TOO LATE.
In a room of the Dead Road Mill Phil Cranch was held a captive, despite
his threats, protests, and offered bribes. He had not fancied the
Fardale men would dare do such a thing, and he was furious when he found
they actually meant to carry it out.
"You shall suffer for this!" he threatened.
"We’re frightened!" said Ted Smart, who had accompanied the captors.
"Please don’t make us suffer."
"I’ll have you all arrested!"
"Won’t that be jolly?" chirped Ted. "I just love to be arrested. I enjoy
it. It’s such fun being taken to jail, and all that."
"Don’t be a fool!" snarled Cranch. "I am in earnest."
"Oh, well, we’re in fun," said Smart. "We don’t mean to keep you here
till after the football-game Saturday—oh, no! We’re going to set you
free, and let you run right back and carry all you know to your
friends."
"You’d better set me free! I know you all."
"That’s fine! We’re proud to know you, you’re such a splendid fellow.
Now, I’m going to watch you, while my friends here get some lovely,
refined gentlemen to take charge of you for the rest of the present
week. I won’t hurt you if you try to break away and raise a rumpus. I
won’t hit you real hard with this soft club. I’ll just let you break
away and do as you please."
This was Ted’s way of telling what he would do, and Cranch understood.
The captive had been tied to a beam in the wall of the old room, his
hands still fastened behind him. An old lamp sat on a shelf. In that
room, which had once been used by the miller as a dining-room, there was
a table and some broken chairs.
With some words of caution to Smart, the others left him there to guard
the captive. When they were gone Cranch tried to bribe Ted, but found
all his efforts vain.
Near morning two rough-looking fellows appeared and told Ted they would
take charge of the prisoner.
"Be kind to him, gentlemen," urged Smart. "It’s quite likely he has only
one mother. I love him tenderly."
"Don’t worry," said one of the men gruffly. "If he cuts up any funny
business, we’ll break his neck and chuck him down under the mill."
"That’s the easiest way to fix him, anyhow," said the other.
"I think he would like that," smiled Smart. "It would be such fun for
him. Don’t kill him if he tries to get away; just half-kill him. Your
feed will be brought you some time to-morrow, and you can make
yourselves uncomfortable here just as much as you like. I don’t have to
hurry back to the academy to get in before the cock crows. Oh, no! I’ve
got plenty of time. Good morning."
Cranch saw that the rough-looking guards were in disguise, for it was
plain their beards were false. After a time he began appealing to them,
but they paid very little attention to him. With the aid of a pack of
cards, they whiled the hours away.
Cranch was able to lie down on the floor, where some old sacks had been
placed, but, when he pretended to be asleep, he kept watch for some sort
of an opportunity to get away. However, when they were tired of playing
cards, one of the men slept, while the other smoked and kept guard.
In the morning they provided food for Cranch, setting his hands free for
him to eat, after having first tied his feet, and warned him to let the
rope alone.
The food was good enough, such as it was, but Cranch choked over it. He
fell to reviling the two men and calling them all sorts of hard names,
until, becoming tired of it at last, they compelled him to be still.
Somebody brought food to the old mill where Cranch was kept a captive,
as the long days slipped away. He tried in various ways to gain his
freedom, but every effort failed, and, at last, came the night before
Saturday.
The fellow was desperate. He longed to get away and turn the tables on
Fardale. He thought of the satisfaction he would enjoy could he
accomplish this. In the night he worked at his bonds until he felt that
it was a hopeless case, and gave up in despair.
His captors welcomed the coming of Saturday, for they were becoming
tired of their task. They offered him breakfast, but he had no appetite,
and refused it. Again he tried all his blandishments on them, but they
laughed at him and advised him to keep quiet a little longer.
That morning one of the men went away. The other remained deaf to the
prisoner’s appeals. But when the man returned he brought a bottle of
liquor with him, and the two proceeded to celebrate. They drank and sang
and had a high old time.
Cranch watched them, and finally what he hoped for happened. One of the
men became stupefied and fell asleep. The other staggered over and made
a pretense of examining the captive’s bonds.
"You’re all ri’," he said thickly. "Orders to let you go three closh
this afternoon. Don’ worry. Goin’ to do it. ’Sall ri’."
Then he went back to the table, sat down, sprawled on his crossed arms,
and soon fell asleep, also.
Thirty minutes later Cranch had freed one hand. Then he worked
feverishly to accomplish what he desired. He succeeded finally, and
proceeded to steal out of the room, leaving the drunken guards
unmolested. He knew it was past noon, but he was not many miles from
Fardale. He would be on hand at the game, and his heart leaped for joy.
In a short time he was outside the dismal old mill and hurrying away.
Finding the grass-grown road, he ran pantingly along it.
"Oh, I’ll be on hand!" he exulted. "I’ll give them the surprise of their
lives!"
At last he came to an old house, with a shed nearby. Wishing to get a
view of the country, in order to see which course to pursue, he decided
to climb to the top of the shed and look around. He found a broken
ladder, and leaned it against the shed, after which he mounted to the
roof and crept to the ridgepole. His survey from this point was
unsatisfactory, and he was about to descend, when he saw the ladder
jerked away.
A moment later Cranch uttered a cry of astonishment, for out from
beneath the eaves of the old shed stepped an Indian. It was Old Joe
Crowfoot, who took from beneath his red blanket a long knife, the edge
of which he carefully felt with his thumb, his manner being most
ominous.
"Ugh!" grunted the redskin, eying the fellow on the roof. "Heap sharp.
Take white boy scalp much quick!"
"Lord!" gasped Cranch. "It’s a real Indian, sure as preaching! And he
looks murderous!"
Cranch was scared, and he remained on the roof of the shed.
"Come down," invited Old Joe. "Come down, white boy, and let chief take
um scalp."
"Not if I know it!" chattered Cranch.
Then the old Indian proceeded to squat upon the ground and bring out his
pipe, which he lighted.
"He’s going to wait for me to come down!" muttered the boy. "Well, he’ll
wait a long time."
So he remained on the shed, while Old Joe smoked below. And the time
slipped away. Cranch saw the sun getting down in the west, and knew the
football game was on.
At last, becoming desperate, Cranch resolved to make an effort to get
away. He believed he could run fast enough to escape this old savage,
provided he could reach the ground. Of a sudden he slid down the roof
and jumped to the ground. Regaining his feet, he was off like a
frightened deer.
He never knew if Old Joe pursued. Thinking the Indian might be at his
heels, he ran until he fell exhausted. He was alone, but the experience
he had passed through made him a shuddering, shaking, fearful chap, and
it seemed that every tree-trunk and every old stump hid an Indian with a
knife.
Cranch was never able to tell just what happened after that, but he
wandered about for a long time. At last he came out of the woods and
followed a road. Meeting a man in a wagon, he asked the direction to
Fardale Academy, and was told the way to go.
As he approached he heard cheers in the distance, and his blood leaped.
The game was not over. He started and ran until he reached a spot where
he could see the field. From that distance he saw Fardale breaking
through Viewland’s line for repeated gains.
"If I can get there in time!" he thought, and ran again.
But as he came panting up to the field he was just in time to see Dick
Merriwell kick the goal that finished that game, with the score 8 to 6,
in favor of the cadets.
Cranch stood there, his heart filled with bitterness, as the victorious
Fardale team trotted off the field. They passed him, and one of them
noticed him.
"Hello!" said Dick Merriwell, with a laugh. "You’re a little late to get
in your work, Mr. Cranch, for the trick is done and the game is won."