FIRE IN THE FOREST
Trussed with light rope like a pair of fowl ready for slaughter, the two
boys were lifted one by one in the Indian’s arms and laid in the bottom
of his dirty canoe. Neither could speak, for bandana handkerchiefs were
knotted tightly between their teeth, so that they had barely a chance to
breathe. They lay on the unyielding ribs of the craft, which apparently
leaked, for several inches of chilly water sloshed about beneath them
and ran down their necks, soaking their already damp clothing.
The tarpaulin-wrapped bundle containing the provisions stolen from the
Lenape trailers was dumped next to their heads. The man with the pistol
crouched in the bow, his slicker thrown open, now that the rain had
stopped. His dark-skinned henchman, whom he had called Mink, cast
another glance at the _Sachem_, which was caught in the channel current
and, bottom upward, drifted toward the outlet. Then, seizing his paddle,
he pushed off the heavy-laden vessel and began paddling furiously toward
the far shore.
Although they were effectively hidden from the eyes of any returning
Lenape canoeists as long as they kept the length of the island between
them, the two men kept a wary lookout until they gained the shelter of
the far shore, where the deepening twilight hid them from any
possibility of discovery. Dirk, squirming painfully in his bonds, could
see only the body of the muscular Mink above him, his moving head and
arms outlined against the purple sky, in which one star already gleamed.
He could hear Brick Ryan breathing heavily beside him, and bit at his
gag angrily, realizing that he could help neither his comrade nor
himself. If only he had departed with the other members of the party,
the two desperate men would not have had opportunity to snare them as
they had done. It had been all his own fault, Dirk condemned himself. If
only he had listened to Brick——
But why were they thus trapped and taken from their friends toward an
unknown fate, leaving an overturned canoe behind to give the cruel
impression that they had drowned? What was the meaning of it? Why had
this man, who now sat slumped in the bow of the leaky canoe, followed
Dirk so relentlessly into the wilds?
He puzzled until his head throbbed, but could piece out no answer to
those questions. The steady rhythm of the paddle might have lulled him
off to a fitful stupor, so weary was he; but the filthy water in the
bottom of the canoe slapped him again and again into wakefulness. It
seemed as if hours passed before the canoe made a sudden swerve
shoreward, and the bottom beneath him scraped on a gravel spit of land.
It was already quite dark. The two lads were bundled out of the canoe
and were glad to be relieved from their painful position. Had their
captor not untied all their bonds save those holding their hands behind
their backs, they would have fallen over when they were first put on
their feet; as it was, Dirk was forced to lean against a tree to keep
himself erect.
The Indian’s master pulled the gags from their mouths with a warning.
“Not a word out of either of you! Not that it would do you any good, at
that. You don’t know where you are, but I can tell you it’s miles from
anybody that could hear you, or would care what I did to you if you
yelled. So be good little kids and follow my half-breed friend Mink. And
remember, I still have my gun handy.”
The half-breed, who during this time had been pulling his canoe ashore
and hiding it in a pile of brush near by, now silently raised the pack
of provisions to his shoulder and began stolidly tramping through the
darkness. The driven boys stumbled in his wake, too weary to know or
care where the overgrown path might lead. Behind them marched the
nameless man, who now and then uttered an oath as he tripped over a root
or sank ankle-deep in a forest pool.
After half a mile, the guard dropped so far behind that Dirk ventured a
cautious whisper in the direction of his friend; although, since the
half-breed looked back from time to time, it was impossible to attempt a
flight.
“Where do you think they’re taking us, Brick?”
Brick shook his head hopelessly. “Don’t know—too dark to see. I think
we’re on the west side of Moosehorn, but maybe not.”
“I’m sorry I was such a fool as to let them take us so easily. If I’d
listened to you——”
“Don’t worry, my lad.” Brick’s voice was somehow cheering. “They won’t
hurt you. Me, maybe, but not you.”
“You mean—you know why they captured us? I’ve been trying to figure it
out. Why, why did they do it?”
“Mean to tell me you don’t know? Why, I’ve been suspectin’ it since the
first time I saw that guy with the gun. Don’t you realize that he
kidnaped you so that he could make your dad pay a wad of money to get
you back?”
Dirk Van Horn gasped incredulously. “But—kidnapers! Why, my father isn’t
a wealthy man! He’s quite well off, but even if he is president of a
bank, he doesn’t own all the money in it!”
