BALKED OF THEIR PREY
Though taken by surprise, Flannigan was a man of ready resource
and tremendous strength. His life had been spent among the rough
men of the woods, where muscle and courage were constantly called
into play. Again and again he had come to hand grips with some of
the wild characters of the district and he had always come out with
flying colors. He had a reputation throughout the North Woods as a
rough-and-tumble fighter. His heart was as stout as his arms, as many
a lumberjack filled with drink and ferocity had found to his cost.
At this supreme moment his long experience stood him in good stead.
The warning shout of Mr. Scott, as the robbers rushed forth from the
thicket, told him of instant danger, and he turned so swiftly that
Red, instead of leaping upon his back, as he had intended, met him
face to face. Before he could swing his cudgel, the hairy arms of
Flannigan closed around him.
Back and forth the giants struggled, their eyes glaring, each trying
to get at the other’s throat. Sheer strength and courage must decide
that battle. They surged back and forth, their muscles stretched to
the utmost. At first the result hung in the balance. Neither gained a
decided advantage. All their passions were unleashed. Red fought for
his liberty and Flannigan for his life. Neither one thought of giving
in. Neither intended to give any quarter. They were more like wild
beasts than men.
As Lavine lifted his cudgel to strike Mr. Scott, the latter dropped
the reins and, snatching the whip from the socket, swung the heavy
butt on the robber’s shoulder. With a savage curse Lavine dropped his
cudgel, and at that instant Jack hurled himself upon him and bore him
to the ground.
They rolled over and over like a pair of wild-cats. Lavine was the
stronger, but Jack the quicker. The ruffian tried to get his great,
gnarled hands on Jack’s throat, but his agile adversary eluded his
attempt at a strangle hold. With muttered oaths Lavine tried again
and again, but suddenly finding this unavailing, his hand went down
to his belt and Jack knew he was feeling for his knife. Now indeed it
was a fight for life. If the maddened wretch could get that knife out
of its sheath, all would be over. Jack redoubled his efforts, but the
tremendous strain was beginning to tell. Had he been fresh, he might
have had an even chance and his agility might have proved a match for
the Frenchman’s strength. Slowly but surely he felt the knife being
drawn up inch by inch. He grasped the knife hand and twisted it with
all his might. Into that twist he put all the power of his young and
well trained strength. With a howl of pain and rage, Lavine shifted
his knife to his other hand. Jack felt the wrist he was twisting
snap, then the knife in the other hand gleamed before his eyes and
the knife fell once, twice. Jack felt a keen pain like a red-hot iron
flash through his shoulder. He heard the yell of the Scouts as Dick
and Tom rushed through the bushes and flung themselves upon Lavine.
His grasp relaxed, his head was strangely light, the trees danced
around him, he felt that he was sinking, sinking ten thousand fathoms
deep, and then for the second time that day he lost consciousness.
When he came to himself, he was lying on a litter that the Scouts
had hastily constructed. His shoulder had been deftly bandaged and,
as he opened his eyes, they fell upon Mr. Durland, Mr. Scott, Dick
and the other Scouts crowding around him. At a little distance were
the two robbers waiting for the wagon that Flannigan had sent for to
the camp to carry them to the county jail. All the fight had gone
out of them. Dick and Tom, together with Mr. Scott, had disarmed and
overpowered Lavine, and he now sat nursing his wounded wrist and
cursing horribly. Red was lying on the ground, bruised and dazed,
where Flannigan with one mighty twist had thrown him and, falling
upon him, choked him until he begged for mercy.
“Thank God!” said Mr. Durland, his voice broken with emotion. “He’s
coming around all right!”
“Yes,” murmured Jack, smiling faintly, “I guess I’m worth a dozen
dead men yet.”
“Sure yez are,” said Flannigan, his massive frame yet panting with
his exertions. “It’s a broth of a b’y yez are, and ’tis glad and
proud I’d be if I had a son like yez! Sure, ’tis a fighter yez are,
by the powers! It takes no baby to tackle Jacques Lavine. And don’t
yez be worrying about that knife play,” he said, turning to the
group. “There’s nothing bad’ll come of that. ’Twill keep him in bed a
day or two perhaps, but nothing worse than that.”
Mr. Scott came forward and put his hand on Jack’s forehead. “My boy,”
he said, “I don’t know how to thank you. You saved my money to-day
but that was a little thing. You saved my life as well, and I shall
never forget it. If ever you need a friend or help of any kind, call
on me! You’ve put me in your debt for life.”
