THE FLIGHT INTO THE HILLS
The two captives were out the door of the burning cabin in an instant,
and broke wildly for cover in the thickets beyond the clearing.
Dirk, as he fled, cast a desperate glance over his shoulder. Mink, their
half-breed guard, had climbed somehow to the roof of his shanty, and
with his khaki shirt, which he had torn off in haste, was striving to
beat out the licking flames that fed on the dry, rotten shakes. His back
was toward them, and he was so immersed in his furious task that he took
no notice of their flight.
With Brick at his side, running stealthily and gasping for breath, he
found himself beneath the shadow of a clump of pines. Pausing now to
look about and get some feeling of the direction of the lake where their
friends must be, he was startled by having his comrade seize his arm and
shake it roughly.
“Gollies, how could I forget?” the red-headed lad panted. “I left the
flag back there at the hut—the other guy chucked it in the mud last
night!”
“We can’t stop!” urged Dirk. “That Indian will get us——”
“No! Sagamore Carrigan give it to me to keep safe—it’s the honor of
Lenape, he said! I got to get it! Say, Van, these birds don’t want me.
It’s you they’re after—you keep runnin’, and maybe I’ll catch up with
you!”
He was off before Dirk could speak further, racing back the way they had
come, perhaps into the very arms of the enraged Mink. Dirk, however, had
no intention of deserting his friend. He could see nothing in the
direction of the hut save a thin column of greasy-looking smoke through
the trees. He threw himself on the needle-carpeted earth, his chest
heaving with exertion and excitement. If Brick came back this way, with
the Indian after him, perhaps he could divert his attention, lead him a
chase through the underbrush——
A squawking flight of large birds, crows and bluejays among them,
swooped over his head. He rose on his elbow to mark their noisy passage.
Not five yards off, the low scrub-oak bushes rustled and parted,
revealing a rusty-coated, sharp-nosed animal with a brushy tail. It was
a fox. Dirk did not move; the fox saw him, but cast only an incurious
eye on him, and trotted off swiftly as if on urgent business at a far
place.
Dirk jumped to his feet. A curl of smoke crept across the slanting bars
of sunlight that fell to the floor of the glade. A distant murmur like a
rising wind came to him, and his mouth went dry with fear. Why wasn’t
Brick back? What was happening there through the screening forest?
He took a step forward, as if to run to his comrade’s assistance. As he
did so, he caught sight of Brick on the other side of the glade, waved,
and ran to his side. The Irish lad’s face was pale, but he clutched in
one hand the bedraggled banner he had risked recapture to save.
Dirk took his arm. “Are you all right, old fellow? Where is Mink?”
“I—I fell down once, and he saw me, but he couldn’t get down from the
roof. Say, some of the bushes and trees are on fire—I could hear ’em
sizzle. Let’s get out of here!”
“Which way is the lake, do you know?”
“We can’t stop to think about that—we’ve got to run! Soon as he puts out
the fire, that Indian is goin’ to start trackin’ us down—they can follow
like a bloodhound!”
“He won’t put it out soon. Look there!” Dirk pointed into the tree tops.
The crackling roar had grown louder now, and as they looked, a leaping
rope of flame bridged the gap between two trees nearly overhead. A
smoking twig whirled to the ground beside them, starting a slow spark in
the dry pine-needles.
“We can’t tell which way to go—but I think the fire is between us and
the lake! We must get away!”
He began to pull Brick forward, following the direction taken by the
fleeing fox.
“Say, thanks for waitin’ for me,” gasped Brick. “But you better——”
“Save your wind!” Dirk fought his way through a scratching barrier of
brush. The horror of a hissing wall of flames at their backs put wings
on his heels.
They labored in silence up a steep hillside, crossed a rocky ridge, and
scrambled down into a blasted ravine on the other side. Dirk was aware
that his friend was muttering shakily.
“I got to stop a minute! You can’t hear the fire now—get my wind——”
Both spoke softly, as if even now some enemy, concealed near them, might
overhear.
“All right,” Dirk replied, watching Brick sink down upon a moss-covered
ledge of rock. “But that Indian will be following us as soon as he can,
if he knows we’ve gone this way. Maybe we should go in another
direction.”