“Well, wouldn’t he give all he’s got to have you back home safe again?
Sure, he’d do that, and this tough bird that’s got us counts on it. No,
you’re safe until he gets some ransom for you.”
“Quiet, there!” commanded an angry voice, with a curse. Their guard had
caught up to them, and a wave of his weapon put a stop to their
whispered comments. But Dirk at last understood why he was a prisoner.
He understood, too, the strange invitation of the man when they had
surprised him at Lake Lenape. He had tried to lure them away from their
friends, and failing in that, had kept watch on the boy’s every
movement. Seeing that a capture was impossible so close to the camp, he
had somehow found out about the long trail expedition, and no doubt
hiring the villainous half-breed Mink to help him in his criminal
purpose, had gone before them and waylaid them at Flint Island by a
ruse, at a time when the two boys were by chance separated from the main
party.
At long last the man ahead stopped and put down his burden. A dim shape
loomed before them, a rough hut of logs chinked with mud, that was
evidently the dwelling of the half-breed. He fumbled with the latch on
the door. The man in the slicker tossed away a glowing cigarette, and
pushed them inside, harshly ordering Mink to shut the door and cover the
window before lighting the lantern.
In the glow of the battered oil-lantern that the half-breed brought
forth, the boys looked about with half-shut eyes. A heap of cured skins
lay in one corner, and the single room smelled vilely of stale smoke and
damp walls and animal remains. The Indian knelt on the hearth of the
rough stone fireplace, but his master stopped him with a word.
“Quit that! Do you want to tell the world where we are? They could see
that smoke ten miles away! We’ll grab a cold supper tonight, and
tomorrow when you’re here with them, don’t take any chances, or you’ll
end up in the jug! There must be some stuff in that bundle that we can
eat.”
He sank down on a stool and lit another cigarette, while the half-breed
rummaged in the Lenape provision-sack and discovered some cans of fruit
and vegetables, which he opened with the blade of an ax. The two
prisoners, too tired to care what befell, sank to the floor and lay
there half-asleep, until the Indian roused them roughly and shoved food
at them, untying their chilled hands so that they might eat.
Hungrily, they wolfed down the unappetizing fare. Cold corn from a can,
dry bread, and still dryer prunes do not constitute an ideal repast for
famished boys, but they made the best of what was given them. Brick,
indeed, was so strengthened by the meal, poor as it was, that his Irish
fighting spirit came back to him. Chewing a crust, he lifted his head
and directed a fierce glance at their enemies.
“You’ll go to jail for life for doin’ this!” he challenged.
The man wiped his mouth leisurely, rose, and strode over to the hapless
lads.
“Still full of pep, eh? Well, Redhead, it won’t take us long to put that
out of you! Young Mr. Millionaire Van Horn here will be all right if
Papa comes across tomorrow, but you ain’t worth a nickel to me, and
don’t forget it!” His cold blue eyes widened. “Say, what’s that thing
stickin’ out of your shirt?”
Brick drew back, fumbling at his breast, where the honor of Lenape, in
the shape of a rumpled bit of green-and-white bunting, had been carried
throughout the journey.
“It’s—nothin’, just a flag,” he muttered, trying to stuff it out of
sight.
His tormentor laughed jeeringly. “Just a flag, eh?” With a sudden
movement, he tore it from the boy’s grasp. After a slighting glance, he
crumpled it in his fist, strode to the door, and tossed the Lenape
pennant into the mud outside the step.
He whirled to meet Brick’s leap. Dirk sprang to help, but was
disdainfully pushed aside by the silent half-breed. When next he looked,
Brick lay sprawled out on the floor, with an ugly red blotch on his
forehead and helpless rage crackling in his eyes.
The man’s doubled fist threatened further punishment. Then, with another
empty laugh, he turned on his heel.
“Go to sleep, you brats,” he flung out over his shoulder. “Toss them
some blankets, Mink. I’ve got to get some rest if I’m hoofing over to
Yanceyville in the morning.”
The blanket-rolls of the two trailers had been taken from their canoe
along with the larger pack; and these were now thrown over them as they
crouched in one corner of the hut. The walls and crude floor-boards let
in draughts of chill, damp night air, and they hunched together dumbly
for warmth and companionship. With the moaning of the wind through the
trees above their heads as a doleful lullaby, they sank into the
despairing slumber of the captive.
