And in this way all their discussions concerning Gran and the mysterious
man ended. There were no signs to go by. They hadn’t a thing to point to
as an established fact in connection with the boy except that he had
come to them in trouble, had been assisted, and had been grateful.
And there were no clues to connect the long-armed man with any crime
whatever. The boys knew that he had not been present at the robbery of
the train, and that is all they did know about him, except that he had
followed on after them and either coaxed or forced Gran to desert them.
The larceny of the films was still a mystery. No one save a member of
the party could have taken them, they thought. No one except a member of
the party would have been likely to have opened the kodak and taken the
films out right there in the cabin. An outsider, it was certain, would
have taken the kodak with him and opened it at some less perilous time.
So far as the robbery was concerned, the boys had believed that Gran had
taken them. They had held that opinion until the note had been fished
out of the river. The note had started in to say something about the
films. If he had stolen them he would not be apt to talk or write about
them to the boys.
But the great point in connection with the films was this:
“Why had they been taken?” This question was more important to their
minds than the one which all had asked at first: “How had they been
taken?”
There was an indistinct notion in Alex’s mind that he had seen dark
faces behind those sitting in front of the fire at the pass. He believed
that he had secured some fine pictures of the campers, as he called
them, and was of the opinion that if other faces had peered out from the
shelter of the rocks just at the right moment they, too, would have
entered the photograph in distinguishable positions.
Who were the men loitering back there in the shadows? Were they the men
who had held up the train? And was this the reason why they could not
afford to have even one of their faces show in a photograph taken at
that spot, at that time?
They all believed that Gran could clear up a good share of the mystery
if he saw fit to do so. They had believed all along that he would tell
all he knew about that night just as soon as he became more intimate
with them. But he had left, voluntarily or by coercion, without
referring to the matter except at the end, when he had written the word
“films” in the note he had cast out on the river.
The boys talked little of the mystery which surrounded the appearance
and disappearance of Granville, but they thought about it a lot.
It is not far from thirty miles, as the river runs, from Boat Encampment
to Gold creek, which flows into the Columbia river about west of Glacier
lake, far up on the eastern ridge of the Rocky mountains. Here the lads
found themselves, one night, sitting around a great fire on the northern
bank of the creek.
Gold creek has its source in the western heights of the mountains
running along on the west side of the Columbia river during its course
to the north. At that point the two branches of the river are only about
thirty miles apart, but there is a high range of mountains between the
two currents. Gold creek penetrates so far into the hills where it has
its source that a few miles farther to the east would send its waters
into the eastern branch of the Columbia.
The boys were enjoying themselves that night. Captain Joe and Teddy were
out on the bank, sporting about, chasing each other into the low bushes
which fringed the creek. The bear had become so tame that it was not
necessary to keep him tied.
In fact, Alex declared that he would follow them to the end of the earth
if they tried to get rid of him. Captain Joe made much of the cub, and
the boys called it a happy family.
As they sat there by the campfire a long, faltering call came from
darkness to the east. The mountains come close to the valley there, and
Gold creek runs fast. The voice they heard seemed to come from the creek
itself.
Captain Joe gave over playing with the bear and darted away. The boys
called to him to come back, but he paid no attention to them. His
conduct was so unusual that all started up to ascertain the cause of his
disobedience. But before they were fairly on their feet he was hidden in
the darkness. The astonished boys looked at each other in silence.
Then Clay hastened back to the fire and threw on more lightwood, sending
the flames high up above the bushes. He also hastened to switch on the
electrics on board the _Rambler_.
“There is some one in distress up there,” he concluded, “and we’ll give
them all the light possible. Strange thing about Captain Joe.”
“He never did a thing like that before,” Case commented.
“I’m afraid he’ll get into a mix-up with a bear,” Alex observed.
“But that wasn’t a bear that called!” laughed Clay. “That was a human
voice, and it sounded as if the one who called was about all in.”
“That’s the way it sounded to me,” Case agreed.
“It may be the man who stole the boat and took Gran off in it,” Alex
suggested. “He may have started across the mountains and become lost.”
“He wouldn’t be calling to us,” Case said, with a superior smile. “He
will be apt to stay away from us! At least, I should think he would.”
“Huh!” commented Alex. “He wouldn’t know whose fire it was, would he? He
might think it some hunter’s camp. Besides, I have a notion that he
thinks we were drowned when he cut the chain of the anchor. No, he
hasn’t any idea that we are here. I hope it is him. Then we’ll get some
news of Gran Listen! There it comes again, and it is not very far away,
either. That weak voice never traveled far.”
The call was repeated again and again, and all the boys left the fire
and started off up the creek, not forgetting to take their electrics and
automatics with them. There were stars in the sky, but it was dark under
the trees along the bed of the creek.
When they were a few paces from the fire the voice called again,
faintly.
