THE SHOT
For a moment, after getting outside the cabin, Tom hardly knew what to
do. He was at a loss in which direction to start, but he realized the
necessity of getting away from that vicinity as soon as possible.
Though his escape did not seem to have aroused his captors, there was
no telling when they would take the alarm and start after him. Tom
looked for the bear. The animal was not in sight, though he could see
by marks in the snow, where it had approached the cabin from the woods,
and where it had run off into the forest again.
“Too bad I haven’t my gun!” mused Tom. “But I don’t dare try to get it.”
Then began for Tom a time he never forgot. He set off toward the woods,
wishing to gain their friendly shelter as soon as he could, but once
there he was at a loss how farther to proceed.
“But there’s no need to wait for morning,” he reasoned. “I can see
almost as well now, as long as the moon is up. I’ll try to find some
sort of a trail.”
He staggered on, yes, staggered, for he was weak from his experience,
and he had not had proper food in some time. It seemed almost a week,
but of course it was not as long as that.
Scarcely able to walk, but grimly determined not to give up, Tom urged
himself on. Whither he was going, he knew not, but any way to leave
that hateful shack, and the more hateful men behind, was good enough
for the time being.
All night long Tom kept on going. He fancied he was on some sort of
trail or road, but he could not be sure. Certainly the trees seemed cut
down in a line, though it was a twisting and turning one.
Then the moon went down, leaving the scene pretty dark, but the white
snow made objects plain. Tom kept on until at last he was fairly
staggering from side to side. He was very weak.
“I--I’ve got to give up,” he panted. “I--I’ve got to--to rest.”
He looked about and saw sort of a nook under some bushes. On top was a
matting of snow, like a roof. Tom crawled into this like some hunted
animal, and sank down wearily. He pulled his mackinaw about him,
thankful that he had it with him. He must have frozen without its
protection.
Again Tom was unaware of the passage of time. He must have dozed or
fainted, perhaps, but when he opened his eyes the sun was shining. The
day was a brilliant one, and warm, for that time of year. Tom took
heart. He crawled out, and once more started on his wearying tramp.
He was very weak and exhausted, and there was a “gone” feeling to his
stomach.
“Or the place where it used to be,” Tom said, with grim humor. “I don’t
believe I have a stomach left.”
But he forced himself onward. It seemed that he had been staggering
over the snow for a week. Time had lost its meaning for him.
“Oh, if I only had something to eat! If I only could find the camp!”
murmured poor Tom.
He reached a stump, and sat down on it to rest. He closed his eyes but
suddenly opened them again.
Was that fancy, or had he heard a shot? He leaped up, electrified, and
then hesitated. Perhaps it was Skeel and the others after him. But a
quick look across the snow showed him no one was in sight. Tom reasoned
quickly.
“Skeel and his crowd wouldn’t shoot unless they saw me, and then it
would be to scare me. It can’t have been those men who fired. It must
be the boys. But where are they?” Tom looked eagerly about.
Again came the shot. There was no mistake this time. Then Tom heard a
shout. He tried to answer it, but his voice was too weak. Another shot
cracked on the frosty air, and then came a series of confused calls.
“There he is!”
“We’ve found him!”
“Hurry up!”
A mist dimmed Tom’s vision. He cleared his eyes with a quick motion of
his hand, and then he saw his three chums and Sam Wilson rushing toward
him. They came out of the woods, and, a moment later, had surrounded
him.
“Where were you?”
“What happened?”
“Where’s your gun?”
“You look all in!”
Fast came the questions.
“I--I am all in,” Tom faltered. “It’s that rascal Skeel. I--I----”
He could not go on for a moment. Then he pulled himself together.
“Here! Drink this!” exclaimed Jack, producing a small vacuum bottle.
“It’s coffee and it’s hot yet.” He poured some out into a tin cup and
Tom drank it. It revived him at once. Then, with a little more of the
beverage, and a hasty swallowing of a sandwich which formed part of
the emergency lunch the boys had brought with them, Tom was able to
tell his story.
Hot indignation was expressed by all, and then Jack related how they
had found the road, but lost Tom, and how they had met with Sam. Their
trip to Camp No. 2 had been fruitless, as we know, nor were they any
more successful when they came to Camp No. 3. Tom was not there. Then
they started for Camp No. 1, and were on their way thither when they
came upon the object of their search. On the way they shouted and fired
signal guns at intervals. The dog had found his way to Camp No. 1,
after leaving Tom, but the animal could not lead Tom’s friends to him.
“And now to make it hot for those scoundrels!” exclaimed Sam. “We’ll
prosecute them not only for kidnapping and robbing you, for that’s what
they did when they took your gun and money, but we’ll bring an action
in trespass against them. That shack where they kept you belongs to the
hunting club.”
“And to think Tom was there all the while and we never knew it,” said
Bert.
“Oh, I intended to have a look there, if we hadn’t found him at Cabin
No. 1,” declared Sam. “But now let’s get busy! Can you walk, Tom, or
will you wait here until I can go get a horse?”