After a century of nightmares in that dark, noisome hole, Dirk stirred
his cramped limbs and opened his eyes to find a ray of daylight slanting
through the single window. His enemy stood with one hand on the latch of
the door, giving parting orders to his servile guide. The man’s pasty
face showed the effects of an existence that was not natural to him,
whose haunts were those of the city. His serge suit was stained and
creased, while his cheek bore a clotted scratch where he had scraped it
against the projecting limb of a tree during the dark passage of the
previous night.
“And remember,” he was snarling, “that you ain’t to let those brats out
of your sight for a minute! They’re slippery little imps, especially
that red-headed one. If all goes well and the old man comes across with
the money, I’ll be back with your share by night.”
“You not try to fool me, eh? You pay me what you said?”
“Sure, Mink. We’re partners on this—split the dough fifty-fifty. I’ll
telegraph old Van Horn from Yanceyville, and if he’s got any sense,
he’ll send the cash by wire right away. It’s a cinch.”
He passed out into the sunlight, scratched a match, and began puffing
the eternal cigarette. As he disappeared, the Indian shrugged and set
about putting together a breakfast as cold and cheerless as the meal of
the previous night.
Miserably the boys roused themselves to face another day of
imprisonment, in the tumbledown cabin of the half-breed, who handed food
to them silently and whose watchful, savage glare made them break off
each time they attempted to speak to one another. In fact, so closely
did he watch their least move that Dirk, after an hour, gave up all hope
of finding any avenue of escape from beneath the half-breed’s eye.
More than two hours had passed, Dirk judged, since the departure of
their nameless foe, who was evidently now well on his way to Yanceyville
on his nefarious errand of attempting to extort a large sum of money
from Dirk’s father as a ransom. What would happen? Even if the money
were paid promptly, would this man free them at once, or would he
attempt some further villainy to prevent them from putting the law on
his track as soon as they had won to civilization?
Mink, who had been sitting on his stool with his back against the door,
passing the time by whittling idly at a stick of firewood, sat up
suspiciously. His nose was in the air, sniffing like a hound that has
lost the scent. He rose with a clatter and paced, still sniffing, to the
dead fireplace. After a few seconds, he shrugged and returned,
apparently satisfied, to his post.
Dirk went back to his gloomy thoughts, which were now turned toward his
companions, who had set out so blithely with him on the Long Trail. Were
they even now mourning his death and Brick’s, as victims of a canoe
accident? He recalled his clumsiness the first time the _Sachem_ was
launched—no doubt they thought him still a lubber who would upset his
craft and drag his friend with him to the watery depths. But Mr.
Carrigan was wise; and though their captors were cunning, they had left
several clues that might be read. For instance, the provision-sack had
been tightly lashed within the canoe; Sagamore Wise-Tongue would think
it strange that it had worked loose when the canoe overturned. They had
left no tracks, except a trampled spot in the bushes on Flint Island,
but perhaps, perhaps the Lenape men had not given up hope. Their stock
of food was gone, but they would find some way to exist, even in the
wilderness——
He woke from his reverie. Mink had again jumped to his feet, nose in
air. Dirk sniffed too. Something stronger than the heavy odor of the
cabin was sifting through the chinks in the logs. It smelled like the
lodge at Lenape, in the evening with the whole tribe gathered around the
fireplace——
With a wild cry, the Indian threw open the door, leaped across the
threshold, and slammed it behind his retreating form. A frozen instant
of hushed wonder—the smell became undeniable—a smell of charring
timber——
Dirk dashed for the window, but Brick was before him. Together, the boys
stared through the dirty pane. The forest showed them no danger signals,
but from over their heads came the thuds of a scrambling body and the
low hiss of flames in dry shingle-boards.
Brick turned to his friend, his freckled face aglow with renewed hope.
“This cabin must be afire, Dirk!” he muttered, trying to keep down the
exultation in his heart. “Gollies, listen to that! The roof must be
blazin’ like sixty!”
It was true; rising above the beats of his heart, the listening Dirk
could hear the crackling of hungry flames.
“Our chance!” Brick’s eyes were dancing. “Come on! Old Mink sure will be
busy for a minute, and he won’t think about us. Now’s our chance to make
a getaway!”