A few moments passed in silence.
“I wish I knew where the lake was,” said Dirk finally.
“Well, this creek here probably runs down into it.”
“That’s true—but as near as I can see, this is the same one that goes
right by the cabin. We’d only run right back into Mink’s arms. Guess
we’ve got to make for the hills. Then if one of us climbs a tree, we can
get our bearings.”
Brick sighed heavily, and Dirk stared at him. Their adventures had put
them both in sad case. Garments were stained and torn, bareheaded and
grimed with dirt were they, looking like two scarecrows. Dirk wondered
why Brick was so laggard in the flight. It was not like him to drag
behind. The boy’s freckles stood out against his white face, and his lip
was trembling.
“Know what I think?” asked Dirk. “I’ll bet that man with the gun was the
person that started the fire. Of course he didn’t do it on purpose, but
he was always smoking cigarettes and throwing them away without putting
them out first. This morning, when he went away, he was smoking. A spark
probably caught somewhere and set fire to the shack—it’s a regular old
tinderbox. Well, shall we start again?”
“I’m game,” answered Brick; but he took his time getting to his feet.
They began the second stage of their flight by crossing the creek, where
they paused for a hasty draught of water, and then attacked the long
steady slope on the far side, toiling upward through a dense growth of
evergreens. It seemed as if they would never get clear of the towering
trunks and branches that seemed to push down upon their shoulders,
smothering them and impeding their way. When at last they attained the
height, Dirk was reluctantly forced to abandon his plan to climb a tree
and thus get a view of the surrounding country. The lower branches were
still so far above his head that it would be impossible for the most
agile boy to get a foothold on the smooth trunks.
He turned to Brick. “Say, old lad, perhaps if you give me a boost——” He
broke off, seeing the pain in his friend’s drawn face. The eyes were
shifting feverishly above the hollow cheeks, and the boy was biting his
lip to keep back a moan of anguish. “Why, Brick, are you hurt? Why
didn’t you tell me?”
Brick swayed, and had Dirk not run to his side to support his body,
would have collapsed to the ground. “I’m—all right,” he gasped out. “You
go on—get to the top of the darned mountain—the honor of the camp——”
“What’s the trouble? Are you sick?”
“Fell down that time—the Indian was lookin’—kind of knocked my ankle
over a rock——” He fell backward in his comrade’s arms, and Dirk realized
that he had fainted.
That was Brick Ryan, all right—floundering along gamely without a word,
although his ankle must have made him want to scream out at every step!
Then a realization of the seriousness of the situation came over Dirk,
and he began tearing at the loose collar at his injured friend’s throat.
Fortunately, he had not spent his time at Camp Lenape without picking up
some bits of knowledge of first-aid. “When anyone faints, never try to
move him—give him lots of air—lean him forward so the blood rushes to
his head——” Muttering these half-remembered instructions, he bent the
limp body forward and began rubbing Brick’s dangling wrists and
forearms. He wished they had brought some water, but there had been no
way to carry it——
Brick moaned weakly, and his eyelids fluttered. “What—what happened,
huh? Is it Van? Whillikers, to think that F. X. A. Ryan passed out like
a baby——”
“Don’t talk,” his friend ordered. “Just rest a minute. We’re safe for a
while now. When you feel better I’ll go get you a drink.”
The injured boy fell back, his chest heaving irregularly. Dirk stripped
off his sweater and folding it into the form of a pillow, placed it
under Brick’s head, slightly downhill. His next care was to examine the
ankle that had been struck when the boy had escaped, for a second time,
from the half-breed’s clearing.
The ankle was swollen badly—no doubt about that. Dirk, feeling glad that
their captors had not searched him, found his pocket-knife and carefully
slashed away the strings of Brick’s shoe; he then tenderly removed it,
although not without causing a slight groan from its owner. The stocking
was also pulled off, exposing the wounded area.