“Oh, that was nothing,” said Jack, “I only did my duty. It was only a
little thing after all. Anybody else would have done as much.”
He tried to lift himself as he spoke, but Mr. Durland stopped him
instantly.
“No, you don’t,” he said, with a smile. “You’re not going to stand
on your feet to-day or for several days. You’re going right over to
the camp. Mr. Scott has sent to the county town for a doctor and he
will be there before evening. You’re going to ride in state to-day,
Jack, as befits a hero. Who’ll volunteer,” he said, turning to the
Scouts, “to carry this litter?”
Who would volunteer? The boys almost fought for the honor. They
crowded around him in wild excitement. They had always admired him,
but to-day they fairly idolized him. Mr. Durland had to settle the
matter by arranging for relays, so that all might have a chance to
carry him, and the boys picked out for the first relay were the
object of envy to the other fellows.
It was a joyful, if rather subdued, party that carried Jack back
to the camp that day. They took the utmost care to avoid the rough
places, so that there might be no shock to the wounded shoulder.
When they got him there, the first bandages were removed, the wound
was carefully washed and dressed and Jack was put to bed. Toward
evening the doctor arrived and his examination confirmed the opinion
of Flannigan. The knife had missed any vital spot, had touched no
arteries and, with the good care and nursing that Jack was sure to
get, he would be all right again in two or three days.
“You see, old boy,” said Dick Crawford as he sat by Jack’s bedside
the following day, “it was like this. We knew the place that those
fellows had fixed on to waylay Flannigan, from what we overheard in
the woods. Although we felt sure that you would get to the train in
time, we thought it better to take no chances and made up our minds
to be on hand. We could not go too close for fear of being seen, and
so we lay behind some bushes a little way off. Of course we didn’t
know that they had changed their plans, so when the real rumpus came,
we were farther off than we expected to be. We ran--how we ran! I
never made such time in my life before. If we had only got there a
minute sooner, you wouldn’t be lying on your bed to-day.”
“That’s all right, old fellow,” said Jack. “I know how gladly any one
of you fellows would have risked your lives to save mine. But all’s
well that ends well, and I’m mighty glad I’m alive.”
“And so are we!” came with a shout from outside the tent where the
boys were gathered, fearing to disobey the doctor’s orders to keep
Jack quiet, if they had crowded in as they had wanted to. “Three
cheers for Jack!” and they gave them with a will.
The next few days came and went quickly. The time had come for
breaking camp and most of the boys had been compelled reluctantly to
go back to town. The life-giving air of the woods, combined with the
careful nursing of Dick and Tom, who had remained behind to take
care of him, had worked wonders for Jack. His splendid vitality and
will power had assisted nature, and the morning came when, strong and
well, he too bade farewell to the Adirondack camp.
“I tell you what, fellows,” he said, as they stood upon the station
waiting for their train, “I never had such a delightful as well as
exciting time as I’ve had this summer and I don’t believe I will ever
have anything in the future that comes up to it.”
[Illustration]
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FAR PAST THE FRONTIER
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THE TRAIL _of_ THE SENECA
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CAPTIVES THREE
_By_ JAMES A. BRADEN
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THE LITTLE WOMAN IN THE SPOUT
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[Illustration]
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RALPH MARLOWE
A Tale of the Buckeye State
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BETTY, The SCRIBE
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Betty is a brilliant, talented, impulsive seventeen-year-old girl,
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[Illustration] [Illustration]
_The_
BILLY WHISKERS SERIES
BY
FRANCES TREGO MONTGOMERY
Billy Whiskers--frolicsome, mischief-making, adventure-loving Billy
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TITLES
BILLY WHISKERS BILLY WHISKERS’ GRANDCHILDREN
BILLY WHISKERS’ KIDS BILLY WHISKERS’ VACATION
BILLY WHISKERS, JR. BILLY WHISKERS KIDNAPED
BILLY WHISKERS’ TRAVELS BILLY WHISKERS’ TWINS
BILLY WHISKERS AT THE CIRCUS BILLY WHISKERS IN AN AEROPLANE
BILLY WHISKERS AT THE FAIR BILLY WHISKERS IN TOWN
BILLY WHISKERS’ FRIENDS BILLY WHISKERS IN PANAMA
BILLY WHISKERS, JR. AND HIS CHUMS
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* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
The Table of Contents at the beginning of the book was created by
the transcriber.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation such as “camp-fire”/“campfire”
have been maintained.
Minor punctuation and spelling errors have been silently corrected
and all misspellings in the text, especially in dialogue, and
inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.