_THE FIRE IN THE WOODS_
Just beyond lay the deer trail that had grown so familiar to them all.
A little fringe of undergrowth to be broken through with the utmost
caution, stooping low to avoid as many branches as possible, and then
they were on the trail in Indian file creeping stealthily toward the
swamp pond with Jo ahead. As they drew nearer they could smell the wood
smoke in the air.
This was even more exciting than stalking deer, Ann thought, as she
went forward noiselessly, hardly daring to draw a full breath.
Jo stopped for a whispered conference.
“As we draw close,” he instructed, “we had better scatter, so the
noise won’t come always from the same direction if we step on twigs or
stumble. And that will give us all a chance to light out and make our
getaway if somebody is there by the fire. I’ll take the center. Ben and
Ann swing out on either side of me and Helen had best stay right here
behind me.”
So the band took the formation that Robin Hood suggested and bore
down upon the fire in a wide semicircle, within sight of one another,
if one knew where to look and peered through the green leaves of the
underbrush. Through the scrub growth and briers, now, they could see
the glow of flames and hear a murmur of men’s voices speaking in low
tones.
Jo dropped flat on his stomach and pulled Helen down beside him and the
others followed his example. Slowly they crept forward and came to the
edge of the little clearing on the edge of the pond.
Two men were seated before the crackling sticks of a small fire. Ann
had never seen either of them before. They were dressed in dark blue
wool and she felt sure that the cloth was like the torn piece that Jo
carried constantly in his pocket. Were they sailors from the wreck? And
where had they been all the time since the boat came ashore last winter?
The nearer man was big. His shaggy hair was tumbled and long on his
bare head and a heavy beard covered the lower part of his face. Ann
knew that he would be an ugly customer, and quieter than ever she lay
motionless under the bushes. The other man was small and lithely thin
like a weasel. He had a weasel’s tiny pale eyes that darted nervously
everywhere while he talked. He was very white with an unnatural pallor
and as the glow of the fire leaped up in his face Ann could see a long
newly healed scar that ran from one eye down across his cheek to his
small receding chin.
The men were talking in low tones, the big man gruff and hoarse, the
smaller one in a screechy weak whine. At times their voices rose louder
as their argument became intense, and then dropped back into a low
rumble. Finally the small man looked up at the sky.
“It’s going to be a terrible blow,” he said bitterly.
“What of it?” demanded the big one. “The darker the night the easier it
will be to take care of that butting-in detective, and no one will be
the wiser. What’s the matter with you, Charlie? Your yeller streak is
comin’ forninst, now that the real job is ahead of us.”
Charlie’s weasel eyes jumped furtively as he looked into the big man’s
face. “I ain’t no squealer,” he snapped. “You know that. I ain’t the
one to shy off when I can see my way clear. You found me ready enough
with my bit against the captain and the mate. But this guy you’re
planning for now is something different. You can’t knock off men like
him; it doesn’t do any good. Some one else steps into his place and
then they hunt you until they get you.”
“I ain’t arguing that,” Tom answered soberly. “But who is going to
know what happens to one lone man? If he falls off the deck of that
wrecked schooner and hits his head against a rock as the sea washes him
about, who is going to connect us with the accident? That farmer will
bury him alongside the captain and the mate and blame nobody but the
boat itself, blame that figurehead, probably. And you and me will be
living like kings down in Boston.”
“That sounds first-class,” the other sneered scornfully. “But I been
noticing that things aren’t going quite so much your way as you
expected they would.”
“What do you mean?” growled Tom.
“You haven’t found much as yet, have you? You’ve come this far with
your plans, and here you’ve stuck. Find the money, why don’t you?
What’s the use of getting rid of Bain before you get the money that’s
hidden?”
“He might find it first,” answered the big man.
Ann heard, but she was too astonished and excited to realize that the
secrets of the wreck were being revealed to her at last. The great
surprise that eclipsed all the others was the news that Warren Bain was
a detective. Had he known everything from first to last?
But she must listen and learn all she could. This was no time to be
wondering about things; what was Charlie saying? She had missed part of
it already, but he ended with a sneering laugh, “And I noticed that you
ran as fast as I, the minute you heard that noise last night, on the
boat. You didn’t wait to see what made it, did you?”
In reply the big man muttered something that sounded to Ann like
nothing but a savage roar.
“I tell you,” said Charlie, “it was that blamed figurehead. Him and
the captain was friends; I seen them talking to each other on many an
evening.”
“You did not! Maybe the cap’n talked but no wooden figure ever
answered. Come along now, you coward. I’ll admit that Bain scared me
off last night, but now I’m ready for him!”
“Bain!” echoed Charlie.
“It was, too, Bain. He was dragging something along the deck to make
that ssush-ssush to scare us.”
“But it wasn’t Bain,” thought Ann, “because we were watching him.”
