THE ESCAPE
Professor Skeel retained control of himself with an obvious effort.
Clearly he had expected more of a spirit of agreement on the part of
Tom, though he might have known, from his previous experiences with our
hero, that compliance would not be given. But Tom did not even take the
trouble to hand back the letter. It had fluttered to the floor of the
cabin.
“You--you----” began Whalen, angrily spluttering the words.
“Silence!” commanded Skeel. “I’m attending to this.” His face and his
tone showed his anger, but he managed to keep it under control. He
picked up the letter--something of a condescension on his part, and
said to Tom:
“Then you refuse to do as I ask?”
“I most certainly do! The idea is positively--silly!” and Tom had the
nerve to laugh in the faces of his enemies.
“We’ll make you sweat for this!” declared Whalen. “We’ll----”
“Better let the boss work the game,” suggested Murker. In spite of his
evil face, and the fact that he was just as guilty in the matter as the
others, he seemed of a more conciliatory spirit.
“Yes, you keep out of this,” commanded the professor to the former
employee of the school. “I know what I’m doing.”
Tom wondered what the next move would be. He did not have to wait long
to find out.
“Well, if you won’t sign this now, you will later,” said Skeel, as he
folded the letter and put it into his pocket. “Take him to the dark
room,” he ordered. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses there. And don’t
give him too much bread and water,” and the man laughed as he gave this
order. “A little starving will bring some results, perhaps. Lock him
up, and bring me the key.”
“All right, you’re the boss,” assented Murker. “I’m in this thing now,
and I’m going to stick it out, but I wish----”
“You’re right; you’re going to stick!” interrupted Skeel. “You’re in it
as deep as I am, and you can’t get out!”
Murker did not finish what he started to say. He shrugged his shoulders
and seemed resigned to what was to come. Tom disliked him the least of
the three, though the man’s face was not in his favor.
“Shall we tie him up again?” asked Whalen.
“Yes, and tie him good and tight, too. Don’t mind how you draw those
cords. The more trouble we make now, the less we’ll have to make later.
Tie him up and put him away where he can cool off,” and Professor Skeel
laughed mockingly.
For an instant a desperate resolve came into Tom’s mind to make a rush
and a break for liberty. But the idea was dismissed almost as soon as
it was formed.
What chance would he stand with three full-grown men to oppose him? The
door was locked, and Tom’s feet were still bound. He had a knife in his
pocket, but to reach it, and cut the ropes on his ankles would take
time, and in that time he would easily be overpowered by his captors.
It was out of the question now.
“But I’m going to escape, if it’s at all possible,” Tom declared to
himself. “And when I do get out of here----”
But he could not finish his thought. His gun and mackinaw had been
taken away from him, and now when Whalen roughly seized him, and put
the ropes on his wrists, Skeel said:
“Search his pockets. Take what money he has and any sort of weapons.
Then lock him up!”
Tom did have considerable money on him, and this was soon out of
his pockets, and in that of the professor. Tom’s knife and other
possessions were also removed. Then he was lifted up, carried to
another room, and roughly thrust into sort of a closet that was very
dark. Tom fell heavily to the floor. His mackinaw was tossed in to him.
“He can use that for a blanket--we’re short of covering,” he heard
Skeel say. “We don’t want him to be too comfortable, anyhow.”
Tom was anything but at his ease just then, but he did not falter in
his determination not to give in. He shut his teeth grimly.
The door was closed and locked, and our hero was left to his not very
pleasant reflections. He managed to struggle to a sitting position, and
to edge over until he was leaning back against the wall. He drew his
heavy mackinaw to him. It would be warm during the cold night, for that
he would be kept a prisoner at least that length of time, he could not
doubt.
Tom’s thoughts were many and various. So this was why Skeel had
followed him and his chums. This was why he had reappeared at Elmwood
Hall, and had caused Whalen to ask questions about the hunting trip.
So this was Skeel’s plan for enriching his purse and at the same
time getting revenge. So far, fate had played into the hands of the
unscrupulous man and his confederates.
“But I’ll get away!” Tom told himself. He sat there in the gloomy
darkness, trying to think of a plan.
Meanwhile his chums, with Sam Wilson, were frantically searching for
him in the storm. Sam’s idea was not to leave the neighborhood where
Tom had last been seen, until they had exhausted every effort to locate
their missing chum.
But it was difficult to search in the storm, and the whirl of flakes
made a long view impossible. Then, too, they were in a dense part of
the wilderness. Sam Wilson’s farm was perhaps the largest cleared part
of it, though here and there were patches where trees had been cut down.
Up and down the road, and on either side of it, the search went on.
Sam Wilson was a born woodsman, as well as a hunter and farmer, and he
brought his efficiency to the task.