“Oh, I’ll be all right soon. I was just weak from hunger.”
Soon Tom was able to proceed. They were about half way between Camp No.
1 and the shack where our hero had been kept a prisoner, and it was
decided to go to the latter place and make an endeavor to capture Skeel
and his cronies.
But our friends were too late. The kidnappers had fled, but Tom’s gun
and all his possessions, save his money, were found in the cabin.
Doubtless the personal belongings were too conclusive evidence against
the plotters, to risk taking, but someone had succumbed to the
temptation of the cash.
“Well, I’m glad to get this back,” Tom said, taking up his gun.
“Yes, and we’ll get those rascals yet!” declared Sam. “I’ll rouse the
whole country after them!”
They went on to Camp No. 1 and there Tom had a good rest. It did
not take long to pull himself together, and he was as eager as the
others to start out on the trail of the scoundrels. For the time being
hunting and the taking of photographs was forgotten. Sam sent word to
the authorities, and a sheriff’s posse was organized. It was done so
quickly that Skeel and the others, who had taken the alarm and fled
when they discovered Tom’s escape, were apprehended before they could
leave the neighborhood. The heavy storms had blocked the railroad and
there were no trains. The men could not hire a sled and team and so
were forced to walk, which put them at a disadvantage. They left a
trail easy for the woodsmen, hunters and trappers to follow.
“Well, you got us, and you got us good!” said Murker, when they were
arrested and confronted by Tom and the others. “I was afraid something
like this would happen.”
“Why didn’t you say so, then, and keep me out of it?” asked Whalen,
sullenly.
Professor Skeel said nothing, but he scowled at Tom. The plotter’s
plans had fallen through, and he faced a long prison term, which, in
due course he received, as did his confederates. The letter Skeel had
tried to force Tom to write was found on the man and made conclusive
evidence against him and the others. So the scoundrel-professor was
cheated of his revenge and the money he hoped to get from Mr. Fairfield.
It became known that Professor Skeel had various experiences after
Tom had last seen him. The man was in desperate circumstances when he
formed a plan of kidnapping Tom, and holding him for ransom. It was a
foolish and risky plan, but Skeel talked it over with his two cronies
and decided to try it. They knew Mr. Fairfield was rich.
Then came Skeel’s trip to Elmwood Hall. The snowball was an accident he
had not counted on, and it made him more angry than ever against Tom.
Professor Skeel’s injured ear, which looked, as Sam said, “like it
had been chawed by some critter,” was the result of a fight he had
with a man before this story opened, and with which we have nothing to
do. Sufficient to say that it served to identify the man, and put our
friends on their guard, so that justice was finally meted out.
The trial and conviction of the men came later. After the trio were
safely locked in jail, Tom and his chums returned to the woods where
they had been lost. But they were better acquainted with the forest now.
“And we’ll have some fine hunting!” cried Tom, now himself again.
“And get some photographs!” added Bert. “I want a view of that hut
where the bear pulled the board off so you could get out.”
“That was queer,” said Tom, smiling. “I don’t believe I’ll like to
shoot a bear now, after that one did me such a good turn.”
“You won’t have much chance,” Sam said. “I guess even the oldest and
toughest bear is ‘holed-up’ by now. Better be content with deer!”
And the boys had to be, rather against their wills. But they were made
happy when each one got a specimen, though none was as fine as was
Tom’s antlered head. Moreover, Bert and the others secured all the
photographs they wanted.
But deer was not the only game they shot.
Rabbits, partridges and squirrels were plentiful, and the boys had more
than enough for their meals. They enjoyed to the utmost the holiday
time spent in the hunting camps, and Tom paid his first visit to Camp
No. 3.
“Well, take it all in all, how did you enjoy it, fellows?” asked Tom,
when, after a last successful hunt they were preparing to go back to
home and Elmwood Hall.
“Couldn’t have been better!” was the enthusiastic answer from all.
“But it was rather tough on you, Tom,” said Jack.
“Oh, I didn’t mind it so much, except the ‘hunger-strike’ I had to go
on, after I escaped,” was the reply. “And I had the satisfaction of
besting Skeel.”
“He’ll hate you worse than ever,” commented Bert.
“He’ll be a long while getting out,” Tom said. “That’s one consolation.
Well, here comes Sam with the pung. I suppose we’ve got to go back!”
And with sighs of regret at what they were leaving, real regret in
spite of the hardships, the boys prepared to return to civilization, at
which point we will take leave of them.
THE END
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Transcriber’s Notes:
--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).
--Printer, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently
corrected, except as noted below.
--Archaic and variable spelling is preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
--Inconsistencies in formatting and punctuation of individual
advertisements have been retained.
--Table of Contents printer errors in chapter titles, page numbers,
and chapter ordering have been corrected to match the text.
End of Project Gutenberg's Tom Fairfield's Hunting Trip, by Allen Chapman