“Pretty close by!” Clay observed. “I wonder where Captain Joe is? He
ought to be showing up somewhere. Hope the fellow, whoever he is, won’t
mistake him for a grizzly and shoot him. There’s his voice now.”
Captain Joe was indeed close by, sending a long, heavy call into the
darkness. He seemed to be no farther away than the one who had called
for assistance. The boys moved forward swiftly.
“He’s found the stranger!” Case exclaimed. “I know by the sound of his
voice that he has treed something. Good old Captain Joe!”
Directly the dog came out of a thicket, leaped joyfully about the feet
of the boys, gave utterance to low growls of satisfaction, and ran back
into the undergrowth, as if inviting the lads to follow on and see what
he had discovered. They were not slow in accepting the invitation.
Clay was in the lead, his searchlight on the ground. Presently he came
to a little shelter made of fresh boughs and stopped to investigate.
“That’s been built within a short time,” he declared, as Case and Alex
came up. “But where did Captain Joe go so quickly?”
“He’s probably inside that hut,” Case replied. “He ran that way.”
The next moment the dog peered out from under the stacked up boughs,
seeming to say to his friends that he had found some one there.
“I guess he has, all right,” Clay said, when Alex expressed this idea.
“He has found a human being, for there are empty tins about, as if some
one had eaten here. Come out, Captain Joe!”
But Captain Joe did not obey. Instead, he retreated under the boughs and
growled a further invitation for them to come into his parlor!
Clay pushed his light farther and opened the overhanging mass of
foliage. What he saw inside was a slender figure lying on a rough bed of
leaves and grass. At the side of the figure were several tins of food
which had not been opened. Captain Joe was bending over the face, which
lay in the shadow, caressing it with his soft tongue.
Clay pushed the dog away and lowered his light. Then the cry he uttered
caused Case and Alex to rush through the sheltering boughs and stand by
his side. In a moment all were on their knees at the side of the figure,
now lying with closed eyes.
“It is Gran!” Clay shouted. “It is Gran come back to us!”
“He’s dead, I guess!” was Alex’s sad comment. Clay bent forward and took
the boy’s hand into his own.
“No,” he said, “he is still alive. Now, how the Old Harry did he ever
get here? And what is the matter with him?”
Case pointed silently to one leg, lying off the rough bed. There were
rude splints tied to it with strips of cloth torn from the boy’s
trousers. The garment had been cut from the leg, and it could be seen
what the splints meant.
“He’s fallen and broken his leg!” Case exclaimed. “Poor chap!”
“And he built this shelter to die in!” faltered Alex. “I wonder if he
will ever come back to consciousness?”
The shelter had evidently been constructed by the injured boy with the
intention of resting for a time after his bungling attempt at
leg-setting. The food he had brought there had been set out in orderly
array within reach of his arm as he lay on his couch of foliage, and a
dish of water—a two-quart basin which forest travelers sometimes use to
cook in—sat not far away. An attempt had been made to build a fire near
the hut, but this had not proved a success. Burned matches lay around,
but none of the dry sticks had caught fire.
“He was making a fight for life, all right, poor little chap!” Clay
said, wiping a suspicious moisture from his eyes.
“I reckon he called to us with his last strength,” Case muttered.
“I’m afraid so!” Clay answered. “Well, how are we going to get him to
the boat without causing him great suffering? He ought to be moved right
away, before he comes back to his senses.”
“I’ll run back to the _Rambler_ and bring a long board there is under
one of the bunks,” Case suggested. “Then we’ll carry him on that, just
as if it was a stretcher. We’ll give him his old bed in the cabin, and
when he comes to he’ll be so glad to get back that he won’t know he’s
got a broken leg!”
The boy was away like a shot, and presently returned with the board.
Gran was lifted gently on the improvised stretcher and carried, as
gently as the uneven nature of the ground would permit, to the boat. He
did not open his eyes during the removal, and the boys became
frightened, fearing that he was indeed dead. Alex hustled around and had
water on the stove heating in short order.
“He’s got to have hot water on that leg,” he said. “I guess I can take
that swelling down a little. Now, do you think you can tell, either of
you, how bad the injury is, and whether the bone is splintered or just
broken short off?”
Clay cautiously applied a hand to the injured limb, feeling on both
sides of the splints. In a second he looked up with a smile on his white
face and added more fuel to the fire so as to hasten the heating of the
water. Case and Alex looked at him questioningly.
“The little hero set his leg himself,” Clay said. “I don’t know how he
ever did it! The bones are back in place, and the flesh is not at all
bruised. The brave little chap! How did he ever do it?”
“He probably killed himself doing it,” wailed Alex. “He fell down some
precipice and crawled miles to a spot where he could get wood for the
splints. Crawled miles with that broken leg and carried his food with
him! He’s a little hero, that’s just what he is!”
There was no sleep for the boys that night. Gran, worn out by suffering
and over-exertion, lay until daylight with his eyes closed.