THE CAMP ON THE ISLAND.
Under the western shoulder of Turkey Hill the shadows were deep and
heavy, and, the path being dim and faint from rare use, it was necessary
for the party to proceed slowly. They did not talk much, and when they
did speak their words were uttered in low and guarded tones.
Several times, Piper, in the lead, paused to make sure they had not
wandered from the right course. The others seemed to rely almost wholly
upon Billy, and no one thought of superseding him in the leadership.
During one of these pauses, Cooper, who had halted with Springer a short
distance behind the others, pulled at Phil’s sleeve and whispered in his
ear:
“Say, old man, don’t you think it’s about time we told all we know about
this business?”
Springer gave his body a queer sort of a shake.
“What gug-good will that do?” he whispered back. “It won’t help fuf-find
Hooker.”
“No, but it may help us after he’s found.”
“I don’t think so; it’s tut-too late.”
“Why too late?” persisted Chipper.
“Because everybub-bub-body would know we were just scared into it,
that’s all. It wouldn’t help us a bit, Chip—not a bit, to tell it now.
If Piper thought it would do any good you bub-bet your life he’d have
told already.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” sighed Cooper; “but it’s an awful load on my
conscience, and I’d like to get it off my system.”
“Come on,” Piper called back in a low tone. “We’re all right. This is
the way.”
They went forward again, turning presently to the left and descending to
the lower ground at the border of the broad marsh. The trees became more
scattering and the thickets grew thinner. Before long they saw the
marsh, spreading out before them, silent and strange and uninviting in
the moonlight which flooded its expanse of pools and reeds and
brushwood, amid which a few scraggy dead trees rose here and there. In
the midst of the expanse was a bit of higher ground, covered by a growth
of small, dark, evergreen trees. This was the “island” on which stood
the old camp where Piper hoped to find Roy Hooker. From knoll to knoll,
in a zigzag course, led the path, the pools and marshy places bridged by
felled trees and brushwood.
“I’m afraid you won’t find him there, Piper,” said Nelson.
Cooper, hearing the words, muttered for Springer’s ear:
“I’m afraid we will.”
Despite their caution in proceeding, at one point, Grant, breaking
through the brushwood bridge with a cracking sound, plunged one leg to
the thigh between the two lengthwise supports and drew it forth soaking
wet.
“This yere trail,” said the Texan, “is sure some unreliable and
treacherous.”
Those who reached the island first waited for the others to come up.
They stood there whispering and listening, but hearing no sounds to
assure them that the one they sought was near.
“As he’s deranged,” said Piper, “we want to take care not to frighten
him more than possible, for it’s likely he’ll be scared and run when he
sees us.”
“He can’t run fur,” declared Crane, “without plungin’ head over heels
right into the swamp.”
“And that’s what we don’t want him to do; it might be his finish. We
must prevent him from running away when we find him.”
“When we find him,” muttered Nelson. “But something tells me we won’t
find him here.”
Slowly they pushed forward toward the center of the island. In a few
moments they came to a small opening and paused again, before them the
old camp huddling in the shadows of a thick grove which rose close
beside it. The place was dolefully silent and forbidding at that hour. A
breath of wind, sweeping across the island, set up a sudden rustling,
which was accompanied by a sound that put their nerves on edge.
That sound was like a low, harsh moan or groan, and it seemed to come
from the sagging, deserted camp before them. Some shrank back shivering,
while others appeared eager to rush forward.
“He’s there!” breathed Nelson. “That must be he!”
Springer stooped and placed his lips close to Cooper’s ear:
“Sus-sus-sounded to me like sus-sus-some one dying,” he chattered.
“Let the others go ahead,” gasped Cooper. “I don’t want to find him
first. I don’t want to see him. I’d like to get away this minute.”
With his arm outstretched and the palm of his hand turned backward to
restrain his companions, Billy Piper advanced swiftly on his toes.
Within a few feet of the shanty structure, he saw that the door was
standing open. At that moment another gust of wind rustled through the
trees, and immediately the harsh moaning sound was repeated.
“It’s the door,” declared Billy, enlightened. “The wind moves it and
makes the old hinges creak.”
“My Jinks!” mumbled Crane, in great relief. “I thought it must be him
sure; I thought it was Roy. Mercy! I’m all ashake.”