The men had risen and begun to scatter the fire, kicking the burning
wood into the pond. The gulls rose even higher, screaming.
Under cover of the noise that the men were making Jo and Helen began to
creep slowly backward into the denser shadows. Ann became aware of what
they were doing and she, too, made a successful retreat. She reached
the deer path and stood beside the others.
Ben, however, was not so lucky. His foot slipped on a stone and he
crashed down into the underbrush.
Instantly Charlie was after him, while Jo and Ann stood as if
paralyzed. There was nothing that they could do to help. Helen, in
agonizing fear and excitement, put both hands over her mouth so that no
sound could escape.
“It’s a boy,” called Charlie. He had caught Ben’s arm and was pulling
him roughly toward the fire.
Ann’s courage had come surging back, but Jo leaned toward her and put
his lips close to her ear; he seemed to know that she was going out to
Ben. “Hush! We can’t do a thing now. Wait!”
Tom yanked Ben by his coat and turned his face toward the light. “What
kid is this? What are you doing here, spying on us?”
Ann thought that she would have been frightened nearly out of her wits
if that black unshaven face had been so near hers, but Ben drew back as
far as he could and answered bravely.
“I saw the smoke and came to put out the fire.”
“Did you come alone?” demanded Tom, giving him a shake. “Don’t you dare
to lie to me!”
“Yes, I am alone!” answered Ben. “Do you see anybody with me?”
Ann felt her heart swell with pride. She caught Jo’s hand and squeezed
it and he answered with a like pressure.
“What are you doing here?” asked Ben in his turn. He took care to shout
it as loudly as possible, knowing well that the men had tried to be
quiet.
In reply Tom cuffed him sharply. “Be still, there.” The hard-muscled
seaman could hold the boy at arm’s length and Ben kicked and struggled
in vain. “What’ll we do with him?”
“Let him go home,” said Charlie.
“Go home and tell, and have a batch of farmers chasing down here to
look for us? Not on your life.”
“What’s he got to tell? We aren’t doing any harm, two men sitting
peacefully in the woods.”
“You don’t know how much he heard.” And again Tom shook Ben
vindictively.
Ann had to clench her fingers; how she wished she had a gun! Those
men could be frightened easily. Their conversation had told her how
superstitious they were. Just one shot to scare them off and they would
run like deer. But there wasn’t any gun. The house was so far away. How
could she get word to her father?
“Tie him up and leave him here. We can stop his noise.”
But Tom never seemed to care to profit by Charlie’s suggestions.
“What’ll we tie him with? No; we’ll take him along to the boat. I want
to know where to put my hand on him, I do.” He lifted Ben and set him
on the ground again, although Ben made his legs limp as a child does
when it refuses to be led along by the hand. “Stand up there!” ordered
Tom.
Evidently Ben thought he had better do as he was told. It was easier to
walk than to be dragged through the woods.
“You march between me and Charlie, and step along now!”
Silently the remaining three of the band waited in the shadows until a
moment or two after the bushes had stopped waving behind Charlie’s back
as he, the rear guard, disappeared.
Helen turned and threw her arms around Ann, seeking comfort. “Ben’s
gone! What will they do to him?” she whispered, even in her distress
remembering to be quiet.
Ann had no answer. She hugged Helen tight and patted her back as though
her little sister were a kitten, but her own anxiety looked toward the
sturdy, resourceful Jo. “Will they hurt him?”
“Not if he does as they tell him.” Jo shook his head thoughtfully. “He
seemed to catch on to that and stopped kicking when he found it got
him nowhere. Probably they will take him down to the boat and tie him
somewhere there while they search for the money.”
“What money is it?” asked Helen.
“I don’t know any more’n you do. Seems like they thought Bain was
coming there to-night.”
“Did you hear them say that Bain is a detective?” said Ann excitedly.
“Perhaps he’s there now and can save Ben!”
“Maybe,” answered Jo. “But we can’t wait on the chance of that; we’ve
got to do something right now.”
In the shelter of Ann’s arms Helen had stopped sobbing. “They mustn’t
hurt my brother Ben even though he does tease me all the time.”
“What can we do?” Ann spoke with a small quaver in her voice although
she had grown calm in this real danger.
“Don’t you worry too much,” Jo assured her stanchly. “Things always
seem worse than they are and we’ll get Ben, don’t you fear!”
“If only the house wasn’t so far away,” said Ann despairingly. All
possible help seemed so remote.
“It ain’t more’n a mile,” said Jo. “Now, Helen, you go just as fast as
you can to get pop and Mr. Seymour. Tell pop to bring his gun. And tell
them that Ann and I are going straight to the ship.”
“Oh, Helen,” cried Ann, “run across the meadow and don’t mind wetting
your feet!”
“Yes, I’ll go a short cut, right through the brook!” And Helen was off,
following the more direct path by the river, the path by which Jo had
taken them home the first day they saw the deer.