The ankle looked puffy and discolored, but as near as Dirk could tell,
it was not broken or even seriously sprained. But none the less, it was
almost a catastrophe for a pair of fugitives in their plight. Without
food of any kind, their ponchos and blankets left behind them when they
fled from the hut, and with a savage pursuer no doubt already on their
track, they must travel far and fast. Now, one of them was crippled, in
pain.
“Brick,” said the boy urgently, “do you think you’ll be all right if I
carry you a ways? We’ve got to get to water, and I think there’s a brook
at the bottom of this hill somewhere. If you’re sure you won’t faint
again——”
Brick clenched his teeth. “Go ahead,” he answered bravely. “Gee, I hate
to think that I’m holdin’ up the party this way. Maybe if you left me,
you might find somebody who would come back and get me.”
“Nonsense! Whatever happens, I won’t leave you, old lad. It won’t be
much of a job if I take you with the fireman’s lift.”
Brick grunted as he was hoisted upon his friend’s right shoulder, his
body hanging downward from the waist; but he made no outcry as Dirk bore
him in this fashion down the hill. In fact, he was so silent that Dirk
feared he had fainted for a second time; but since his head hung low, he
was in no danger. The truth was that he was gritting his teeth to keep
from moaning when the injured ankle swung slightly in their progress.
Dirk, for his part, made haste to reach the brook, for he bore no light
burden. But a vision of what might happen were he to injure his own legs
among the treacherous roots and rocks of the hillside made him step
warily. If both of them lay hurt in the wilderness, with none knowing
their plight or whereabouts, they would eventually starve, if they did
not sooner die of exposure.
At long last, the burbling of water over stones was heard close at hand,
and Dirk eased his burden to the ground. The rains of yesterday had
swollen the little watercourse, and a fairly deep pool, overhung with
brambles and scrub-oak, glistened beside them.
Dirk wiped the sweat from his face, and took a deep breath. His first
care was to bring his companion a drink of water in his cupped hands,
and to wash away the sticky grime that clung to Brick’s pale cheeks and
forehead.
“That’s swell!” sighed Brick. “Now, if my foot was tied up good and
tight, maybe I could hobble on a ways further.”
“I’m taking no chances,” answered Dirk grimly. “That hoof of yours looks
bad. Here, move to the bank, right over this place, and dangle it in the
cold water. Best thing to take down the swelling.”
Brick Ryan obediently did as he was told. The shock of the chill water
on his ankle set his teeth chattering, for all the moist heat of the
forest; but soon the injured part became numb, and the throbbing ache
nearly stopped.
Almost an hour passed. During this time Dirk had not been idle. He had
found a straight, tough sapling of ash with a fork at the top, and with
his knife had shaped the ends to the semblance of a rude crutch.
“Mighty warm today,” he remarked to the watching Brick, as he pulled off
his khaki shirt over his head. “Won’t need this.” He proceeded to tear
the shirt into strips. The narrowest of these he laid aside, and bound
the rest over the forked head of the improvised crutch, making a smooth
padding.
“Now, let’s have a look at the ankle again.”
Brick summoned up a tired grin. “It’s much better, Doc. You couldn’t
look after me any better if you had a beautiful nurse to help you. Say,
what do you keep lookin’ over your shoulder all the time for?”
“Am I doing that? Humph! Guess I’m still scared old Mink will pop his
head out at us. I sure don’t want to get kidnaped again with that ugly
lot, do you?”
While he was speaking, he had deftly wound the strips torn from his
shirt tightly about the bruised ankle. The cold-water treatment had
reduced the swelling almost completely, but the skin showed an ugly
black and blue patch.
“Yell out if I hurt too much,” he ordered; “but the tighter I tie it,
the better it will be.” He rose, and helping Brick to his feet, offered
him the crutch he had made. “Now see if you can get around.”
Brick gingerly took a few steps. “Gollies, this is a swell crutch, all
right! I’m good for a hundred-mile hike right now. But where do we head
for?”
For a moment Dirk made no answer. Then something snapped inside him, and
he cried out bitterly.
“I don’t know! Where are we? Where is the Lenape gang? We’ve got to find
food and shelter before night, and already it’s getting late! Oh, I
don’t know where to go, Brick—but we’ve got to go now, or we’re done!”