Stepping boldly to the black doorway, Piper struck a match, but a gust
of wind extinguished it. Immediately he lighted a second match,
shielding the tiny blaze with his cupped hands. Close behind him crowded
the others, seeking to look over his shoulders into the camp when the
blaze should be sufficient to reveal the interior of the place.
Having protected the match until it burned brightly, Billy held it out
before him and slightly above his head, shifting his curved hands until
they served as a reflector for the tiny flaring light.
The shanty contained only one room, which seemed to be quite empty and
deserted, save for an old broken table and a few crude pieces of
furniture. There were shadows in the corners, but none of these seemed
sufficient to hide a human being.
The flame scorched Billy’s fingers, and he dropped the match, which, a
bent and glowing coal, floated zigzagging and spiraling downward, burst
into bits as it struck, and died out.
Some one behind Piper drew a long breath. “I don’t reckon he’s here,
after all,” said the voice of Grant.
“There’s something white lying on the floor,” declared Billy, with
suppressed excitement. “I saw it just as I dropped the match.”
Lighting another, he stepped forward and picked the thing up. It was a
damp cloth, and with it in his hand he retreated into the moonlight
outside.
“What is it? What is it?” questioned the boys, pressing around him.
Billy held it up. “Looks to me like a wet towel that had been wound
round something and fastened into place with safety pins,” he said.
“That’s what it is, too. Fellows, Hooker may not be here now, but he has
been here—he certainly has. This proves it.”
“How do you make that out?” asked Osgood, doing his best to appear as
calm as would seem consistent.
“This towel proves it,” reiterated Piper. “It couldn’t come here without
being brought, could it?”
“No; but I don’t see——”
“It’s wet. It’s the very towel that was used to hold the ice compress on
Roy’s head.”
“If that’s right,” said Nelson swiftly, “he must be near. Perhaps he’s
hiding close by in the bushes. We must search every foot of this
island.”
“Every inch of it,” agreed Piper, “and we want to be about it right
away. Let’s fall back to the place where we came on, and begin there. We
must spread out and then advance together. There must be some system
about it.”
Following his directions, they began the search on the island. It was
dark, pokey work in the midst of the thicker growths, but, nevertheless,
they did it with an amount of thoroughness that made it seem impossible
for them to overlook a person seeking to hide on that small patch of dry
land. Yet, when they had covered it all and reached the western side
beyond which the swamp lay impassable for a person afoot, they had found
no additional token of Hooker.
“Too bad,” said Nelson, discouraged. “He isn’t here. He can’t be here.”
“It doesn’t seem possible,” admitted Piper, “yet this towel is sure
evidence that he has been here.”
“He must have gone away before we came,” was Osgood’s opinion. “I don’t
believe he could have dodged us after we got on to the island.”
Almost with one accord, they turned to Piper.
“What be we goin’ to do next, Billy?” asked Crane.
“Let’s take one more look into that old camp,” suggested the leader,
who, although he did not admit it, was almost at his wit’s end. “I know
where there’s an old pitch-pine log, and we ought to get a piece of that
to serve as a torch.”
The log, which had been partly hacked up for firewood, was found, and a
slender resinous strip was torn from it. Lighting one end of this strip
of wood, Piper fanned it into a bright flame, and, bearing it in his
hand, boldly entered the shanty.
The torch revealed nothing they had not previously seen, but it did give
them complete assurance that the boy they sought could not be hiding
there.
“Yes, he got away, that’s sure,” said Nelson; “and there’s only one way
by which he could do it. He had to go back as he came.”
“And therefore,” said Billy quickly, “he must be in the woods somewhere
yonder. That’s where we should look for him now.”
“Perhaps,” ventured Crane, “he’s near enough to hear us. Oh, Hooker!
Hey, Roy!”
Piper sprang at him savagely. “Stop that, you idiot!” he snarled. “Stop
shouting that way! What are you trying to do?”
“Why, I thought he might hear me.”
“Yes, he might and be frightened into fits. No more of that fool
business, Sile. Keep still and come on. We’ll get off right away and do
the best we can hunting for him over yonder.”
Over the treacherous crossing they returned to the solid ground beyond
the border of the swamp. Looking backward, Cooper tugged at Springer’s
sleeve.
“Now I’m afraid we _won’t_ find him, Phil,” he confessed. “I’m afraid
nobody will find him tonight. And when they do, it wouldn’t surprise me
if they dug his body out of this old swamp.”