DOWN IN THE WHIRLPOOL
When Clay heard the splash of water as the tin can disappeared from
sight, he began wondering if what he had heard had reached the ears of
the others. The lost channel was always in his mind, and he was
wondering if the presence of a subterranean body of water there could
have any connection with the channel which had disappeared as if by
magic two or three hundred years before.
In order to settle the question as to what the outlaws knew concerning
the water which must lie directly under their cave, he asked:
"Will some of you men give me a drink of water?"
"Aw, go take a drink out of the river," was the reply he received.
"Gladly!" cried Clay. "Just untie my feet and I'll show you how
quickly I can get to the river."
The men laughed heartily at what they considered a good joke and
continued their preparations for leaving the cavern. In a short time
the man believed by Clay to be Lawyer Martin made his appearance, and
then the party started up the gully turning to the east and walking
over the roughest territory Clay had yet seen in that vicinity. The
leader of the party paused now and then to inspect the landscape and
to listen for sounds from the west river.
"What were your friends doing this afternoon," he asked presently.
"They have dug up a new boat somewhere."
"I don't know," replied Clay, stumbling over the ground with two husky
guards close to his sides. "Was it my friends who were doing the
shooting?" he added.
"Shooting?" the leader repeated in apparent amazement. "Did you hear
any shooting? Which way did it come from?"
"From the west," was the brief reply.
Clay's escorts glanced at each other significantly, but said nothing.
The boy was satisfied from the attitude of those about him that his
chums had been attacked, but, as a matter of fact, he had heard no
shooting, being at the time it took place in the cavern opening from
the gully.
After what seemed to Clay to be an endless journey, the party came to
the west shore of the east river. Here, in the glade to the north of
the rocky ledge which they had followed, was a fairly comfortable camp
with tents and bunks and plenty of cooking appurtenances.
Clay was pushed into a tent and his hands and feet bound again.
"We can't take any chances on your jumping us in the night," the
leader said as he saw the ropes adjusted around the boy's ankles and
wrists. "If you only had a little sense, we might make you more
comfortable."
Time and again Clay had the name of Lawyer Martin on his lips. He was
almost positive that the leader of the outlaws was the disguised man
he had met in Montreal, the man of whom the farmer had spoken at the
campfire. However, he conquered the inclination to address the fellow
by the title which he believed to belong to him.
"If he really is Lawyer Martin," the boy reasoned, "and I let him know
that I know the truth, he'll take good care that I never get out into
the world again to tell of his connection with these outlaws."
That night was a long one for the boy. One of the outlaws walked
watchfully about the camp all night and another sat close by his bunk
watching with unwearying eyes. It was plain that they considered his
capture of great importance. He reasoned that it was because they had
failed in any attack that might have been made on his chums, and had
not succeeded in securing the map they sought.
He did not know whether Alex had escaped the clutches of the ruffians
or not, but he believed that if the boy really had been taken prisoner
he would have been brought to the camp he himself occupied.
The camp was astir at daybreak, when most of the outlaws disappeared
from view, going in every direction except across the river. Clay
would have given a good deal for exact information regarding their
plans for the day, but he could only surmise that all their energies
would be directed toward the destruction of the _Rambler_ and the
driving away of his chums.
While he lay pondering over the possibilities of the day, the leader
of the party came to his side.
"How do you feel this morning, my boy?" he asked lightly.
"I feel like I'd like to stretch my legs a little," was the reply.
"If I gave you the privilege," asked the other, "will you promise to
make no attempt to escape?"
"I'm not making any promises," Clay replied, "so I suppose I'll have
to remain where I am."
"But you can't get away," the leader insisted.
"How do you know I can't get away?" replied Clay, laughing up into the
man's face.
"Because we've got you tied hard and fast," was the reply.
"I've read in the papers," the leader went on, "about this Captain Joe
bulldog of yours and this Teddy bear cub doing wonderful things in the
way of helping you boys out of trouble, but they are up against the
impossible here."
"I'm sorry," Clay said with a shrug of the shoulders, "but you know
just as well as I do that no game is ever played out as it should be
until the last card is on the table."
The leader smiled whimsically and turned away. After talking for some
moments with the only man present in the camp, he turned to the west
and disappeared. Then the man he had last talked with approached the
boy.
"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked.
"Pie!" roared Clay. "Green apple pie, red apple pie, dried apple pie,
and pie pie. And if you've got any chicken pie, that will come in all
right later on."
"Your troubles don't seem to affect your appetite, kid," laughed the
man whom Clay discovered to be the cook of the camp. "You're a jolly
kind of a fellow, anyway, and I'm going to give you the best there is
in the larder."
