A DARING ATTEMPT
Moxley's face turned a deeper shade of purple, and he made a threatening
step toward Ned.
"You're a bold lad," he said with a harsh laugh. "There are not many
would dare to speak to me in that way. But it wasn't you who fired the
gun that night. I can tell by your actions that you're anxious to screen
one of your companions."
He paused a moment and then went on: "You'll find out before long that
Dude Moxley ain't to be trifled with. I'll get what I want out of you
obstinate pig headed chaps if it takes a week. I know how to bring you
to terms. Back you go in that closet now, and there you stay until you
can listen to reason. When you hand over the lad I want the rest of you
can go free, and so can the other one for that matter--when I'm through
with him.
"Perhaps when he finds his companions are suffering for what he did, his
conscience will make him confess. But mark you now, if this affair ain't
settled by to-morrow's dawn I'll chop up your canoes and burn the tent.
I'll do more than that, too. I'll bind and gag you, and leave you here
alone. And not a bite do you get to eat, either."
With this ultimatum Mr. Moxley rose, and bolted the door. Then he sat
down on the sawdust, and sorting out some crackers and jerked beef from
the provisions began to eat greedily.
He was evidently quite satisfied to spend another night at the mill, for
the rain was coming down faster than ever. What he had told the boys
about the loneliness and security of the place was no idle boast, else
he would have made haste to leave the locality with his plunder.
Meanwhile a very excited discussion was being carried on in whispers
behind the closet door.
Randy, stricken with remorse for the troubles in which he had involved
his companions, was resolved to admit the shooting.
"I'd sooner stand the punishment than see you fellows starving here," he
said. "It will save the canoes and the tent, too. I don't believe the
man will dare to harm me. He is only trying to scare us."
"Not a bit of it," replied Ned stoutly. "He's a thoroughbred villain,
and will certainly take some revenge on you. Your resolve does you lots
of credit, Randy, but it won't do. You might repent it all the days of
your life."
Clay and Nugget were of the same mind, and earnestly urged Randy to
abandon his rash intention.
"Help may be nearer than we think," said Clay. "The man who stopped us
up the creek this morning was certainly Bug Batters, and it looks very
much to me as though he has been following this Moxley on purpose to
keep him from doing us any injury. He may feel grateful to us, you know,
because we saved his brother--or rather you did, Ned."
"And Bug Batters knew that Moxley was in the vicinity," whispered
Nugget. "That's who he was looking for when we met him."
"I have no doubt that the stranger was Bug Batters," said Ned, "and I
think he is trying to prevent his old companion from carrying out his
revenge, as Clay suggests. But what has become of Bug Batters now? That
is the important question. I am afraid he has strayed off in some other
direction. If he came near the mill he could not help finding the
canoes."
"He told us he had been down the creek just before we met him," remarked
Clay, "but he could not have been all the way to the mill, for the two
canoes and the tent were there then, and he did not say anything about
them."
"And when he left us he struck back toward the base of the hill," added
Nugget.
"It looks very much as though he had lost the trail entirely," said Ned.
"He may be three or four miles away. It would be very foolish to count
on getting help from him, anyhow."
"Then we don't stand a ghost of a chance," muttered Randy. "You had
better let me have my own way. I'll throw myself on that fellow's
mercy."
"You won't do anything of the kind," said Ned firmly. "We won't let
you. If anything serious happened we would have to shoulder the blame.
If you are really sorry for being the cause of this scrape, prove it by
dropping your foolish project."
"You take things coolly enough," grumbled Randy. "Do you want us to stay
cooped up here for a week, and lose everything we have? Go ahead, then.
I won't say any more."
In truth Randy was glad enough to give up his resolve. Remorse had
prompted him to make the offer, and he had secretly hoped that his
companions would refuse to accept the sacrifice.
"I don't intend that we shall stay here a week, or even a night, if I
can help it," said Ned, after a pause. "I have a little plan in my head,
but it won't work until evening. If that fails we still have a slim
chance left.
"The farmer from whom those chickens were stolen may stray down here in
search of the thief, and it is not impossible that Mose Hocker is
somewhere about here. This man certainly stole that gun from Hocker's
cabin, and if he took the boat at the same time--which I believe he
did--Hocker will surely try to recover his property, and will naturally
look for it along the creek."