“But it seems to be no go, boys,” he said, at length.
“But what has become of him?” asked George with a look of worriment on
his face.
“That’s what we can’t say except that he’s lost,” spoke Jack.
“Yes, but lost in this wilderness--in this storm,” added Bert. “It’s
dangerous.”
“Yes, that’s what it is, provided he is still lost,” Sam said.
“Still lost! What do you mean?” asked Jack.
“I mean he may have gone so far that he found his way back to one of
the camps.”
“Really?” hopefully cried Bert, who thought Sam might be saying that
simply to cheer them up.
“Why, of course it’s possible,” the caretaker went on. “He may have
gone on beyond the sound of your guns. And, unexpectedly, he may have
hit the trail to one of the camps. For there are trails that lead
through the woods. They’re not easy to find, or follow, but Tom might
have had luck.”
“Then what shall we do?” asked Jack.
“Go back to Camp No. 2,” answered Sam. “Tom may be there. If he isn’t,
we’ll go to the others in turn. Let’s go back. We’ll drive.”
So, abandoning the search for the time being, they started back for
camp in the pung, drawn by the powerful horses. They were hoping
against hope that Tom would be there, or that they would find him at
one of the other cabins.
But Tom was still a prisoner in the dark closet of the lonely shack.
What his thoughts were you can well imagine, but, above everything else
stood out the determination not to give in and sign the letter asking
for the ransom money.
Hours passed. Tom again felt the pangs of hunger. He had an idea the
men might try to starve him, but after an interval, which he imagined
brought the time to noon, Murker came in with some bread and water.
“Boss’s orders,” he growled. “I’ll untie your hands while you eat, and
don’t try any tricks.”
Tom did not answer. The bread was welcome, but the water more so.
Murker left him a glass full after he had once emptied the tumbler.
Then the ropes were again put on his hands, and he was left alone in
the darkness.
Whether it was the same day or not, Tom could hardly tell. He must have
dozed, for he awoke with a start, and he knew at once that some noise
had caused it.
He listened intently, and heard a scratching, sniffing sound back of
him. He could feel the board side of the shack, against which he was
leaning, vibrate.
“Can it be that the boys are trying to release me?” Tom asked himself.
But in another moment he knew this could not be true. His chums would
come boldly up and not try to get him out in this secret fashion. The
scratching and sniffing increased.
“It’s some animal!” Tom decided. He edged away from the side of the
closet-room, and waited. The sound increased. Then came a splintering,
rending sound as of wood breaking. Tom fancied he could feel a board
move.
An instant later a streak of light came suddenly into his prison. It
was from the moon which was shining brightly on the snow outside, and
by the light through the crack Tom could see a big hairy paw thrust in
where the board had been torn off.
“It’s a bear!” cried the lad. “He must smell something to eat, and he’s
trying to get after it. He’s standing outside and has pulled off a
loose board, and--by Jove! I can get out that way!” he said aloud. As
he spoke the board was pulled farther loose, leaving a large opening.
A sniffing snout was thrust in. Tom had no intention of sharing his
prison with a bear, and, raising his two bound feet Tom kicked the
animal on its most tender place--the nose. With a growl Bruin withdrew,
and Tom could hear him sniffing indignantly as he scampered over the
snow. But the bear had made for Tom a way of escape.
“If I could only get my arms and legs free, I could squeeze out through
that opening,” Tom decided. Then like a flash the plan came to him.
The tumbler of water had been left within reach. Tom kicked it over
with sufficient force to break the glass. He had to make a noise, but
after waiting a while, he felt sure his captors had not been aroused.
They did not seem to be on guard, or they would have heard the bear
when he pulled loose the outside board.
Tom’s muscles were in good control, but he had to strain himself
unmercifully to bend over and get a piece of the broken glass between
his hands. Then he put it between his two boots, and held it there,
with a sharp edge up, by pressing his feet tightly together.
You have doubtless guessed his plan. He was going to use the glass as a
knife and saw the rope of his wrists upon it. This he proceeded to do.
The moonlight outside, streaming in, gave him enough illumination to
work by.
He cut himself several times before he succeeded in fraying the rope
enough so it could be broken. Then, rubbing his arms to restore the
interrupted circulation, Tom used the glass on the rope that bound his
ankles. This he cut through quickly enough, and, was able to stand up.
His legs were weak, and he waited a few minutes until he could use them
to better advantage. Then, forcing farther off the dangling board, Tom
crawled out in the snow, putting on his mackinaw when he was outside.
The storm had ceased. It was night--a night with a dazzling moon, and
Tom was free. But where his chums were, or in what direction the camp
lay, he could not tell.