In half an hour a really good breakfast of ham and eggs, potatoes,
bread and butter, and coffee was served to the boy. He ate heartily,
of course, as most boys will under any circumstances, talking with the
cook as the meal proceeded.
Directly the leader came to the edge of the little glade and beckoned
to the cook. The latter looked from his employer to the boy and back
again. The leader beckoned imperatively, and the cook left the tent
and approached him. Together they stepped away into the edge of the
thicket and engaged in an animated conversation.
Clay heard the leader ask if the ropes which held his hands and feet
were still in place, and heard the cook reply that he supposed they
were as he had not examined them.
"Just for the fun of the thing, now," Clay mused, "I'll find out
whether that chap is right."
He pulled away at the cords on his wrist, but for a long time was
unable to move them beyond the limit of the motion which had enabled
him to use a fork at his breakfast.
"I wonder," he thought, "why they didn't give me a knife to eat that
ham with. Never mind, I can make a knife of my own."
He set his elbow against an earthen plate which lay on the ground,
breaking it into several pieces. The largest fragment, he got into his
mouth and began to saw his wrist ropes against it. The strands of the
rope soon gave way and the boy's hands were free. It took him but a
moment to untie the cords which held his ankles.
Thus released, he listened for a moment to make sure that the two men
in the edge of the thicket were not observing him. All was still in
that direction and he finally ventured to the opening of the tent and
looked out. The two men were nowhere in sight.
"Now or never," thought the boy. "While those fellows are cooking up
some scheme for the destruction of the _Rambler_, I'll make a quiet
sneak. The peninsula must be crowded with outlaws, all in search of a
lost channel, and so I'll have to take to the river."
The boy was out of the glade in an instant, crouching low, of course,
but making good time until he reached the margin of the river. Hoping
to see a boat, he paused there a moment and looked about. As he did
so, the roar of the falls which had obstructed the progress of the
_Rambler_ on her first trip to that vicinity, reached his ears and he
knew that a boat would be practically useless, as it would never live
through the falling water. The only thing for him to do, seemed to be
to take to the water and keep as much out of sight as possible under
the bank.
He sprang in and struck out down stream wondering if he could pass the
falls without returning to the shore. After swimming a few strokes, he
heard a shout from the bank and saw the leader and the cook hastening
toward the river. The current was strong there just above the falls
and the boy was an excellent swimmer, so the men did not decrease the
distance between themselves and their quarry.
"If you don't stop, we'll shoot!" the cook cried.
"And shoot to kill!" came the voice of the leader.
For a moment Clay swam on blindly under a rain of bullets but he had
no idea whatever of voluntarily returning to the shore. The leaden
pellets splashed into the water all about him for a time but presently
as the men got better range, they began making closer acquaintance.
The roar of the falls was now almost deafening. The boy could hear a
torrent of water pouring down upon broken rocks. He knew now that it
would be impossible for him to negotiate the falls by way of the
river. He must swim to the shore and pass around the danger point.
This would subject him to the direct fire of his pursuers.
At last, almost hopeless, he dived into the water to escape the rain
of bullets. To his surprise, he did not come to the surface again when
he used his strength in that direction.
Either his body had lost its buoyancy or the water was pulling him
down. He seemed to be in a whirlpool. The force of the water drew at
his arms and his legs and clutched him about the chest. Around and
around he whirled, until he grew dizzy with the motion and his lungs
seemed bursting for want of air.
Then, almost unconscious, he knew that he was being drawn through an
opening into which the water poured with awful force. He knew that he
was being tossed to and fro in something like a basin or pool a moment
later, and felt the fresh air creeping into his lungs.
The water where he lay did not seem to be more than three or four feet
deep but the current was swift and steady. There was no light
anywhere. The boy groped forward with his hands outstretched until he
came to what seemed to be a ledge of rock. There, exhausted and almost
unconscious from his exertions, he dropped down and his mind became a
blank.
When he returned to consciousness, a single shaft of light penetrating
the darkness of the place showed him to be in a cavern the dimensions
of which he had no means of knowing. The ledge upon which he had
fallen lay a yard or so above the surface of an underground stream. He
could see the light glancing on the water and hear the roar of the
whirlpool which had brought him into this subterranean place.
"I've found the lost channel, I guess," he thought bitterly, "and I
guess there'll be two of us lost--a lost river and a lost boy."
After a time, he felt his way along the ledge only to find that it
came to an abrupt termination against a shoulder of rock.