Ned's reasoning--and especially his intimation of a plan to escape--put
the boys in a more cheerful mood. They were all thoroughly exhausted for
want of sleep, but that was of little consequence compared with the
pangs of hunger and thirst they were enduring. They had eaten nothing
since the previous evening, nor had a drop of water touched their lips.
And it was now past noon.
It was aggravating, nay, maddening, to know that their store of
provisions was so close. Well they realized the futility of appealing to
their merciless captor.
He had said they should have no food, and they knew he meant it. No
doubt he would deny them water also, and they did not venture to ask it.
They could see the fellow plainly. He was sprawled in a lazy attitude on
the sawdust, pulling at his foul black pipe. Occasionally he took a
flat, greenish bottle from his pocket and tasted the contents with a
satisfactory smack of the lips. The fumes of bad tobacco and whisky
began to permeate the closet.
So the long afternoon wore on. Moxley seemed quite unconcerned about his
prisoners. He was well content to lie on the soft sawdust with his
bottle and his pipe, secure from the pelting rain that was falling
outside.
Ned kept a close watch upon him, noting with satisfaction that he had
frequent recourse to the bottle. His potations would likely induce
sleep.
It seemed to the impatient boys that night would never come, but at last
the gray light faded from the crevice, and the dusk of evening deepened
the shadows in the old mill.
Before it was fairly dark Moxley lighted one of the lanterns that he
had brought from the canoes and put it on a log. It was a bullseye, and
he so trained it that the yellow glare shone on the sawdust heap.
Perhaps he fancied it an excellent substitute for sunlight, which all
tramps love so dearly. At all events he basked in it while he smoked a
couple of pipes, and then, after several ineffectual efforts to sit
straight, he rolled over on his back.
A moment later heavy snores came from his parted lips. He was
undoubtedly asleep.
It may be imagined with what anxiety Ned had been watching this little
scene through the crevice.
"The time has come," he whispered to his companions. "Moxley won't wake
in a hurry now. But to make sure, suppose you mount guard there, Randy."
"What are you going to do?" asked Randy, as he crouched down on the
floor. "Break the door open?"
"Not much. I'll show you in a moment."
The closet in which the boys were confined was built right against the
rear end of the mill. Its dimensions were ample--eight feet long and
about four wide. Underneath was the wasteway, but its usual roar was now
subdued by an influx of water from the flooded creek.
Ned had been quietly examining the situation during the day, and had
noted the shaky condition of the floor planks. He now directed Clay and
Nugget to stand close to the door. Then kneeling down he inserted both
hands in a crevice between two of the planks and pulled with all his
might.
A ripping noise, a sharp crack--and the worm eaten plank came free of
the beams, leaving a gaping orifice in the very center of the floor,
four feet long by a foot and a half wide.
Ned trembled like a leaf.
"Is it all right?" he whispered eagerly.
"Yes," replied Randy. "The rascal is sound asleep. He didn't budge."
"I'm glad of that."
The boys looked timidly down the hole, and crouched closer to the wall.
Far below, through the network of crossed beams, they could see the
eddying flood. It looked immeasurably distant.
"You don't expect us to go down there, I hope," queried Clay.
"No, but I intend you to lower _me_ through," answered Ned. "If I can
reach one of those rafters I will be all right. It won't be a difficult
matter to get out on land. Then I will hurry around to the door,
liberate you fellows, while Moxley is sleeping, seize his gun--and then
away for freedom."
Ned drew a long breath at the prospect.
"Now this is what I want you to do," he resumed in a calmer tone. "If
the rafters are too far below me you must let me down to them by one of
your coats. Brace yourselves now so you can stand the strain."
The boys obeyed and Randy stripped off his coat in case it should be
needed.
Then Ned lowered himself at one end of the hole, and swung clear down.
He pulled himself up, and clung by his elbows. "No good," he whispered
hoarsely. "The nearest rafter is a foot below. Let me have the coat. It
will be safer than trusting to your hands. I might drag you down with
me."
The three boys braced themselves around the hole, and took a firm grasp
of the upper part of the coat.
"All right," whispered Randy.
By a dexterous movement Ned transferred his hold from the planking to
the more precarious support and slipped downward, hand over hand. An
instant later his feet touched a broad, solid beam.