance to listen to you,” answered Tom
laughingly.
Emma offered to demonstrate to give Tom a “chance” to hear the
story. Grace laughed happily. A great load of responsibility and
worry had been lifted from her shoulders.
“I will be good, J. Elfreda. Please tell Tom everything—everything,
remember. Mr. White, we wish you to sit in,” added Grace, as the
guide discreetly moved away.
There followed a moment of silence, then Elfreda Briggs began the
story of the fire, of her arrival at the forest cabin, and of the
dramatic occurrences there. She told of the diary, of the loss of
the gold dust, and of the general directions that Sam Petersen had
left for locating the claim, though Elfreda did not say what those
directions were. She thought it advisable not to do so.
Hippy got up and walked to his tent, returning shortly and standing
with his back to a tree and his hands in his pockets as Miss Briggs
finished her story.
Grace took up the story from that point, relating all that had
occurred since Elfreda’s experience in the forest shack, but
avoiding what she had learned through her wigwagging about Hamilton
White.
Tom Gray pondered over the story, stroking his cheek, which Tom
always did when thinking deeply.
“The Murrays, eh, White?” he questioned, glancing up at the guide.
Ham White nodded.
“It looks that way,” replied White.
“They know about this Lost River story, do you think?”
“Most everyone does up here. It is an old Indian legend, and
probably has no more foundation in fact than most Indian legends,”
answered the guide. “Mind you, I am not saying that such a place
doesn’t exist. No doubt there are many rich veins in the Cascade
Range yet to be discovered. Petersen evidently believed he had found
it, but he undoubtedly was delirious when he described the spot. He
had been shot, you know.”
“When he made the entries in his diary he hadn’t been shot,”
retorted Miss Briggs with some warmth. She checked herself sharply.
“Not having seen the entries I cannot say,” replied White.
“What puzzles me is what became of the contents of the bag of gold.
Surely the bandit who came back did not take it, for he did not have
the opportunity,” reminded Captain Gray. “What became of it,
Elfreda?”
“Have a look at this,” spoke up Hippy Wingate, tossing a small
leather pouch of his own into Elfreda’s lap.
“Wha—what—” gasped the girl.
“It is the gold you thought had been stolen, and—”
A peculiar whirring sound checked what Hippy was about to say. The
Overlanders glanced up and saw descending upon them what they took
to be a falling firebrand, with a streamer of light like the tail of
a comet following it.
“Look out!” shouted Hippy.
His warning was not necessary, for the Overland Riders had leaped to
their feet and ran for cover. The firebrand hit the ground with a
thud, and as it landed Hamilton White threw a blanket on it, and
himself on the blanket to smother the flame. The guide knew that
there was a meaning in that flaming visitor’s arrival, and he wished
to ascertain it.
“Oh, Hamilton, what is it?” cried Emma.
“The flaming arrow!” exclaimed Tom Gray. “That’s an Indian trick. No
white man ever thought of that. What does it mean, White?”
“Wait!” The guide removed a thin piece of bark that had been bound
to the arrow near its butt, and from under the bark he drew out a
piece of paper. “It is a message,” he announced after peering at the
piece of paper, and then handed it to Tom Gray.